Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5)

by Krista Ritchie

  I feel Connor’s blinding grin. “Most assuredly, he’s ours.”

  “I’ll get the hose.”

  Connor is the one who grabs the wiggling four-year-old, and he brings him towards the side of the house while I pull out the hose and twist the faucet. When Connor places Ben on the grass, our son tries to spring up and escape back towards the mud.

  By the way, Ben is completely nude.

  That’s my boy.

  I snort at Connor. Ben put his little hands on Connor, who just wears navy swim trunks. So two muddy handprints decorate my husband’s chest.

  Connor arches his brow. “Yes, darling?”

  “Our son has marked his territory. You’re it.” I wield the green hose like a weapon, and Connor eyes the nozzle, then me, his eyes sparking with intrigue.

  Ben smiles. “Let’s go play!”

  “Not in the mud,” Connor says easily.

  Ben pulls at the grass, even his lips caked in mud. “Don’t I get a choice?”

  Connor kneels in front of Ben. “Your choices: if we wash you now, you’ll be able to play with Xander; or if you return to the mud, you’ll never be allowed inside ever again.”

  “The mud!” Ben doesn’t miss a beat.

  Connor shuts his eyes tight. This is the first child that always chooses the option with the worst personal benefit, and Connor has painstakingly tried to tell Ben to do what’s best for him.

  “Ben goes with his heart,” I remind Connor.

  “His heart chooses wrong.”

  Our son tries to spring towards the mud, but Connor seizes him again.

  “If you stay outdoors forever, you’ll miss Wednesday night dinners.” For the past four years, our children started counting down to those dinners. The most common question has become: is it Wednesday yet?

  Ben hesitates.

  “You’ll never see Pip-Squeak.”

  “I’ll take him with me!”

  “He’s an indoor bird.”

  Ben, a little mud monster, gawks at Connor. “Thatsnotfair.” He slurs the words together.

  “Every choice has benefits and costs, some greater and some smaller than others. It’s up to you to use this”—he touches Ben’s head to illustrate his brain—“to determine which is better for you.”

  Ben plops on the grass, saddened. I’d feel worse if he didn’t look like a tiny creature from the bottom of the lake.

  Matter-of-factly, I tell him, “Being clean is more fun than being dirty.”

  “Mommy,” he groans and scoffs like I’m so wrong.

  I’ll show him. I squirt him just a little, water spraying his body.

  He instantly smiles.

  “What about now?” I challenge. I spray him lightly once more.

  Ben picks himself up and outstretches his arms while sticking out his tongue. As though I am Mother fucking Nature commanding a rain shower for my son. I smile in satisfaction.

  Maybe I am.

  Connor returns to my side while I hose down our four-year-old. Ben begins to hop and dance in the wet puddle, but at least he’s cleaner than before.

  Swiftly, I change direction of the hose and squirt off Connor’s chest and hands. I expect him to flinch, but he practically expected my action. Motionless, stoic.

  He begins to grin.

  “Richard.” I squirt that grin off too.

  And he laughs, his face glistening. “Rose.”

  Rose.

  I’ll never stop loving and hating the way he says my name.

  < 50 >

  July 2026

  The Lake House

  Smoky Mountains

  RYKE MEADOWS

  I pull my shirt off my head. 10:00 p.m. at the lake house. Everyone is quiet, and if they are fucking rowdy, I can’t hear from our bedroom. Even Nutty is out of it, the white husky fast asleep at the foot of the wooden bed.

  I just checked on our two-year-old in the nursery—where all the little girls sleep. Winona recently transitioned out of the fucking crib and has grown the habit of hopping on her “big girl” bed. Making the act of sleep time more difficult than it needs to be.

  In a month or two, I hope the fucking novelty of the bed wares off so she can sleep earlier.

  On our bed, Daisy splays her arms wide. In constant motion, she moves them up and down like she’s making a snow angel within the bear-patterned quilt. “I have a theory,” she says.

  I unbutton my jeans. “Yeah?”

  Daisy mock gasps. “Fuck yeah.”

  I toss a stitched pillow at her head.

