“The Rottweiler in cage seventeen,” Trevor tells her. “Aw, she’s so sweet. I took her home with me last weekend and she was so good with my grandbabies! You two got any kids?” she asks, looking between us. I started to say no. “Not yet,” Trevor says, putting his arm around my waist, his thumb hooking on the inside of my jeans. I know I’m completely stiff; I don’t want kids. I told Trevor that the other day when he asked me if I wanted children. Apparently, he only hears what he wants. “You two will sure make some pretty babies.” I can feel my hands start to sweat at her comment. I love kids,
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