“No.” I interrupted, cutting him off as I flipped to the next page of names.
“What the hell do you mean, ‘no’?” He growled, crossing his arms over his chest. Unfortunately for him, we’d already had sex about an hour ago, otherwise my pregnant, hormonal brain would have gone into a fit at seeing his muscular arms flexing over his chest like that. But these stakes were just too high to risk a distraction. Even if he did look ridiculously good in that tight undershirt.
“I said, no, Hap,” I repeated as I looked him straight in the eye, speaking slowly, like I was dealing with a confused child. “There is no way in hell we’re naming our son, Jack Daniel Lowman.”
“Oh, come on, little girl,” he argued, plopping down on the couch next to me as he ran a calloused palm over my baby bump, trying to sweet talk me. “All the guys thought it was a great name! Tig’s only sorry he didn’t think of it first!”
“Of course he would think that!” I laughed humorlessly as I slammed my book shut, “That weirdo named his girls Dawn and Fawn. Jesus, Happy, that’s almost as bad as naming a girl, Tequila Rose, or something!”
He coughed uncomfortably and looked away, trying to hide the blush that was now starting to darken the tips of his ears.
“Aww, baby,” I laughed.
“Shaddup!” he groaned, pretending to fend off my hands as one rubbed his neck and the other grabbed his hand on my belly.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” I cooed, leaning into him and placing a kiss on his bare arm before resting my chin on his shoulder, “We pick out a semi normal name for our son, and we can get another pitbull and name him Jack. Ok?”
He side eyed me warily, testing to see if I was serious or not.
“As long as his full name is Jack the Ripper,” I teased, winking at him. He smiled wide and leaned in to peck my lips, nipping playfully at my bottom lip before pulling back.
“You got a deal, baby girl!”
I smiled and pecked my old man’s lips before leaning against him and opening my book again. Glad to spend the evening cuddled up to Hap for the night, and to talk about what we both were going to name our little man.
You prey on a prostitute and play with her body. I don’t mind that you’re naughty, Frollo- I hate that you’re sloppy! Someone take me back to solitary confinement, becausethis dirty little lamb has just been silenced.
Who won? Who’s next?
This is complete crack, but Epic Rap Battles of History is one of my greatest guilty pleasures. And this one in particular happens to be one of my favorites.
(And some ideas strike you and refuse to leave you alone until you draw it and get it out of your system, no matter howridiculous they are)