When the tech produced a bottle of lube, I had to bite my lip to keep from announcing I was so turned on, that wouldn’t be necessary. I began to giggle at the ridiculous thought, embarrassed and, yes, still kind of turned on. I snort-laughed and almost peed myself, Matt’s attention turning from intense to bemused. When he asked later what had made me laugh, I couldn’t think of an answer that was anything other thanyour cock.
Truly. Your cock. And I almost said that.
Pregnancy hormones areinsane.
I’m trying to shake off the recurring cringe as my bare feet pad across the warm wooden floor on the way to my desk when my phone vibrates with a text.
“Who can that be?” I say to Flip. “My money’s on Daddy.”
Did I say that a little smuttily? A girl can dream.And she does. Often.
Matt: I have a dinner this evening, so I won’t be home for long.
I frown down at my phone, my mood dipping along with my head. I was looking forward to hanging out with Matt tonight. I’d had a good day and was feeling kind of peppy.
Not anymore.
Me: Okay. Well, you have fun!
Matt: It’s nothing special. Just dinner with the guys from Maven and their better halves.
My heart gives a little wobble. I should’ve met them all by now, but I’ve been so caught up in my own head. And now I feel like it’s just too late. I mean, I will meet them. I’ll have to, because Matt has already spoken about asking them to be godparents—padrinosandmadrinas, so he says.
He asked if I had anyone in mind, but I just shrugged and said he could choose because it meant more to him than me. Who would I ask, anyway?
Me: I hope you have a good time. You deserve to let your hair down.
He rarely goes out—barely drinks around me.
Matt: They’d all love to meet you, if you’re up for it.
But they’re married. And we’re not together. Don’t you think it’s a little strange?
Though I begin to type this out, I delete it all while ignoring the chicken that has begun to cluck in my head.
Me: I will meet them but not tonight. I’m beat.
Matt: The offer’s there if you change your mind.
Me: Thanks, but I won’t, but you have fun. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!
Matt: Oh, the possibilities.
Me: Of fun?
Matt: Of the kinds of things you wouldn’t do. Given the kinds of things I know you’ve already done ...
His text seems to arrive with a taunting inflection and that velvety tone of his. Is he flirting, or am I imagining things?
Me: That’s an origin story we won’tEverreveal to Flip.
Matt: It would certainly make the “where do babies come from” conversation very awkward.
Me: Agreed!
Matt: A child will always be too young to hear how he was conceived, especially when the tale includes pseudo sex workers, green lingerie, and the kind of mind-blowing sex that ruins you for all other encounters.
I typeMatt, please.
