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“This is a lifelong commitment. Child support might only last eighteen years but he or she will be your kid forever.”
“I can afford it.”
“And it might get messy. What if I don’t get pregnant for…a year?”
“I think we’re circling back to the whole thing where sex is fun. I mean, do you think you’re not going to enjoy the getting pregnant part?”
“I don’t…always.” Her expression is guarded, like she’s embarrassed about this.
But of all the things to worry about, her pleasure isn’t even in the top five.
“You will,” I promise gruffly. “That’s one thing I can promise you.”
“Well, you can’t go out with other women while we’re together!” she blurts.
“Believe me, I don’t have time to be jumping into bed with different women. I’m still pretty damn good, but I’m not seventeen.”
“Maybe not, but what if you get bored…with… me?”
There it is—the vulnerability she keeps so well-hidden most of the time.
“Princess, there isn’t a chance in hell I’m going to get bored. Can you at least try to believe that?”
She nods, but I can tell she’s still hesitant. I don’t know what I have to do to make her agree because the more this sits with me, the more I know it’s the right move. I said it as a joke earlier but it stuck with me, and when the words slipped out a second time, it instantly became real. Imagining her pregnant with my child gives me a semi. The thought of Roger—or anyone that isn’t me—knocking her up is physically painful. I literally can’t even imagine it now that this idea has taken hold.
“Just tell me what’s on your mind,” I say finally. “The truth. Whatever it is. If you don’t like guys with muscles. If you think people are going to talk shit about us. Whatever it is, spit it out.”
“I like who I am,” she says carefully. “I’ve come to accept my body and the hormonal things this disease does to it. I’m extremely intelligent and hardworking, but I’m also quirky as fuck. My hair will probably never be the same color—well, until I get pregnant. Then I’ll stop dying it until the baby comes.”
I don’t comment, waiting for her to get out whatever it is that’s causing her hesitation.
“And I love sex. I’m down for almost anything with a serious partner, but since we wouldn’t be in a romantic relationship, I’m already uncomfortable thinking about you seeing me naked. And—” She continues, lifting a hand to stop me when I open my mouth. “—I have a past. I’m not talking about body count, either.”
“We’ll get back to your body in a minute,” I say. “But what kind of past?”
“The kind that got me arrested. That got my records sealed. That forced me into bankruptcy. And a lot of other things you don’t know.”
“I’m assuming you didn’t murder anyone.”
She gives me a wry smile. “No. This is about my past as a hacker.”
“I already know about all that. Not the details but that you have a checkered past. It’s irrelevant.”
“Elliott.” She says my name like she’s being patient with me. As if I’m a little slow on the uptake. “You’re familiar with the dark web, right?”
“Yes.”
“They used to call me the Cipher Whisperer. I could find anything. Hack anything. Other hackers wanted to be me. Security experts hated me. Law enforcement was desperate to find me.”
“And they did.”
“Yes.”
“Did you go to prison?” My chest tightens at the thought of it, but she shakes her head.
“Almost, but no. The FBI gave me a choice—work for them or never work with computers again. And I chose the latter.”
“Why?”
