Doin' a Dime by Vale, Lynn (learn to read activity book .txt) 📕

on a plane and would be apprehended once he landed.

That left me with, most likely, only one person that was going to try to kill my wife.

“Luckily there’s a time frame,” Zach said as he placed his phone down on the counter behind him. “If he doesn’t accomplish it, the contract expires and is no longer valid. Would he really try past that point without any money to show for it when he’s ‘done?’”

I sure the fuck hoped not.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and started to count backward from ten when I heard the most hilarious singing coming from the other room.

“Is that your wife?” Trouper asked Lynn.

Lynn shook his head. “Nope. There are a lot of noises that come out of that woman’s mouth, but that one isn’t one of them. Has to be Wyett.”

I couldn’t stop myself from getting up and going to check on her.

I’d done it multiple times over the last couple of hours, but each time I’d checked on her, she’d been doing some sort of paint thing with Six.

And drinking.

There was a lot of drinking.

I guess learning that you had a hit on you was a reason for her to break her ‘no getting drunk’ rule. A rule that I’d always wondered about, but hadn’t quite thought enough about until now to ask.

Together, the six men in the room, not including me, followed the loudness of Wyett’s subpar singing.

When we arrived, it was to find Six and Wyett with their backs to us. They were both painting something, and both of them were singing to a tune only the two of them could hear from the phone that was on the table between them.

“It’s gonna be May!”

“Me, loser. Me. It’s not May,” Wyett corrected. “You know that.”

“I know what he says, and I know what he thinks he says. There’s a difference,” Six said as she placed her paintbrush in her cup. “I don’t think that mine matches the picture.”

Six stood up and moved slightly, revealing a pretty sad looking lighthouse.

I moved closer as did the rest of us, and that’s when I heard NSYNC playing softly from the phone. As well as saw my wife’s painting.

“Mine sure doesn’t look like it.” Wyett scratched her face with the paintbrush, causing a streak of red to cover her face.

“Dangit!” Six said. “I was really trying. Let me see yours.”

Wyett moved, finally revealing her painting to not only Six, but the rest of the men at my back.

That’s when everyone burst out laughing.

“Oh my God.” Six gasped. “I can’t put a time lapse video on my social media pages when you drew a fucking dick on it!”

Wyett squinted her eyes so cutely that I couldn’t help the small smile that lit my face.

“It’s not a dick,” she disagreed. “It’s a lighthouse.”

“Wyett.” Six was already shaking her head. “That’s a dick. It may be painted blue, but that’s a dick if I ever saw one. I mean, it even has veins.”

“Those are cracks!” Wyett yelled.

“Those are veins.” Six shook her head. “And that’s a dickhead. That right there is the frenulum.”

“You’re fucking insane.” Wyett shook her head. “I was drawing that lighthouse right there.”

The lighthouse was white, not blue. And the sky was bright blue with a sun.

“And that?” I teased. “Are those supposed to be balls, or double suns?”

Wyett whirled around and glared. “They’re the sun and the sun’s shadow.”

“I don’t even know what to say,” Trouper drawled. “But that’s the most realistic dick I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“It’s a lighthouse!” she cried. “I swear to God.”

“Babe,” Lynn drawled. “That’s a dick.”

And it was.

There was no other way for it not to be a dick.

“We were talking about Hunt’s dick… maybe you got distracted and forgot what you were drawing,” Six teased.

“Painting.” Wyett sighed. “And I was thinking about my husband’s dick. I was thinking about how it was curved to the left… or so he says. But if anything, this one curves to the right.”

“It’s a matter of perspective,” Six said. “It curves to his left, but your right. When you’re down on your knees in front of him, you’re looking at his right. Not his left. Or whatever. This is why you’re not allowed to get drunk.”

That reminded me.

“Why aren’t you allowed to get drunk?” I found myself asking the woman that was beginning to mean a whole freakin’ lot to me.

A woman that I was fairly sure, after my reaction to the thought of her having a hit on her, I was in love with so irrevocably that I wasn’t quite sane when it came to her.

“Because she’s argumentative,” Six said as my wife came to me, paint streaking her face, as she pressed her body into me like a needy cat. “She likes to argue until she’s blue in the face, and the damn woman has no clue how to be appropriate. Like drawing dicks instead of lighthouses. We decided it was in our best interest to not allow her to get drunk so she could not get fired from her job.”

That made sense.

But…

Wyett once again started to move, her fingers doing the exploring this time.

“Just take her phone away from her,” I suggested. “She can still get drunk.”

“There’s another reason,” Six said, looking at me with a small smirk forming on her face.

“What?” I asked, catching Wyett’s hand before she could do anything inappropriate like touching my dick in front of the men.

Six wiggled her brows suggestively. “You’re still in the dark?”

I opened my mouth to tell her that yes, I was still very much in the dark, when Wyett moved like a ninja.

One second she was next to me with my hand holding one of hers, the next she was crouching down to her knees and reaching for my zipper with her free hand.

It took her all of three seconds to get the zipper down, and she had her hand buried in the spread of my fly before I could even put two coherent thoughts together.

“How about