Last night, he completely shut down when I questioned him about having more children. I’m an idiot for sticking my nose in his business, but it sort of fell out of my mouth as fast as a tampon falling out of my backpack in high school.
Without my consent, my mind conjures up images of Bea swapping her doll baby for a real one, fresh out of the oven, while proudly wearing an “I’m the Big Sister” shirt. As I stare up at the ceiling, I can visualize it, her battling me to bathe the infant in the sink and attempting to place cucumber slices over the baby’s eyes.
A laugh escapes my lips.
Wait. Shit. Why am I fantasizing myself in this faux scenario?
Before I have a chance to dissect that novel development, Asher moseys into the room. He’s shirtless, in nothing but dark red boxer briefs that look make his ass look like red velvet cake.
As I sit up, the thin strap of my silk pajama top slides off my shoulder, and in response, his jaw ticks. He offers me a cup of coffee, then settles under the sheets and sips from his own mug.
Butterflies flutter in my belly. Damn, this is the best way to wake up.
“Morning.”
“Mor—” I clear my throat. “Morning. Have you been up long?”
He shakes his head. “I texted Millie. Wanted to apologize for leaving without saying goodbye.”
“Thank you for the coffee.” I clink my cup against his. “How are our favorite newlyweds doing?”
“Don’t know. She hasn’t texted back.”
“She’s probably too busy?—”
He throws up a hand. “Don’tsay it.”
“Hey, if I had to endure a sex shop with my brother yesterday, you can handle?—”
“La, la, la,” he sings, sticking a finger in his ear like Bea does when he tells her she has to eat her vegetables. “My baby sister is innocent, and I will not be debating it.”
I cackle at his shenanigans and he pops a smile in return.
After another sip of my coffee, I place the mug on my nightstand, then swing my legs over the side of the bed.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“To the bathroom. And to brush my teeth. Then you’re going to fuck me again.”
Coffee sputters down his chin. “What?” he breathes as he wipes at the dribble with the back of his hand.
“You heard me.”
“Claire.” His firm tone compels me to stop and turn to him. “Come here,” he says. “We should talk about that first.”
“Sure. One sec. I really do have to pee.”
Spinning quickly, I excuse myself, smiling as I go.
When I return, he trades places with me in the bathroom, then sits on the bed beside me.
“I was serious when I said what we—whatI—did was reckless. I shouldn’t have put you in that position and I’m sorry.”
“It takes two to tango, you know,” I tell him casually. “I could have said no. Plus, I believe I was the one who, you know…” With my thumb and forefinger, I form a circle. Then I insert my other forefinger through the hole.
Thankfully, he grins at my ridiculous pantomime.
“Do you want to quit hooking up?”Please say no. Please say no.
