I clung to those words, repeated them like a mantra, and did my best to let them sink in. I had to get through this.Had to. It was the only option.
Eventually, I forced myself to move, and Trevor released me.
Sitting up made my head pound and my stomach lurch, and I froze in hopes of letting things settle. It didn’t work.
“God,” Trevor had his head in his hands when he pushed himself off the other side of the bed, “I need a few mimosas.”
My stomach tried to revolt at the mention of alcohol, butI forced it to stay down. It wasn’t the worst idea. I technically hadn’t started the program yet, after all, so I wasn’t breaking any rules. Plus, I was smart enough to realize it literally might be the only thing that would make me feel better at this point.
“Let’s do it.” I stood, swayed, and grabbed my headboard, willing my stomach to stay where it belonged.
Trevor paused in the middle of rounding the bed. “You sure about that? I mean, isn’t it against the rules?”
“What are they going to do me?” I turned to find him frowning at me. “I’m not in the program yet, Trev. It starts today.”
“Yes.Today.”
I rolled my eyes. “It startsafterI go in, and it isn’t like they’re going to inseminate me today.”
My stomach lurched again, only this time it had nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol I’d consumed the night before. I was going to be inseminated. With a stranger’s sperm. By the government. And if that didn’t work, they would do it again. And again. And again. It was insane. Wrong. A violation. But it was the law, and I had no choice.
As if sensing my shift in the mood, Trevor rounded the bed and threw his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s get that drink.”
Alcohol sounded about as appealing as spreading my legs for a government sanctioned rape, but when Trevor handed me the glass of bubbling liquid – with just a splash of orange juice – I forced myself to drink it quickly. Again, my insides protested but gave very little objection when I downed the second glass. And even less with the third. It was nine by then, and, like me, Trevor was feeling better. Good enough that he was scrolling through his messages on whatever dating app he was currently trying out.
“Oh,” he said, narrowing his eyes on the screen, “this one might have potential.”
Since I was sitting on the other side of my sagging couch, I scooted closer and looked over his shoulder at the smiling face of a blond man in his thirties. His face was a little soft for my taste, and even in his picture he gave off the vibe of someone who was into clean eating and excessive exercise, but he wasn’t bad.
“Give me the details,” I said as I sipped my fourth – andwhat would be my final – mimosa.
“Owen Phillips. He’s thirty-one, a widower.” Trevor paused when I made a sympathetic sound. “He owns his own vegan catering company and likes to backpack.”
I’d totally called it.
“Sounds like a possibility,” I said instead of pointing out that Trevor loved red meat almost as much as sex.
The problem was, the dating pool was seriously shallow. Pandemic after pandemic had decimated the human race, leaving a whole generation of people struggling to find love. And while it was difficult for those of us who were straight, it was doubly hard for those who weren’t. Especially in areas like this.
“Does he live close?” I asked, thinking of the multiple weekend trips Trevor had taken in hopes of findingthe one.
He scrolled down and his eyes lit up. “West Chester.”
That was about an hour away. Not bad.
“I say give it a shot.”
“I will.” He was back to reading the very long message the other guy had sent him. “He actually wanted to know if we could get together tonight.”
His gaze flicked to me, and I worked to keep my expression even despite my sinking heart. I didn’t begrudge Trevor wanting to date even if it wasn’t something I was into, and he was my closest friend. I wanted him to be happy. But tonight? I’d counted on being able to go to his house after work so I could float in his pool and cry on his shoulder if necessary.
“I don’t have to go,” he said, obviously not fooled by my brave face.
“It’s fine.” I scooted away from him, pretending I was focused on straightening the magazines on my coffee table so he couldn’t see the tears brimming in my eyes.
It wasn’t fair. I knew it wasn’t fair. That didn’t stop my emotions from trying to get the better of me.
“Ara,” he said, grabbing my hand. “I can do it another night. It’s last minute, anyway.”
