Josh and Brody's books are next in the IHFP line but... here's a sneak peek at the end of it:

"Ellie, let's make a baby."

My head snapped up so hard a nerve pinched right where my neck met my left shoulder. After more time passed than I realized where my only response was my jaw dropped into the basement of our condo building, I narrowed my eyes at my obviously insane husband. "It's not like a cake."

A devious smirk curled up the corners of my still insane but ridiculously handsome husband's face. "No, but we'd make one damn amazing kid together. So... let's make one."

"You know, you don't have to drop romantic lines like that to get me in bed," I shot back, my voice soaked with sarcasm. "Consider it a marriage perk."

With a slight head shake, I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling and turned my back. My attention was better off at the stove, where Logan was lucky that I hadn't burned my hands off at his blurted out request to my simple question of whether mushroom omelets were okay for breakfast.

"I know," was the cocky response from his barstool seat behind our open kitchen's counters. His voice had only gotten deeper the longer we'd been married and, every damn time he dropped it, the hairs on the back of my neck raised up.

I shot him a glance over my shoulder, a check for any signs he was kidding. His bicep muscles bulged, probably flexed on purpose, as he rested his elbows on the white quartz surface, still shiny and flat despite years of kitchen abuse from me, and he cupped his chin in his palms.

The longer he looked at me, the more his expression turned serious. The blue in his eyes deepened, his thin lips pulled into a firm line, and even his jaw ticked. His words though, were anything but serious, "Let me knock you up."

"Logan!" I croaked out as my throat squeezed itself tighter and I nearly missed the plate I slid his omelet onto. "You know I'm on birth control."

His broad shoulders lifted slightly and the casual tone of his voice sent my mind into a miniature downward spiral. With one fork stabbed into the rolled up eggs, spinach, kale, mushrooms, feta cheese, and ham on his plate, he offered, "Toss 'em. Flush 'em."

"I..." My lower lip rolled under. "I am not flushing an IUD down the toilet."

By this point, I wouldn't have been surprised if my jaw still hadn't pulled up to the condo floor below us. It hung down so long that the taste buds on my tongue dried out. My hands palmed the island between us. "You're serious."

"Completely." His ocean-blue eyes stared at me with such intensity that the hairs on the back of my neck raised to porcupine level. "Ellie, we've been married for three years. You're my best friend. I have no idea how that ginormous heart fits in your tiny body but you'll be a great mom."

My hands trembled, so I drew them onto my hips. "And how do you know that?"

"You take care of me." A few crease lines etched where his cheeks met his mouth as Logan grinned widely, slid off his chair, and walked around the island until his arms hugged around me. Both his palms flattened and stilled mine with a wall of warmth pressed down on them. "And Josh was alive the whole time he was here."

True. Those two nearly ate the shelves empty at our neighborhood grocery store.

Two twenty-three-year-old professional football players as roommates had been an experience in itself but, after [spoiler omitted].

I craned my neck back and stared up at my silly husband, whose large hands now kneaded into my ass cheeks.

Both my eyebrows lifted when he tugged my hips right into his... babymaker. In a squeaky voice, I reminded him, "And football?"

Completely unfazed, he pointed out the obvious, "I have two years left on my contract but we have more than enough money."

Logan wasn't wrong. While he'd silently donated a million dollars a year to Mary's house, our charity of choice, and two million to Seattle-based charities, sadly most of Logan's income went to taxes. Still, his $12 million per year contract, with performance-based bonuses, had us set for life within one year.

Or one month, really.

"So..." I tapped my index finger on my lips as I looked up into the completely-still serious look in his eyes. "You'll stay home and take care of a baby?"

I say that like I'm the one financially supporting us.

My irregular job as a nutrition consultant for Seattle's public school system honestly was more like a hobby, but one I'd worked hard for and exercised most of my energy on.

"Maybe, or do something else." He shrugged again, like the indecision of his life's work wasn't a big deal. "I'd make one sexy DILF though."

"I don't doubt that," I murmured quietly and leaned my head back against his shoulder, or more like his armpit with our height difference.

My thoughts swam at the mental image of him at a Mommy and me playgroup. Uncontrollable giggles pitched my shoulders and escaped my mouth at the mental image of a baby strapped onto the front of his 6ft5 frame, his giant hands wrapped around a stroller handle, and a completely frazzled look on his face.

Both Logan and I were around children a lot. He volunteered with the NFL play 360 program and Seattle Children's Hospital and yes, the sight of him with children throbbed even my shitty ovaries. I had more baby cousins than I could count and visited classrooms whenever I went for a nutritional review and spoke to kids about the importance of nutrition.

But still... us... parents?

The idea dizzied my head slightly. As if Logan knew to snap me out of it, his hands squeezed me again, which released a soft squeak from inside me.

"I'll..." I swallowed hard against the lump that choked off my throat. "Think about it. It might not be easy though, my PCOS...."

Logan's soft lips pressed into the side of my neck and flushed a rush of warmth through me. "We'll do it together, baby. Just tell me that you'll think about it."

"I..." My lower lip rolled under my teeth and I bit it hard because the way his lips worked over my skin wasn't helping my thoughts stay coherent. "Yes."

With one last thrust of his hips and groan of satisfaction, Jake's warmth flowed inside me. He pressed his lips against mine, then withdrew slowly. As he did, my walls clenched hard and an odd, tugging sensation exited with him, almost like...

"Uhh.. Harper?" Jake's eyes flooded with confusion while he looked down in between my legs. With one sweep of his hand, his fingers lifted up a one-inch, plastic, Y-shaped apparatus that I knew wasn't the fucking wishbone of a turkey.

Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!

My eyes couldn't have stretched any wider and my hands trembled violently as I braced myself on the bathroom counters. "Th-that's... oh shit!"

Weakness took my knees but I slipped off the counters, into Jake's grasp as I pitched forwards. I clung tightly onto the bottom of his now wrinkled dress shirt at the realization of what happened. Blackness filled my vision as I squeezed my eyes tightly shut.

"What is this?" Jake the dumbass obviously had no idea, only looked at my no longer permanent birth control by the time I cracked my eyes open.

"My IUD... it... f-fell out," I mumbled and clenched harder onto his shirt, since I was now one freak-out thought away from my ass hitting the floor.

"Well, can't you just put it back in?" Even though we were here for the ESPYs, Jake nominated himself for the fucking clueless award.

I threw the dumbass my best death-laser eyes. "Yeah, just let me whip out my gyn license and stick a fucking IUD back inside myself," I snapped, grabbed it from his hands, then chucked it into a nearby trash bin.

My trembling hands palmed my face and the loud groans I pushed out echoed off the bathroom walls. "This is... oh, we're so fucked. I-I can't, we can't-"

"Hey..." A pair of large, warm hands wrapped around my violently heaving shoulders. "It's okay, Harper. Breathe."

Still not breathing. Those things aren't supposed to fucking fall out.

How Jake was entirely unaffected while I was one breath away from passing out I had no idea, but he kept his voice cool and even-toned. "I'm sure it's fine. We'll be okay."

We will be once I chop his balls off.