“It has a second bedroom I can turn into a nursery. It’s an office now, but I can compromise.” I handed him a glass of water.
He gulped it down, and as he was a strange entity in my space, I had to make a choice: look away or become unfortunately fascinated by the thick, tanned column of his throat. I’d rather not say which won out.
Once finished, he set the glass down on the kitchen counter.
“So you’re willing to compromise on that.”
“On an office versus a nursery? I don’t see that’s all that difficult a choice. If necessary, I’ll get a bigger place, but for now I want to focus on the baby. Jason, what’s going on?”
His mouth twitched. “Going on?”
“While I appreciate you bringing my jacket over, I’m not sure our relationship, such as it is, warrants this level of familiarity.”
He chuckled and rubbed his chin. “Warrants this level of familiarity? Interesting way of putting it. I guess I’m here to plead my case.”
“Your case?”
“To be your baby daddy.”
Chapter Eleven
Jason
* * *
I doubted anything I could have said would have shocked Franky St. James more.
I probably should have been pretty surprised myself, but coming to this conclusion was a whole lot easier than it should have been. This might be my last chance at having a kid, and hey, lookie here—a woman who wanted one. So it wasn’t a regular situation, but I wasn’t likely to ever be in a regular situation.
I knew this much: relationships were not my bag. Maybe I just hadn’t met the right person, but in the meantime, I was missing out on fatherhood. I loved my nieces and nephews, but it wasn’t the same. I wanted a kid of my own.
I’d seen how Franky was around Tilly and the other kids in the Rebels verse. She was good at meeting them on their level and giving them the attention they deserved. With the hand she’d been dealt, she had clearly decided a man wasn’t a hurdle to her goal. As I was talking with her earlier, I realized: I could take a page out of her book. She didn’t need a man, I didn’t need a woman, at least not for a romantic relationship. We just needed each other, for this very specific task.
She still hadn’t said anything.
“Did you hear me?”
“I’m not sure what I heard.”
Not only had I shocked her, I had left her speechless. Now most guys would worry about that. Me? I saw it as a good sign. It took a lot to shut the professor up. This woman was never short of an opinion.
I went on. “So I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot?—”
“Over twenty years ago.”
“Uh huh. But even if we don’t get along?—”
“Which we don’t.”
My cock stirred. Was this hot? It might be. But that wasn’t why I was here.
“Then it wouldn’t make a difference. That asshole business isn’t genetic.”
“Sure about that?”
Oh-so-fucking-droll. “You tell me. You’re the scientist.”
“Well, there are personality traits that follow from one generation to another. But research by Piaget indicates that education and nurture can be just as powerful, if not more so.”
