“Wouldn’t want to do that,” he murmured. “Don’t worry, I can manage with my filthy imagination.” He cast his gaze around as if looking for inspiration.
I shot a furtive glance to my underwear drawer, not to guide him there, but because now all I could think of was Jason Isner in my bedroom masturbating while I was on the other side of the door. Listening.
That would not be ethical at all.
“I’ll play music loudly so you won’t have to be concerned about … restraint.” Was he noisy? Quiet? Gruff? Gentle?
I would never know.
“Is there anything you need from me?” I held up a hand. “Be serious.”
Another grin, followed by the pop of that dimple. “Think I’ve got it from here.”
I left him to it and immediately turned on the sound system. Quickly I scrolled through my playlist. Should I have asked if he had a preference? Did it matter?
Taylor’s Life of a Showgirl seemed appropriate here, particularly “Wood.” I suspected Jason Isner knew nothing about Taylor’s music, but this would be a fun joke that I could enjoy. I hit “play” and turned up the volume, then I retreated to the kitchen, the farthest place from my bedroom. I boiled a kettle for tea, another sound that would muffle any noisy output.
What was he doing in there?
Exactly what you hired him for.
Okay, “hired” was all wrong. After all, Jason would be involved as far as he wanted to be. I was skeptical of his interest in the long-term nature of the enterprise, though. He would likely get bored after a while, and we would eventually have to come up with a different custodial and financial arrangement. After all, my own mother had determined motherhood wasn’t for her when she dumped us with Dad. But it wasn’t because of Cat—no, I was to blame. Too weird. Too geeky. Too uninterested in the things she cared about like make-up and pretty dresses. And as a result, she gave up on us.
If any child I conceived with Jason wasn’t sporty enough, I couldn’t imagine him maintaining his interest. If he hadn’t lost it long before then.
I looked down at Bunsen, who was viewing me with bored disinterest.
“It’ll just be us, Bunny. Me, you, Beaker, and the baby.”
Bunsen hissed, not liking the sound of that. He would come around.
Jason
* * *
Well, this was weird.
I had all the ingredients for a good time: lotion, tissues, and my right hand. But the vibe was the oddest setup I’d ever experienced. This was what I signed on for, though I had to wonder why we couldn’t just do it the old-fashioned way.
I’d seen how the doc looked at me when she answered the door. That was appreciation in those smoky blues, and that faint blush when I mentioned my love for her dirty talk definitely stirred me in the right direction. So she was far from my usual type, but I could have managed, knowing I would be making a mini-Jason.
I looked around. So this was where it all didn’t happen.
I’d say this for her, the room had personality. Moving closer, I scanned the shelves. A couple of things that looked like science models, a diorama of a glass room with a red open-topped coupe, a Funko Pop figure in a box—Cameron from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. The diorama was Cameron’s dad’s car, the one they “borrowed” for the eponymous day. There was a small gift card attached to it.
Best day ever, remember? Love you, sis! – Cat
Tons of books, a mix of fiction—mostly romance—and science lined the lower shelves. So, the doc was a romantic at heart. When had she given up on finding true love? So she wasn’t my type, but if anything proved the adage that there was someone for everyone, it was having seen plenty of teammates, family, and friends find love over the years. Sure, half of them were divorced, but they’d still trotted as far as the altar. They had still believed. Maybe the doc had been unlucky in that area. Or she was too busy figuring out how snails do it to reckon with the human side of it.
That was her research focus: mating habits of snails. I had checked out her faculty page on the Lakeshore University website. Her bio photo showed her prim and serious, sexy librarian style with those slutty little glasses. If you liked that sort of thing.
This woman was smart, though, and I had to admit enjoying all those big words. Ejaculate. Masturbation. Ethical pornography. Damned if I understood how detached she could be about it all. I was about to jerk off into a cup, and she was playing Taylor Fucking Swift.
I had the album like everyone else.
The idea that I could produce no more than a teaspoon was ludicrous. I’d done my research and the minute we signed that contract, I stopped my spank. I knew how important it was to produce in quantity, though I was fairly confident the slightest drop of my powerful sperm would do the trick. Christ, all it took was one night and a defective condom for Theo to get Elle pregnant. Surely, with this much planning, I could manage the same with Francesca St. James.
It would probably help if I took my jeans off.
