“That doesn’t mean I want to have his babies.”
“Maybe not. But considering neither of you seem too concerned about contraception, that might be the reality right now.”
“I guess I just didn’t think…he’d need it. He’s not exactly a strapping young lad. Well, he is strapping. God is he strapping. But he’s not young.”
“Older guys do still have sperm, Amanda.”
“Yeah but don’t they have less? And aren’t they slow swimmers?”
Iris smiles and shakes her head. “I am curious where you learned sex education because your theories are wild.” She glances down at her watch and her face grows sober. “It’s time.”
I take a deep breath, and it comes out shaky. Then I pick up the stick, eyes closed. I try to open them, but I can’t seem to do it.
“Here. You do it.” I hand the stick to Iris and cover my face with my hands.
“Oh goodness,” she lets out softly.
“Goodness good or goodness bad?”
“Just…goodness?”
I move my hands from my face and look down at her. She is grimacing and I take the stick from her.
Two lines.
Shit…
Chapter 27
Callum
“We put Dixie Craze on the stage first because she can get the crowd going. That girl is like a windup toy. With that raspy voice and energy, it’s straight fire. That way the arena is good and heated by the time Frisco Bay Gypsies roll out, it’ll explode. You think? Callum?”
Noah’s voice is white noise. While we sit at Bluefin Sushi one day during lunch, my brain is everywhere but work.
“Yeah, yeah, that sounds good,” I agree, reaching for a dumpling.
“Did you even hear anything I said?”
“You want to throw that Dixie girl on first to get the crowd going. I’m paying attention.”
“Right,” he studies me.
I hate when Noah studies me. Because he’s not just trying to figure out what I’m thinking. No, no. Noah comes with a wrecking ball in his back pocket, ready to blast away several layers of the cement around the bunker of my personal life. I hate it. He loves it. “I didn’t suggest we leave the office for lunch just so we can talk about work more,” I bark out.
“I’m not talking about work. I’m talking about music. But if you’d rather talk about something else…something like, oh I don’t know–”
“Don’t you fucking say it.” I point a chopstick at him.
“Amanda.”
“I told you not to say it. Also, that’s work, and music related.”
Noah grins, popping a piece of a spicy tuna roll in his mouth. “It’s work and music adjacent. So, it doesn’t count.”
“I still don’t want to talk about her,” I say, dipping a piece of sashimi in wasabi soy sauce. The surge of heat in my mouth helps with the heat that’s had itself firmly planted in my groin since I woke up in a puddle of my own dirty, wet thoughts this morning after what might have been the best dream I’ve ever had.
“Why not? I know that’s what you’re thinking about. Who you’re thinking about…”
