Never Say Forever

A familiar pang of what if reverberates through me. Familiar because, five years ago, it was something I’d wished with all my heart to be true. I’d wanted so much for my baby to be the result of a night of white-hot passion and emotion and fun. Yes, because he was fun. I’d longed for her to be fathered by my teasing gallant, the man who looked at me as though I were a goddess rather than the man who implied I owed him a fuck after six dates and a couple of fancy dinners. Because while I might’ve implied that Lulu’s father was an old boyfriend, I was stretching the truth. Just like that man was only ever interested in stretching my knicker elastic. I might have tried to persuade myself he was my boyfriend. He might even have played a part in that illusion, but when he disappeared overnight, it became quickly apparent the sentiment was far from reciprocated.

I didn’t know I was already pregnant that night. I didn’t find out until a couple of months later, and even that brought its own sense of shame. But I lived, and I thrived. We thrived. But what I don’t understand is how my stomach still aches as I remember the disappointment when I discovered Lulu wasn’t his.

Then this morning, after the whole hot-and-heavy deal where the only thing separating our bodies were my pyjamas and his (impressively tented) thin shorts, I’d practically shoved clothes at Lulu and hustled her out of the door without even making sure she’d brushed her teeth.

Which she hadn’t, she later reported with delight.

Freaked out doesn’t even come close to covering how I’d felt. I still can’t quite believe that I allowed him to speak to me like that, never mind that I’d almost kissed him. This isn’t me. This isn’t how I operate. Ever. Kisses aren’t trifles to be frittered away on men I barely know or men who make me feel so unlike myself I’m frightened.

In an effort to escape and ignore the riot of feelings rushing through me, we’d wandered the park most of the day. We visited the petting zoo, watched the boats on the lake, then ate lunch in a café overlooking Sheep Meadow. While Lulu contented herself with french fries and ice cream, I would’ve ordinarily listened to her chatter, indulging in a little people watching. But instead, I searched hotel listings on my phone. As it turns out, as well as annoying and sexy—annoyingly sexy?—Carson Hayes was also right about the price of hotels over a weekend. Mega bucks. I couldn’t in good conscience claim a night in a hotel on my expenses, and I couldn’t personally afford to squander money on a point of pride.

Pride. Who am I kidding? It wasn’t pride that kept me out of his apartment all day. It’s more like fear. Not fear of the man or his advances, but fear I’d give in to them. To him. Fear I’d give in to the urges, to the parts of me he’d awakened with just the most glancing of touches and those smouldering looks. As he’d pressed his forearm against the cabinet near my head, my heart had beat wildly, the subtle scent of his cologne assaulting my senses and my memories. I’d balled my hands into fists to prevent me from grabbing his T-shirt, to prevent me from bringing him closer because his throat was almost in licking distance, and I was seriously considering it—considering it all. Forgetting that my daughter was just a few feet away, I was mesmerised by the presence of him and the blood thundering through my veins.

Despite my supposed straight talk, he had me at that very first teasing quirk of his sensual lips, turning me literally weak at the knees.

Weak at the knees is fine, I intone silently. It’s weak at the knicker elastic I need to be concerned about.

I can’t remember when a man last looked at me like he did. Last night. This morning. And I’m lying to myself again because it was him.

And how I’d wanted to be seen again.

I was mindless to anything but being consumed by him. At least, until Lulu had burst back into the room. Guilt had replaced need like a dousing of cold water over flames. She’d never seen me with a man before. I don’t date—ever. And I promised her when she was just a wee bump that she would always be my number one priority. That we’d be okay on our own. I won’t go back on that promise, and I’m not about to confuse her by kissing a strange man in his kitchen. No matter how much I want to.

But thank goodness she hasn’t asked about us almost-kissing again.

Finding somewhere else to live is now my number one priority. I can’t stay in his home for so many reasons. But for tonight, I’ll have no choice.