“I’m the president.” His words are a growl that vibrates my ear.
“That’s all I care about,” I assure him, letting my lips graze his earlobe.
He pulls back, that dark, hungry look in his eyes once more. “See you in the morning.”
“See you tomorrow,” I murmur, pivoting and turning my attention back to the girls.
For a second I feel him looking at me, then the feeling vanishes.
“Uh, yeah.” Samantha looks around the table. “Anyone else ready to go home and screw their husbands after watching those two?”
“And get pregnant again? No thanks.” Liz’s answer is accompanied by a lip curl.
“Your mouth can’t get pregnant, Liz,” Amanda says loudly enough to draw attention from the table of older women nearby. I duck my head and look away.
“Anyway, can we please talk about that walking sex machine? I’m going to call him that because that’s what I want to call him,” Amanda informs me, but she stares at me, making it clear I’m supposed to respond.
“I cannot confirm your new name for him. We’re just friends.” I think. Friends who kiss. I know that’s a thing. What about friends who hold truth sticks and say the worst things they feel? Andthenkiss.
“You won’t be for long.” It’s Charlie speaking now, which takes me by surprise. “That tension was” —she holds a fist in front of her and makes slashing motions— “thick enough to cut. You’d better hop on that stool before someone else gets there first.”
I shake my head, wishing I could sneak a peek at Brady without being obvious. “Brady’s getting over something very significant.”
“He has a broken heart?” Samantha asks, her tone doing this half-simper, half-maternal thing.
I look around at their faces. A moment ago they were going to go home and pretend their husbands were Brady, and now they all want to take him under their wings and place a cartoon-themed bandage on his heart.
“Can we talk about something else, please?” I drain the contents of my glass. I don’t want to spend any more time talking about Brady, or me and Brady. I don’t know what I have to offer, I don’t know what he’s capable of offering, and it’s all too much for me right now.
Liz yawns loudly and grabs some money from her wallet. “I’m going to have to move on completely, ladies.” Amanda moans like a whiny child, which prompts Liz to say, “I have to get up with a baby at least twice tonight.” She points to her breasts and makes a moo’ing sound.
After she leaves, I ask, “Is it really that bad?” I’ve always wanted a family, but tonight I’m getting introduced to the dark side of the dream, and it’s frightening.
“Nope,” Amanda says, popping the ‘p’ sound. “Kids are the best. Sometimes they’re assholes, but name somebody who isn’t every now and then. It comes down to this,” she taps the tabletop with the tip of her fingernail. “A kid will fill a hole in your heart you never knew was there.”
I blink. Amanda has been forthcoming all night, but something about what she just said feels incredibly intimate.
Charlie claps her hands. “I’m so excited to meet this little guy!”
“Don’t wish these days away,” Amanda warns. “Once he’s here, you can’t put him back.”
Charlie starts asking questions about childbirth and infants, and I only half-listen. Someday this will all be fascinating to me, but right now I’m more interested in my current issues. Specifically, theissuesitting across the room from me. I’m dying to turn around and find him, but I don’t want to get caught.
“Does anybody want another drink?” I ask, interrupting Samantha. “Sorry,” I tell her, placing my hand on her forearm.
The group consensus is that another round is needed. I wave away offers of cash and insist this one is on me. I’m a nice person, but this run for more wine is really so I can locate Brady without craning my neck.
I walk to the far end of the bar and place our order, then lean back against it while I wait, casually (at least, I hope it looks that way) scanning the place. In a corner booth, Brady sits facing me. Our gazes lock, as if we’re magnets.
“Hi,” he mouths.
“Hey,” I mouth back, my stomach doing back flips and my fingers curling into a surreptitious wave.
Suddenly, his face darkens. I’m confused, but the reason for Brady’s look is cleared up almost instantaneously.
“You look like you could use some company.”
My gaze swivels to the voice coming from right beside me. A dark-haired man stands too close, smelling of whiskey and arrogance.
