Shit. No. I can’t face anyone right now.
Another knock.Dammit.
I stand from where I’m cleaning out the inside of the bar fridge. Something that feels an awful lot like anticipation runs through my belly when I see him through the glass door. As if it could be anyone else.
Maybe he forgot something here. Maybe that’s it. Or maybe he’s like me and needs work to distract him from what we did in that hotel room.
Yeah, right.
Whatever the case, I unlock the door, avoiding his gaze as he comes inside. It slams closed. We stand here.
“You okay?” His light eyes search my face.
I nod. “Yep. You?”
“Yeah. I thought I’d…” He indicates the kitchen and then stops, arms dropping at his sides. “You think it worked?”
Byithe obviously means the pregnancy. I know it’s not meant to be sexy, yet my body seems to think it’s unspeakably hot. Every time we talk about it. Every time he comes close, I’m turned on.
“There’s no way of?—”
“I know that. But I’ve heard people justknowsometimes. Like an instinct or something.”
After a second’s consideration, I shake my head. “No. Nothing.”
He nods, shoves his hands in the back pockets of those hip-hugging trousers, and looks over the big dining room. “You’re ovulating, right?”
After a shocked initial reaction, I nod. “Yeah.”
“Let me know when you’re ready to try again,” he says, innocuously enough, though his expression’s pure fire.
I nod.
With that, he opens the door and walks back out into the night. Tattooed perfection in custom-cut clothes.
I don’t allow myself to watch him stalk to his truck or drive out of the lot. It’s a problem, I guess, that I want to. I can imagine his long-legged stride well enough: the solid, wide back, the way his thighs fill out pants that were not conceived to contain so much muscle. He’s all heft, all brawn, and yet, walking back to the bar, I concede that there’s another side to the man. Under the tattoos, the scars, and the hard bulk I’ve now felt the weight of, there’s a person who’s got just as complicated a history as mine. Maybe more.
I stare down at the shiny bar, towel in hand, for half a minute before it occurs to me that we both just insinuated we’ll be doing it again, which is absolutely against the rules. My rules, dammit.
Once, the contract said.One time only. And now…
I pull out my phone to text him that it’s not happening again, but end up opening my fertility tracker app instead and the first thing I see is the ovulation symbol, big and fat and happily smiling at me from the calendar.
Maybe…maybe I can change this one rule, to up my chances of getting pregnant. Just the one.
Instead of the cease and desist message I’d planned on sending, I tap out a quick:Tomorrow, same time and place,hit send, and shove my phone away like it’s dangerous.
Immediately I pull it back out and type:One time only.No more changing the rules. We have a contract.
Sure,he replies. I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or straightforward.
Quickly, I reserve a room, wishing it weren’t quite so expensive, although it’s nothing compared to the cost of IVF.
I select my payment information, hit the Confirm button, and stare down at where it says the reservation’s nonrefundable.
This is a bad idea, isn’t it?
Yeah. It’s a terrible idea. But nonrefundable means there’s no going back now.