  She rolls on her side, facing me with a lopsided smile. “It’s actually two theories. One is wrong. One is right. It’s yet to be proven which.”

  “Let’s hear it, Calloway.” My attention is hers. I stop unzipping my jeans for a fucking second.

  She sits up on the heels of her feet, wearing a thin white tank top that says Shell Yeah with two waves beneath. Her yellow cotton shorts ride up her fucking ass. Last year, she chopped her blonde hair in uneven layers but let the strands grow past her chest.

  Daisy has always been beautiful, but for reasons beyond looks. She brightens at the simplicity of tonight. The fact that we’re alone in this room. The fact that I listen to all of her fucking theories. The fact that when she rises to her feet, standing on the mattress, I only edge closer.

  “First theory.” In her dramatic pause, she watches me as I watch her.

  My muscles flex, and my cock begins to harden.

  “The lake house has magical sleeping properties that produce erotic dreams.”

  I raise my brows at Dais. “I missed the part where you moaned out the words lake house when you orgasmed in your fucking sleep last night.”

  Her smile stretches. “Second theory—”

  I yank her ankle out from under her. She thuds onto her back and radiates with happiness. I climb on top of my wife and nuzzle her cheek. She lets out a throaty noise, her hands dipping down the back of my jeans. I hold Daisy’s jaw and kiss her hungrily, our tongues tangled. I pull her up against me, and she inhales until she can’t breathe.

  I break apart so she can catch her breath. “Second theory?” I ask.

  She pants, “Second…theory.” Her hand playfully descends towards the crack of my ass.

  I don’t flinch. “You fucking exploring, Calloway?”

  “Do you like it?” She wags her brows.

  I grind my body forward, putting pressure between her legs, and she cries out. I nod to Dais. “I like that fucking sound more.”

  Daisy removes her hand, just to hold onto my shoulder. “I have this theory…” She bucks her hips, and my muscles strain, my erection pushing against my jeans. “…that having sex with someone before sleep produces really, really…erotic…dreams.”

  That can be fucking tested.

  I lift her in my arms so fast that she gasps against my shoulder. I carry Daisy to the circular rug, our luggage and clothes scattered all around the fucking room. I kick a toddler scooter aside. Winona’s.

  When I set Daisy’s back on the rug, I already start quickly undressing her. Tank top off. Small, cute fucking breasts exposed. Her hands feverishly roam my abs, my biceps—my hair. I nip her lip and slip off her cotton shorts. Then I hook my fingers in her cotton panties, sliding them down her long, slender legs.

  Her big green eyes travel across my hard jawline.

  She’s physically so much fucking younger than me. I’m physically so much fucking older than her. That’s never changing. Neither is me caring about her body, her heart—her whole self.

  I knead her breast with my fingers before replacing my hand with my mouth, kissing. Then I suck her hardened nipple, my tongue flicking every nerve. She trembles—fuck me.

  Again, I pull Daisy’s entire body up against my fucking body. She lets out a high-pitched noise, and my large hand races to her mouth, muffling the sounds.

  Daisy tries to tug off my jeans. I help her shed them and my boxer-briefs.

  Both buck-naked on the rug.
/>
  I stretch her legs over my fucking shoulders.

  “Guess what?” I say lowly. I slide two of my fingers into my mouth, hovering partially above Dias, not lowering my full fucking weight on her.

  “What?” she pants beneath my palm.

  I pull my fingers out. “I’m going to fuck your theory right…here.” I push my two long fingers inside of Daisy and pump them, my thumb toying with her clit. Her pleasured cries vibrate against my hand. Fuck, a groan rumbles my throat. All the blood wells in my fucking erection.

  Her breath shortens, body shakes.

  Fucking…my muscles sear, sweat building as fast for me as for my wife. Daisy watches my fingers, how they disappear deep inside of her body. Her reaction fucking kills me in the most visceral, primal way. My muscles answer with fuck her like she wants to be fucked. Kiss her like she wants to be kissed. Love her like she deserves to be fucking loved.

  I hold her body like it’s the most precious fucking thing in this world.

