“Thank you, Lucy.” My voice is rote. Professional. Automatic. “You can head back to your room.”
Her eyes flash, just like they did the first night I told her to go back to the suite. With any luck, though, she’ll be tucked away in bed by the time I get in.
Typically, I aim for at least eight hours of sleep each night, but over the course of the convention, I’ve been getting less and less, coming back to the room later to make sure I don’t run into Lucy.
And, apparently, tonight, I don’t do a good enough job with the timing.
When I open the door to the suite and step inside, I can hear the shower running in the bathroom nearest to her room. Closing my eyes, I pause for a moment and curse softly under my breath—this is much worse than just seeing her here in the seating area.
The sound of the shower practically begs me to imagine her in there, hot water sluicing over her shoulders, hair pushed back from her face, droplets clinging to her lashes and breasts.
And, as stupid as it is, I walk over to the door to listen.
“…no, I’m not being sarcastic,” she laughs, speaking loudly to be heard over the water. For a second, I think someone might be in there with her, then I hear the faint crackle of her phone speaker. She must be balancing it on the edge of the shower. “I really am happy for you. That’s great, Auggie.”
Auggie. I think that’s one of her brothers.
“…because you were starting as a freshman?—”
“Oh, please,” Lucy laughs again, and I can practically see her shaking her head, “there were like, three other girls on the team with me. Coachhadto start me, or there would have been an empty spot on the court.”
The rest of their conversation centers around him starting on the football team, his excitement and nervousness, and his hope that he’ll be made a JV captain. For some reason, I stand at the door and listen to the whole thing, something aching and hollow in my chest.
If I’d gone the typical route, I could have a son. A daughter. In fact, I could have multiple grown children and several divorces under my belt by now, if I’d taken the route most men do.
But it never felt right. Staying with one woman for too long was incongruous with my other goals—and how much time I spent with Cole and Nico. Girlfriends always had a problem with that, either not liking them, or just not understanding why we needed to keep going with the company-building when we were already so wealthy.
Not that any of them ever had a problemspendingmy money.
“Hey!” Lucy says, voice saccharine, and I realize she’s made a new call. This time, it’s a woman’s voice that responds.
“Lucy, are you seriously in the shower right now?”
“It’s been my only free second,” Lucy says, laughing her way through her words, just like she was with her brother. “Don’t lecture me,Mom.”
“You can’t call me that yet. My due date isn’t until the 23rd.”
“You sound scared. Are you?”
“Hellyes—” the woman cuts off, laughing, and says, “Sorry. Yes, I am. Elliot thinks I still shouldn’t swear around the babies, though they’re surrounded by fluids and don’tunderstandanything?—”
“I promise to swear around them after they’re born,” Lucy says, loudly, apparently so Elliot can hear. “To balance things out.”
“Now Elliot is the one swearing,” Mary says, through a giggle, and the two sisters keep talking—about the ultrasound, about potential names, until eventually the topic comes around to Lucy’s work.
“…up on stage, literallyholdingthe toys—” Lucy cuts herself off from laughing too hard, then chokes out, “I promise I lookedsostupid, Mary.”
She didn’t look stupid, but Mary isn’t laughing. Instead, quietly, she says, “You should be careful, Luce. If Mom and Dad catch sight of a video like that…”
I hover near the door, wondering what, exactly, her parents might do to their adult daughter. It’s not even like Lucy is still in college. She’s a grown woman, living on her own—albeit with a family member—but with a degree and a well-paying job.
“I know,” Lucy says, with a gravity to her answer that tells me she’s already thought about it. Sure, I’m aware there’s such a thing as the bible belt, and that some people aren’t as modernas others, but are there really people simple enough to degrade Lucy just because she works for a pleasure-oriented company?
What’s the difference, after all, between sex and cake? Or watching sports, enjoying art? Chasing bodily pleasure is just another way to express what it means to be human.
Of course, there is the proof of my own father disapproving of my company, so maybe it’s not that hard to imagine after all.
“But otherwise, things are going good? You think you’re getting the experience you need? You’re coming home during the summer to help me change diapers, right?”
