Free The Real Soccer Moms of Beaver County by H.J. Bellus, Magan Vernon Page A

doubled as a tiny kitchen.
    Brady was hunched over the kitchen table, another refinishing project that he painted black and stenciled some flowers on that looked very phallic. His eyes were glued to his computer screen and his brown hair was stood up on all ends as if he’d been running his fingers through it for hours.
    Oh yeah this was another business venture. Dammit.
    “Hey, babe,” I cooed, putting my hand on his shoulder.
    His shoulders tensed and he shut the Macbook before whirling around, his eyes widening before he took his glasses off and set them on the table. “Hey. I didn’t hear you get up.”
    Raising an eyebrow, I adjusted Oleander. All it usually took was one look to get Brady to confess to whatever he had planned. It was how I always got my way, whether it be getting him to push Suzy Jackson off the swings in elementary school so it could be my turn, or our prom night, that turned into the conception of Saige. This ironically was the color of the dress that Brady ripped open in the back of the minivan to get to my panties.
    “Just looking up an address. Clancy texted me this morning to see if I could help him out with some equipment stuff at the rec center, so I’ll be gone doing that all day.”
    I blinked hard. “You’re going to miss Saige’s soccer game?”
    Brady’s face fell and he ran his palm along his forehead. “Shit, that’s today isn’t it?”
    “Does anyone besides me even look at the calendar?” I pointed my free hand toward the large, dry erase calendar that took up almost are entire living room wall. It was filled with the kid’s activities, my work schedule, and anything else that needed to be added in our crazy life with four kids.
    Brady sighed and put his hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry, babe. Tell Saige I’ll be there in spirit, okay? I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to interrupt girl time with you and your new soccer mom posse anyway.”
    I wrinkled my nose. “You did not just call it a posse.”
    He gave me that megawatt smile that always had me dropping my panties, and most of the reason the guy needed to get a vasectomy so I could stop getting pregnant. Four kids in eight years was killing me.
    Leaning in, he kissed my forehead, then kissed Oleander’s chubby little arm that wouldn’t let go of my boob.
    “I’ll see you tonight. Okay? Maybe I’ll even pick up a pizza for dinner.”
    “Did someone say pizza?” Willow hung her curly head over the side of the loft.
    “Only if you’re good at your brother’s soccer game,” Brady said, giving her the same smile.
    Willow gave him a thumbs up before Brady walked out the front door, leaving me alone with a lot of questions.

Chapter Eight
    C heater , Cheater, Pumpkin Eater

    “ C an I ask you something ?” I turned toward Moira.
    She’d been working at the funeral home as long as I had, on the taxidermy side, and as the only other woman besides my mother-in-law, we were forced into being friends.
    It also helped in having someone to walk to the kids’ soccer games with, that wasn’t Blanche giving one of us the stink eye.
    “Unless you want me to massage your tits again like that last time you had that breastfeeding problem, the answer is yes.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Get mastitis one time and ask a friend for help at work, and it hangs with you for life.”
    Oleander stirred in my Moby wrap as if the kid got hungry just from hearing the word “tit”.
    “Okay, spill,” Moira said, flicking something off her shoulder.
    It was nine in the freaking morning and the woman was in sky-high heels with her hair blown out and makeup airbrushed on. This was rec league soccer, not the club, and there was no way in hell I’d be able to get the two-month-old off my tit long enough to even put on mascara.
    Glancing behind us, I saw that Saige, and Moira’s son, Harry, were kicking the soccer ball in the grass and having some kind of little kid conversation. In front of us, Willow kept shoving Cypress and