  When her eyes begin to roll back, I swiftly stand and lift Daisy to my shoulders. The extra weight is nothing to me. Not when I’ve gripped my weight with only a fucking finger on a sliver of rock.

  I lean her back against the wall, her body more at an angle. I eat out Daisy Meadows.

  I could fucking explode. Fuck me. Sweat really coats my bare skin, my mouth against her heat. I look up at Dais, and she’s fixated on my right hand.

  I rub my shaft because it gets her off every time. My nerves well, the pressure fucking fuck—I grunt, gripping my cock harder. Pumping faster while my tongue does what it does best.

  Daisy moans into my left hand, her toes curling, lips so fucking parted. Her back arches, spine curving towards me. Shuddering.

  Daisy responds to every orgasm like it’s her first fucking one. I still remember that day, that moment, that fucking time.

  I even recall the first time we had sex. In a tent. I’m fucking you, sweetheart. Right now. I slide her down my waist, pinning her back against the wall. She rests her forehead on my shoulder, honing in on my long erection. Daisy tries to split her legs open wider, so I stretch them upwards, her ankles towards my neck.

  I know she envisions my cock rammed inside her, even before I slip in. She clutches my sides, her hand over my phoenix tattoo, breathing shallow fucking breaths.

  Slowly, I push in and gauge her reaction every inch of the way. I search for signs of pain, but it’s been so fucking long since she’s felt any. My nose flares at the tightness and sudden warmth wrapped around my cock.

  She trembles, lit up, crying in pleasure against my hand.

  I start rocking, and I fuck the wildest girl I’ve ever known.

  Daisy watches our bodies join together, her skin glistening. Her hands fall to my ass, feeling me flex against her tall, lean build. We’ve fucked against more trees than we have walls, but this works just as well.

  I follow her gaze to our pelvises, and I push deeper, letting her take in more of me. She makes the throatiest noise against my hand, like that pleasure ascended from bottom to top. My veins protrude in my arms, my teeth clenched as my arousal fucking heightens.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  This is a girl I never thought I’d be with—not like this. Not nine-inches deep between her legs. Not warm metal on my ring finger. Not two little girls with our features.

  I thought for fucking sure I’d be alone.

  I thrust with purpose, knowing what it’d lead to—she comes with a sharp inhale, pulsating around my erection.

  “Fuck.” I come, pushing hard into Dais.

  Not long after, exhaustion sinks her shoulders, her eyelids, and I pull out and carry Daisy in my arms to our bed. Eyes closed, she sleepily whispers one last thing.

  “Say that again.”

  I don’t say fuck. I lean down, my mouth against her ear, and I tell my wife, “I fucking love you, sweetheart.”

  She glows like a million suns.

  * * *

  I’m not that fucking tired, so I check my email on my cellphone. Daisy has already rolled onto my chest, off my chest, and now back onto my fucking chest. Her legs are tangled with mine, arm across my abdomen and head nestled towards my shoulder.

  I don’t shift enough that I’d wake her.

  I squint at the bright light of the screen and click into an email from Celebrity WorldWide Entertainment. I have no fucking idea what this could be, but the subject line reads, congratulations. That entrainment site isn’t as salacious as Celebrity Crush.

  I know because Celebrity WorldWide Entertainment rarely posts negative articles about anyone. Most of their time is spent marketing fucking movie franchises and actors in whatever television shows Lily and Lo watch.

  I read the first line of the email.

  Dear Ryke Meadows,

  Congratulations, Celebrity WorldWide Entertainment has picked you as this year’s Sexiest Man WorldWide!

  “What the fuck,” I mutter, skimming the rest of the email that basically says you’re welcome and this is a huge honor. I don’t keep up with this shit—so I’m just really fucking confused.

  Why me?

  I rub my mouth and then group-text my brother, my sister, Lily, Connor, Rose, and Garrison. I type out: did any of you fucking get this email? I remember how to take screenshots on my phone, thanks to Daisy showing me, and I send them the image and message.

  Not a second later, my phone buzzes so rapidly and loudly that I have to mute it. “For fuck’s sake,” I mumble.

