Hoops Holiday (Hoops 2.50)

“Or if it’s IVF,” he goes on, ignoring my mild disgust. “Or adoption.”

“Don’t give up on me yet.” I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “Don’t give up on us having kids the old-fashioned way yet. We’re just getting started.”

“My point exactly,” Jared slices in. “We just started trying to get pregnant, and I for one, plan to enjoy all the trying, Mrs. Morales-Foster.”

His comment coaxes an involuntary smile from me. How many times has he talked me out of discouragement? Raised my spirits with his dark humor and made me laugh when I thought it wasn’t possible.

“Still rankles, does it?” I tease. “The hyphen?”

His answering chuckle assures me it does not.

“No, because hyphen or no hyphen, your pussy is still mine.”

“Jared.” I swallow a giggle, glancing around the restaurant as if he’s on speaker phone and everyone can hear. “You’re incorrigible.”

“When you talk smart, my dick gets hard.”

“Obviously this conversation is deteriorating.” I shake my head, a grin taking my lips hostage. “And I have a meeting.”

“Give Zo my best,” Jared says easily. The tension that used to suffuse our conversations about my ex-boyfriend and still-client isn’t there.

“And Graciella,” I add. “She’s coming, too.”

“Even better. Are they still going to the orphanage for Christmas?”

“Yeah, leaving for Argentina tomorrow.”

Zo’s tall figure fills the doorway, and he searches the dining room. A smile lights his face when he spots me.

“They’re here,” I tell Jared, even though right now I only see Zo.

“Okay, I’ll see you at home for dinner. I love you.”

“So much,” I reply, having to swallow that stupid lump in my throat again. “Thank you, Jared, for the perspective, the support, the—”

“You can thank me after dinner. I gladly accept sexual favors.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Foster.”

“Later, Mrs. Morales-Foster.”

As soon as we hang up, I stand and step into the warm hug Zo has waiting for me.

“Hola, Bannini,” he says, dropping a kiss into my hair. “Estas preciosa.”

“Gracias.” I pull back and grin up at him, affection for my old friend warming my smile as I continue in Spanish. “You don’t look too bad yourself. You’re the picture of health.”

He nods, but his smile slips a bit.

“You are, right?” I demand and study his handsome face more closely. “You’re okay? What does your doctor say?”

“I’m as good as I can possibly be. They want to try a new drug. Experimental. They say because of my excellent conditioning, I’m a perfect candidate for it, but I’m not sure I want to tempt fate by changing a thing.”

I sit and gesture for him to take one of the other seats at the table.

“What are the risks?” I ask, a frown tugging my brows together. “Is there any empirical evidence? Has it worked for anyone else? Why would you—”

“Banner,” he cuts in softly, a faint warning there.