No. More than decent. He’s humming.

Humming. You know, that thing people do when they’re feeling pleasant, or maybe even a little excited about something. Ben is doing that right now.

All things considered, it’s very, very strange.

I’m expecting a noticeable irritation. A tense rigidness to his body or, since he’s been deprived for months, that wily, concentrated look he gets when I know he’s thinking in great detail about fucking me.

God, I love that look. I love dissecting it, crawling inside his beautiful brain and imagining what he’s doing to me in there. Letting my own mind wander and then blushing when he notices my drifting attention.

Hard and fast or soft and slow. What are you thinking, Mr. Kelly?

Taking my focus off the road ahead, I glance across the bench seat and stare at the man beside me.

Ben is relaxed against the worn leather, with one hand on the wheel and the other arm resting on the ledge of the open window. Over the low rumble of the engine I can hear the deep tones of his voice carrying out a tune. He taps his thumb rhythmically against the wheel.

I narrow my eyes.

What the fuck? He’s probably backed up to his eyeballs in semen and he’s about to spend time with this ex. Why is he so goddamn chipper?

As if hearing my own vexing thoughts, or sensing the scrutiny he’s getting, Ben turns his head and gently smiles at me.

“Angel.” He glances ahead, then quickly studies my face. “You okay?”

I cross my arms below my chest. My breasts bounce a little, drawing his gaze to the cleavage peeking out from my floral sundress.

Yeah. Remember these? I don’t hear any humming now.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “You look like you’re actually looking forward to this.”

The thought settles over me like a dark cloud. I sink further into the seat, the relenting weight of jealousy gathering in my chest.

Does Ben actually want to see Angie?

His brow pinches together before he looks back at the road. “How so?”

“Well, let’s see. You’re humming for one. You don’t hum, Ben.”

“I hum sometimes.”

I breathe a laugh. “Yeah. Sometimes. You occasionally hum after we have,” I pause, whipping my head around and glancing in the back at the boys.

Chase is passed out; his cheek pressed against the side of his car seat. The beloved stuffed octopus pinned under his arm.

I turn my attention to Nolan.

He looks up from his iPad and smiles, ready to absorb my next words.

“Cookies,” I blurt out, facing the front again. My face warms. “After we have cookies.”

“Cookies?” Ben smirks, his brow lifting in amusement as he turns his head and locks eyes with me.

I limply shrug.

What the hell else was I supposed to say? Sex? I’m not trying to expand Nolan’s already progressively building bank of inappropriate vocabulary. We’ve somehow managed to keep this word out of his little sponge of a brain. Shocking, I know. Especially with Ben requesting it for dinner and practically calling out for it in the middle of the night in his sleep. It’s a miracle really. And I’d like to keep Nolan as innocent as possible.

At least, for as long as I can.

“I love having cookies with you,” Ben jokes, grinning so big it’s impossible to fight my own smile. A full-on dimple assault. He reaches across the seat and squeezes my thigh. “You thinking about having some right now?”

“I want some cookies!” Nolan yells from the back seat. “Do we have some with us? Mommy, you bring any?”

“Oh, my God,” I groan, covering my face.

Nice, Mia. Way to think that one through.

“No, Nolan. I didn’t bring any cookies.”

Ben laughs. His touch leaves my leg. “I would kill for some cookies right about now.”

I drop my hands to my lap and cut him a look.

Are you crazy?

He winks at me.

“Me too, Daddy,” Nolan echoes. He kicks his legs excitedly and looks out the window. His head drops against the seat with a heavy sigh. “I want some so bad. I might die if I don’t get any.”

My mouth falls open.

These Kelly boys. I swear.

“Buddy, you have no idea,” Ben murmurs, glancing in the rearview mirror at his son.

I pull on the strap across my body to loosen it and lean across the seat, kissing the rough edge of Ben’s jaw. “You are awful,” I whisper. “And now I’m thinking Nolan shouldn’t be allowed to have cookies until he’s thirty. He’s already talking like an addict.”

“Thirty?” Ben snorts, his eyes shifting to meet mine. “Yeah, okay, Angel. You’re on your own trying to prevent that from happening.”

“Well, what if he was a girl?” I ask, leaning back and watching his bicep flex and roll as he adjusts his grip on the wheel. “Would you encourage our daughter to go out and get cookies?”

He cracks his neck from side to side.

“Ah, see?” I point at him when he doesn’t answer. “That’s so stereotypical. Shame on you.”

Ben shakes his head. “Huge difference, Mia. If we had a girl, or if we have a girl . . .” His voice trails off. He looks over at me, his eyebrows lifting to his hairline.

Waiting . . .

Wondering . . .

I bite my lip and press my back against the seat.

Oh, shit.

Like a conversational ninja, I avoided discussing this topic earlier when Ben announced his desire for more kids. And by avoid, I mean I slid off his lap and out of the squad car like I was fleeing the scene of a crime—in an abrupt haste.