  Sexy motherfucker – Lo

  Clearly I wasn’t in contention – Connor

  There’s only one Sexiest Man WorldWide of the year. It’s a big deal – Willow

  Remove your ego from the thread, Richard. You weren’t the chosen one. – Rose

  I’m the only qualified one to judge this contest, and guess who I’d choose, darling? – Connor

  Are they really flirting in the fucking group text? I can’t shut them out, and here comes Lily…

  IS THIS REAL?!?!?! – Lily

  I don’t even have time to text back. Someone else does.

  Clearly – Connor

  It wasn’t that clear. – Rose

  This is a mess – Garrison

  *Garrison leaves the group* a notification pops up in the text thread. I’d do the same fucking thing, but I’m not sure how.

  How is Ryke Sexiest Man WorldWide before Loren Hale???? – Lily

  I believe you meant me – Connor

  I can’t take it anymore. I just ignore it, but I can’t even use the fucking internet without text messages popping up every two seconds. I gently lift Daisy’s arm and legs off me, really fucking careful not to wake my wife. I want her to sleep as many hours as she can.

  I want her to fucking dream.

  I’ve seen her do both more than I ever thought I would.

  She stirs, just enough to roll onto her side and fall into a deeper slumber. I stand, scrolling through rapid-fire texts between Connor and Rose. I pull on track pants before I step into the hallway.

  FTFY Lily – Willow

  My sister photoshopped an image for Lily that says: Loren Hale Sexiest Man WorldWide!

  My brows scrunch at that acronym, not understanding. Down the hall, I reach Lily and Lo’s door first. I rap my knuckles and then open.

  Lily and Lo are beneath the covers, the room so fucking dark, I only make out their faces. Lit by their cellphone screens.

  “Stop fucking texting.”

  “Congratulations,” Lily says before registering what I said. “Wait…you texted us.”

  “Yeah, well I changed my fucking mind.”

  “He can do that now, Lil,” Lo says. “He’s the Sexiest Man WorldWide. He’s got eight-pack powers. His abs can kill.” My brother just starts laughing so fucking loud that I flip him off. I’m not sure he can see.

  Before I shut the door, I ask, “What’s FTFY?”

  “Fixed That For You,” Lily answers, nose pressed to her cellphone scre
en.

  I glance at my phone, but the only people left in the thread are Rose and Connor. Fucking flirting. I don’t read the messages. I shut my brother’s door and cross the hallway to Connor’s.

  I knock once and open.

  I freeze.

  Fuck.

  Rose is handcuffed in a black nightgown, no more than a slip, cupping her cellphone, and Connor straddles his wife, his phone in one hand, other hand on her fucking hip.

  Before I can even blink, they see me. Rose’s eyes flame like she could castrate me.

  I immediately turn my back for her privacy. “Stop fucking texting.” I’d like to leave it at that, but Connor never would let me.

  “No,” he says the word with severe finality. “Shut the door. Hopefully you can manage that simple task.”

  I flip him off without facing their bed, but I don’t leave. “I’m fucking serious.”

  “So am I.”

  “I will put your balls in acid,” Rose threatens, less hostile because—believe it or fucking not—they’re still texting. While in the same fucking room.

  “Fuck this.” I power off my phone and shut their door.

  Only halfway down the hall, what just happened slaps me across the face. I walked in on Rose and Connor about to have sex. We all lived together, and I avoided that accident.

  I mean, fuck.

  We rarely even catch those two making out. And the strangest fucking thing? After tonight, I’m pretty sure their foreplay isn’t the typical kind of foreplay.

  I’m pretty sure their foreplay is words.

  [ 51 ]

  August 2026

  Dalton Elementary

  Philadelphia

  CONNOR COBALT

  “Charlie!” I race after my eight-year-old son, who just stormed out of the principal’s office at ten a.m., backpack slung over his shoulder. He indignantly and resentfully pushes through the double doors, not slowing, and the moment I’d seen coming for years has finally arrived today.

  The front of the school is quiet except for the American flag dinging the pole. I quickly read his body language, angled diagonally like he plans to step off the path and cross the grass—opposite the parking lot. Charlie goes where he wants to go, and usually it’s nowhere at all.