Page 92 of Hunted: Season Two

In tandem, Bunny and I shoot him baffled expressions.

“We’re gonna need somethin’ to travel around in as a family-”

“I’m not driving that,” the mother of our child loudly proclaims.

“-and minivans aresaferfor families when compared to SUVs.”

“SUVs do have a high tendency to roll.” My arms fold across my chest. “But like we could just install a roll cage.”

“We’re not drivin’ our junior-”

“We’re damn sure not having ajunior,” Bunny instantaneously reminds.

“-around in a stunt car, Kid.”

“But you wanna drive him around in the soccer mom mobile?!”

“We don’t know it’s a him,” our pregnant partner pipes up once more.

“And we don’t know that he’ll play soccer,” Nolan casually argues prompting our girl to huff in frustration. “But Ido knowthat with you workin’ on this thing, it’ll be the safest,fastest, best dad shit in the whole lot.”

“Good point.”

“Yet my point is being completely ignored,” murmurs Bunny.

“I figure you can work onthiswhile I’m workin’ with the contractors from the De Luca Construction Company on the house.”

There’s no stopping a loving smile from sliding onto my face.

“What do you think, Kid?” He shoves his hands into his pockets and presents me with a loving grin. “You ready to build our first family vehicle?”

Chapter 18

Bunny

I can’t hold in the heavy sigh that’s desperate to escape. “This is thesaddestChristmas tree I’ve ever had to decorate and that includes the plastic palm tree that one of my neighbors left me last year.”

Kipp cringes at the four-foot fake tree that’s noticeably leaning to one side. “I don’t remember it being this crooked last year.”

“That’s because we didn’t put it up,” Nolan announces, arms folding across his work shirt.

“Why not?” There’s no stopping my attention from cutting to his. “Is it because you didn’t wanna display a limp dick Christmas tree?”

“It’s notlimp.”

“Should I blow Kid in front of it to see if it’ll get hard?”

“You are always welcome to mouth bang me, baby.”

“I won’t pass on the season’s skeeting or whatever, Rabbit,” the corner of his lips kicks upward, “but our tree is not limp.”

“Well, it’s not straight!”

“Why are you identification shaming our tree?” Kid playfully pokes, pulling my glare back to him.

“We don’t do that shit in this house.”

“Santais watching,” our other boyfriend mockingly reminds.