“And I stopped to ask her what in the hell she was thinking. If she wants a baby so much, surely there are other options. People who would be crazy enough to have a kid with her.”
Conor narrowed his eyes at me. “Isn’t that the point? She feels she doesn’t have the usual options, so she’s resorting to sperm requests from the eligible men of her acquaintance.”
I snorted. “Eligible? Right. You know she has a list.” Before anyone could ask, I said, “You’re not on it, Hatchling. Too young. Neither are you, Connie. Definitely too young.”
I assumed so because she specifically said she was looking for donors over the age of thirty and would be avoiding the youngsters because it wasn’t already weird enough. To think I was listed, but I was missing the cut because of some technicality pissed me off in ways I couldn’t begin to understand.
Hatch was still regarding me oddly. “Are you on it?”
“Apparently, but only as a formality. I don’t meet her lofty standards.”
“You mean your superior athlete genetic material isn’t sufficient?”
Just what I needed, someone else with opinions.
“Some jocks might make the grade. But this one”—I thumbed at myself—“isn’t evolved enough. Which is fine because if I had a kid, the entire Rebels roster couldn’t keep me away. I’m not like Nick.”
Conor shook his head. “It’s just sperm, man. People need to be less attached to it.”
Hatch pointed at him. “And that’s the kind of attitude that’s going to get you into trouble. You’d better be wrapping it before you’re tapping it, Connie.”
They started sniping at each other about birth control and who had the messier sex life. Neither of these kids was in the running with Francesca St. James, but I wondered who was—and why I even cared. Maybe because all this baby talk reminded me of Everly, my ex in Boston.
So I was a touch sensitive about it. Hearing the professor tell me I wasn’t qualified for her baby experiment had rubbed me the wrong way. But maybe she was onto something. I tended towards the asshole end of the spectrum in her presence, so of course I wasn’t in the running. Not that I wanted to be, but I didn’t like being dismissed so readily.
Fuck, I hated all this navel-gazing.
So I was glad when my nephews quit their fraternal bashing and we hit the ice once more.
Chapter Seven
Franky
* * *
I had just pulled into a parking spot on Riverbrook’s main drag when my phone rang. Sean.
I felt relief more than hope. I had no plan to renew my application, but I did want to talk to him because he was my friend, and my request had blindsided him.
“Hello.”
“Hey there. How are you?”
“I’m well. Just on my way to the coffee shop.”
“Man, I love those cinnamon rolls.”
His nod to that shared memory, the two of us enjoying a pastry as I tutored him in algebra, felt like an opening. Or maybe forgiveness for my ham-fisted approach.
I took a breath. “Sean, I’m?—”
“I wanted to say?—”
We both chuckled nervously at talking over each other. I spoke again. “I’m sorry.”
“That was my line!”
Another joint chuckle, easier this time.
