“Why do you think I’m here? It’s not so that I could lure you to an apartment that I rented and then not get you pregnant.”
I don’t say anything. What I should really be doing is walking out the door right now. But I find a pitcher of water in the fridge, and pour myself a glass. Then I go to the living room and kick off my shoes and curl up in a corner of the couch. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet, so I’m going to sit here until I do.
Christian follows me, sitting on a chair across the room. “You still want a baby right?”
“Of course I do, asshole.”
“Then nothing has really changed.”
“Of course it has, Christian.”
“How?”
I try to think of an answer that’s good enough, and I come up short. If I were being absolutely literal, then no, nothing has changed. He still has the ability to get me pregnant. But I don’t know if I’m able to overcome our history together.
When I don’t say anything, Christian stands. He comes over to the couch and sits near me. My body perks up in spite of myself. Christian and I never lacked chemistry, and I know just how talented he is in the bedroom. Just being next to him has my body aching for the way he used to touch me.
“Audrey, let’s think this through.”
I do my best not to laugh in his face. “Please, enlighten me with your thoughts.”
To his credit, he ignores the poison in my words. “I know that you don’t like me, but —”
“I don’t not like you,” I say. “I hate you.”
“But what I did back then was a mistake.”
I sit up, putting my water glass down on the coffee table. “A mistake? I asked you to consider children and marriage after three years of dating, which caused you to go get plastered and tell a bar full of people that you didn’t in fact want any of those things with me. That you couldn’t believe that I had even asked. Then I never heard from you again. That’s a mistake? No, Christian. That’s not a mistake. That’s taking a three-year relationship and dropping a nuclear bomb on it.”
Christian grows quiet. He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, but then, slowly, he reaches for my hand. He doesn’t take it, simply runs his fingers over the back of my hand. The way he does it, so gently, reminds me of the person I used to think he was. I hate that the simple touch of his hand has my nipples hard and my skin growing goosebumps. I hate that after this long I still want him with every fiber of my being. That, more than anything, means I should walk away. But I don’t know if I can.
Finally, Christian says, “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what you wanted. But I don’t think you should throw this chance away just because you hate me. You know me, you can trust me in this.”
“Why should I trust you at all?”
“Because whether or not you hate me, I’m a man of my word.” I open my mouth to protest and he cuts me off. “Say what you will about my behavior, but I never broke any promises to you.”
As much as I want to argue in rage against that fact, it’s true. He never agreed to marry me or give me children, he never let us get that far.
Christian continues to stroke my hand, and I don’t like that it’s working. My body is relaxing, my mind growing into the idea of sleeping with him. The part of my brain that’s trying to rationalize this is whispering ‘just this one time.’
He leans in, pressing his lips against my ear. It makes me shiver. “Let me help you.”
“We shouldn’t.”
“Because you hate me? Or because you don’t?”
I shake my head. “Because it’s complicated.”
“It’s not,” he says. “I know you. I know what you like. I know what you don’t like. I know how to fuck you to make you scream. And we both know an orgasm helps you get pregnant.”
“That’s not a proven theory.”
“Does it matter? It could help. And there’s one thing I can guarantee, none of the other anonymous men on that app already know how to make you come.”
I hate that he’s right, and I hate that I’m considering this. However, as angry as I am, this is better than being with a stranger. “Fine,” I say
Without hesitation, Christian reaches out and cups the back of my neck to pull me in for a kiss. It’s rough, with enough power to have my body going liquid. God, Christian can kiss. He’s always been able to kiss, and it’s one of the things I always loved about him. But kissing him takes me back to when we were happy, and I can’t afford to forget where we really are.