His words might as well have been his tongue sliding over my clit. My puffer slid out of my hands to the floor. Damn it. I wasn’t being smooth at all. I bent over and scooped it up.
As I took the lift down I typed into my group text thread with my girlfriends NEED TO CHAT, asap.
Current status required a cocktail and a girls’ night.
* * *
“How’s the search for a surrogate going?” Sean asked me, eyeing me over his glass.
I knew exactly what my brother thought about me paying a woman to carry my baby. He thought it was insane. And part of me thought it was insane as well. But I wanted to be a father and I didn’t want to spend the next five years trying to find and/or force a relationship to work just so I could have a child.
“I’m taking my time, doing a lot of research.” I sipped my bourbon as we relaxed in my living room, take-out food spread on the coffee table in front of us. “I know you think this is crazy, but trust me, I know what I’m doing and I’m weighing all my options.”
Sean was almost seven years younger than me and far more happy-go-lucky. He shook his head and gave me a grin. “Oh, I know you’ll do that. You’re the planner man. But I also know that you want what you want when you want it and sometimes that’s not a good thing. This is a kid, not an impulsive trip to Bali.”
“I’m well aware of the responsibility of being a parent. I told you if I do this, I’m taking a year off of work.”
“Dr. Dad. I can’t really picture it. I mean, I can picture you as a father, just not as a stay-at-home dad.” He drained his bourbon. “What is this stuff? It’s very smooth.”
“It’s like two hundred bucks a bottle. That’s what it is. You’re supposed to sip it, not shoot it.” I demonstrated. “See? Sip. And why can’t you see me staying home with a kid? I’m highly offended.”
He snorted. “Have you thought about how you’re supposed to date when you’re raising a baby?”
I shrugged. “Speaking of dating, remember that woman I went to dinner with a month ago, Savannah? Turns out I was catfished.”
“I remember her. The redhead. Why and how were you catfished if you met her and it was really her?”
“Her friend was the one who was actually messaging me.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I had looked up Felicia after she had left and found her social media, including some of her old modeling shots. I pulled up a more recent photo, where she was modeling some of the clothes she had listed for sale. Her dark hair was in loose curls and she had on bright red lipstick and fake glasses. “This is her.” I handed the phone to Sean. “We’re going out Thursday.”
“I hate you,” Sean said. “Seriously, what the fuck, man? You got catfished by a woman who is actually attractive? That’s unprecedented.”
I knew he was right. I grinned and leaned forward and snagged a piece of shrimp. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? Her name’s Felicia and she has a very cute British accent.”
“She’s more my age than yours. You’re swimming in my pool, fucker. Go wade in your own.”
“No way. Age is just a number.”
“You’re a douchebag.”
“And you’re a dick who is at least five years older than her anyway,” I said good-naturedly. Sean and I got along great, always had. We had a sister, Maeve, who was in between us in age, but she lived in California now. Sean was a chef in Brooklyn and worked as many hours as I did, if not more, so we didn’t get to hang out a lot but when we did we fell back on the old habit of giving each other shit. “How’s your love life?”
He made a face. “Let’s put it this way. If I ever get the urge to have children, I’ll probably be calling your surrogate.”
“We are not using the same surrogate. Our kids would be cousins and half-siblings. That’s bizarre as hell. Why don’t you jump on a dating app?”
“I’m on all of them. Easily six apps. It’s like Wheel of Fucking. You spin, pick someone, and have sex. Then you ghost each other and move on to the next one.”
“You could try conversation.”
He made a sound. “What, like you? All that got you was a brunette pretending to be a redhead. Twenty bucks says she’s flat-out crazy.”
“It’s entirely possible.” I hoped not. But it was possible. A chirping sound occurred again for about the fifth time from somewhere in the apartment. “Do you hear that?” I said, distracted. “I keep hearing something beep, like a notification. Is that your phone?”
“No, mine are on silent.” But he pulled his phone out and looked. “Definitely not me. Is it your phone?”
He’d set my phone on the coffee table after looking at Felicia’s photo. “No. It’s coming from over there somewhere.” I gestured toward the door.
I stood up. It was driving me crazy. It was irregular. It would do it mu