Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 94489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
"You don't mind if she's mad at you."
"I don't like it. But I understand. It's my responsibility to take care of her, even if that means she hates me."
He does.
He understands that with everyone in his family.
His employees too, probably.
Friends.
Lovers.
What does that mean about us?
Besides the fact, he'd be a great father.
Not that I'm considering it.
Only that I want to fuck him bareback.
"You're going somewhere again," he says.
Sex. But that's loaded too. "I admire that about you."
"You admire something about me?"
"You're willing to be disliked."
"You are too."
"I am. But I'm not fire-tested the way you are."
"Teenagers as fire testing." He smiles. "Accurate."
"You're a good brother. A good father figure." I add the last word too late.
It hangs in the air.
Expands to fill the enormous space.
"I was thinking about that," I say.
"Children?"
"Protection. I take the pill. And we're both safe. But if I… in the past, men have looked at me like I'm crazy for asking what they'd want if we had an unplanned pregnancy."
"Men don't consider it."
"Do you?"
"I'm careful."
"Accidents still happen."
"I don't have sex without a condom. Not usually."
Only with me.
He's only offering with me.
Fuck.
"Me either," I say.
"Your fiancé?"
"And a boyfriend in college."
"Did you talk about it?"
I nod.
"What did you say?"
"I couldn't be sure until it happened, but I wasn't ready. I didn't want that. Not with them."
"You added the last part?"
"No." I swallow a sip. "You?"
"No one's ever asked." His eyes go to the stereo. "There's this No Doubt song on one of the albums Opal plays."
"She listens to No Doubt?"
"She started with Gwen's solo career."
"That, I see."
"Gwen is interesting. She's a successful artist and business woman but she has a lot of songs about wanting marriage and family."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive goals."
"No. But they're in conflict."
"You can only have one top priority," I say.
"Mine is family. Always. But a younger sister and grown brothers require a different level of effort than a child."
"But you want that?"
He blushes again.
Fuck, it's so hot.
I want to mount him here.
Now.
"There's a song where Gwen talks about how she hopes for a mistake. I felt that way sometimes. But then I imagined my future with someone and it didn't fit. I wanted to be a father. I wanted a family. But I didn't see my partner in the picture."
I need to say something else. Before I say something I can't take back. "I work too much. We both do."
"It's who we are."
Maybe. "Do you love your job?"
"I love working. I love building a business with my brothers. I even appreciate the purpose of protecting people's privacy. But I'm not passionate the way you are."
I am passionate, but that's loaded too. "I don't do as much as you think. I ask for money and balance budgets."
"Money to help abused women and children."
"And men."
"And men," he says. "Do you believe you don't do much?"
"No. But it's not what people imagine when they hear 'I run a charity.'"
"I know you, Vanessa. You're saving the world."
"Part of it."
"You're choosing to devote your considerable expertise to saving part of the world."
"What else would I do?" I ask.
"You could do anything. You could run a Fortune 500 company."
"I could not."
"You could," he says.
"The average CEO is a fifty-year-old white man."
"The for-profit world loves nonprofit experience."
"Would you hire me?"
"I wouldn't give you my job, but I would find a place for you."
I shake my head.
He smiles.
"What?"
"I knew you'd say no."
"It wasn't a sincere offer."
"It could be," he says.
"I like my job."
"You're good at it."
I am. "You're good at yours too."
"I am."
"Look at us. Two rich assholes stroking each other's egos."
His smile widens. "Would you rather stroke something else?"
Yes. Now. I need to touch him. Even if it's complicated. My fingers curl into my glass.
"More?"
Now. "Huh?"
"Water."
Oh. Right. "Thanks."
He takes the glass, fills it, returns it to me. "You're passionate about protecting women."
"I am."
"Reproductive rights."
"Yes."
"Honest conversations about birth control."
Right. That's how I started this.
Talking about unprotected sex.
"I am," I say.
"You're nervous?"
I nod.
"You want something else to drink?"
"This first." I swallow a long sip. "What would you want to do? If we had an accident."
"Honest answer?"
"Is the truth that ugly?" I ask.
"No," he says. "But you won't like it."
"Try me."
He does. "I'd ask you to marry me."
"That's old-fashioned."
"That's not why."
"Then why?"
"I respect you. I enjoy your company. I know you're responsible and you care about the world. I want to be a father. And I think you'd be a great mother."
He can imagine a future with me.
All of it.
Fuck.
"If you wanted something else, I'd respect it, but I wouldn't like it," he says.
"You'd really marry me?"
"I'd ask. I wouldn't expect a yes," he says.
"We're both adults."
"We know what we want."
Right. We know what we want. And he wants to have a child with me.
If we have an accident.
Not in general.
That's Simon.
He's responsible.
He steps up to the plate.
"It's unlikely." I say it for myself. Because his response is too overwhelming. Because I need to say something normal.