Those Three Little Words (The Vancouver Agitators, #2)

by Meghan Quinn

I learned from a young age that life is short, and you have to fucking enjoy every second of it. So my rule is to say yes. Say yes to as much shit as you can.

Bad at sex? Some dipshit told her she was bad at sex? Who the fuck says that to a woman? The only reason a man would say that is because he’s the one who’s actually bad at sex and is placing the blame on someone else so he doesn’t have to face reality.

“I want this. I want this very much.” That’s all I needed to fucking hear. I crash my mouth down on hers and finally take what I’ve wanted since I first laid eyes on her. I take everything.

So when you say we, you can’t possibly be including me in on that we.” “Uh, yeah,” I say as if she’s lost her mind. “This, you and me.” I motion between us. “This is a package deal. What I go through, you go through. You accepted those terms when you decided to be my best friend.” “I don’t remember signing any contract.” I prop my hands on my hips in irritation. “It’s a silent contract. Best friends are BOGOs. Buy one, get one. That’s us.

“Really?” Taters asks. “So you’re going to marry her?” “What?” I nearly squeak. “No, we’re just going to be friends, but I moved in to help her with whatever she needs.” “Friends?” Taters shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t see that happening. You’ve been crushing on her forever, man. There’s no way you’ll stay friends.”

“How can I make this better?” “You can’t. I’m just weird, and this is how I deal with things.”

“Dude, I think you like her.” I shake my head. “No, that can’t possibly be the problem.”

What’s a man supposed to do in this situation? We went from farts to tears because I got her breakfast. This is way past my comprehension level.

Huzzah! Thou shall not battle the holy one in gestation. She might be nauseous, and she very well might have enough indigestion to burn down a thousand buildings at night, but she is mighty, and she knows how to pack a solid blow to the very nutsac that put her in this position.

Penny: I think you could give me an old rabbit’s turd, and I’d be happy. Eli: Well, it’s not a rabbit’s turd, so get that out of your head. Penny: Sad, could have been a lovely gift. Eli: You are so strange. I don’t know which one of your many personalities is going to show up. Penny: So you’re saying it’s been a fun roller coaster so far? Eli: Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Shy at first, then a fucking fire in bed, then shy and extremely awkward, then teasing, then angry, now fun and charming. Anything else I need to worry about? Penny: Nope, I think that just about covers it, but I suggest you don’t sleep on a new side of me. You never know what might appear.

I wanted so much more than a hug, but I knew it was all I could ask for, so I took it, relishing in the way my cheek felt pressed against his bare chest. And then my vulnerability took over, and before I could stop myself, I asked him to cuddle me. I thought he’d say no. I thought he’d deny me, but he didn’t. Instead, he wrapped himself around me, and I curled into his large body. I’ve never felt so comfortable in my life, and I fell asleep before I could even take my next breath.

Does she know I fucking live for the smell of that lotion? That I so look forward to the smell of it at night that I actually bought myself a travel-size bottle. And I’m so pathetic that I rub it on my hands at night before I go to bed when I’m away.

Somehow, she crept into my life and captivated me. She’s all I think about. She fills in the broken and cracked parts of my soul . . . If things were different, she’d be mine.

“You know, some hockey players would be mourning the season.” “Sometimes, there are more important things than hockey, and I’m staring right at one.” “The charming side of you is dangerous, and if I can remember, that’s how I got pregnant in the first place.”

I’m not one to cry, really ever, but as I stare into Penny’s eyes, relief and appreciation pulse through me. I am so fortunate that she’s the one I’m going through this journey with. She makes me feel wanted, like I’m not a damaged soul trying to navigate his way through life, but rather someone who can contribute to this world and not just through his hockey talent.

“If you don’t know what I’m talking about, then I can’t help you.” He pauses, blinking a few times, and it’s almost comical, watching him try to process all of this. Isn’t it clear as day why I’m irritated? How come no one can understand besides me?

If he’s mine . . . then why doesn’t he feel like it? Because he doesn’t understand the definition of love, Penny. His actions show love, but maybe he simply doesn’t know that. And there’s absolutely nothing I can do to help him understand.

“Love is intimacy, Eli. Love is feeling protected, trusted, secure with yourself. Love is feeling like you’re home. Like there is nowhere else you want to be than in your person’s arms. Love is feeling this unbridled connection with another human, a connection so strong that when they’re not around, you feel . . . empty, incomplete. And love grows with intensity as your relationship grows. It starts small, like this tiny kernel needling at your back, bringing awareness to your brain that something is taking over and that an emotion is growing inside you. And as time passes, that kernel blooms into something bigger, something that eclipses your heart and takes up room in your chest, so when you see your person, all you can do is let out a deep breath of relief because they’re there. With you. For you. And if that person is the right person, if they’re truly the match to your soul, then they will make sure that nothing bad ever happens to you. That no matter what life throws at you—death, joy, heartache—they will be there, by your side, holding your hand, and reminding you that despite what you might be going through, there is always a home in their arms.”

can guarantee you, no matter what happens, I’ll always love you, I’ll always want you, and even if you are a flappy-vagina woman, whatever the hell that means, you will be my flappy-vagina woman.”