* * *
Zack: I know. Go listen to it. We’ll talk later.
* * *
Chip: Oh God… It’s always the quiet ones. Never trust the quiet ones.
* * *
Ten minutes later…
* * *
Chip: Dude. It’s good. It’s really good.
I take it all back.
Keep that girl as close to you as you can get her. If she inspires this kind of magic, it’ll be worth losing a foot in the end.
Hell, it’ll be worth losing the whole leg.
Chapter Eight
Colette
I wake up feeling like two million bucks covered in dark chocolate sauce and with no memory of where I am.
I open my eyes, watching the unfamiliar ceiling fan whir and still…nothing.
Then I turn my head to see my dress folded neatly on the bedside table, propping up a note that reads—Ran downstairs to grab coffee and chat with my manager. Text me when you’re up, and I’ll bring you breakfast, beautiful. Last night was amazing. XO, Zack—and a smile springs onto my face so fast it makes me dizzy.
And fizzy.
And before I know it, I’m rolling around in the rumpled sheets giggling like a crazy woman and throwing pillows into the air.
I’m just so happy.
So, soooooo happy, and not because Zack and I might have made a baby.
The chances that I’m ovulating are pretty slim —I’ve been tracking my cycle like a ship’s captain charting a course during hurricane season, and I won’t be in my fertile window for at least four more days—but it doesn’t matter.
Last night wasn’t about the endgame; it was about every incredible moment.
Just being with Zack was enough to make me feel like I won the lottery, found a puppy under the Christmas tree, and learned that cheesecake doesn’t have calories—all wrapped up together and topped with a multi-orgasmic bow.
Pondering what color an orgasm bow would be—Pink maybe? Or red? Rainbow with extra glitter?—I grab my phone from beside the note.
I’m about to text Theo and tell her that she was so right about Zack, but I hesitate and then pull up Zack’s number instead.
I’m usually a girl’s girl. I tell my girlfriends everything. If there’s a problem in my relationship, they’ll know about it at least two weeks before my boyfriend of the moment. I know some people think that’s strange, but all my best girls have been in my life for a decade or more. They’ve loved and supported me through good times and bad and never dumped me because they don’t care for my unconventional opinions or met someone they’d rather sleep with. No man I’ve met so far can say the same.
But with Zack…
I don’t know why, but it feels different. Maybe it’s because this is already about so much more than sex.
We could potentially be co-parenting very soon. That’s a BIG deal. We’ll be making decisions for a precious little human together. That’s a sacred duty, and not something that should start with gossipy texts to my BFF about how amazing her other BFF is in bed.
Additionally, Theo probably doesn’t want all the raunchy details about a man she’s known since she was in junior high.
Additionally, additionally… I don’t want to share Zack. I want to keep all the steamy memories to myself, paste them into my mental scrapbook, and flip through them later when I’m alone and wondering if I’ll ever have sex that good again.
I’m not a fool. I know that having a baby on my own is going to make dating even harder than it is already. Not only will it be harder to find time to go out and meet people, but I’ll have to find a man who’s excited about falling in love with me and my little one at the same time.
I’ve been in the dating trenches long enough to know that that kind of man is a rare and extraordinary beast, indeed.
But then I’m sick of selfish, ordinary beasts. I’d rather have my baby in my arms and hold out for Mr. Extraordinary, thank you very much.
Oh my God…
A baby.
I know it’s a long shot, and that the benign tumors that put a wrench in artificial insemination are still latched onto my uterus like evil, embryo-blocking goblins. Getting pregnant the old-fashioned way will be a long shot, too, but still, I can’t help but feel giddy with hope.
And anticipation.
Grinning like a fool, I text Zack—Good morning, Lovely Person. I hope you slept well.
A beat later, the phone rings. I see Zack’s name pop up on the screen and hit the answer button. “So you’re a phone call guy, huh?” I ask in a sleep-rough voice.
“Not all the time. Only with people I can’t wait to see again. And I figured I can give you the breakfast options faster this way,” he mutters softly beneath his breath. “It looks like you have a choice of stale apricot pastry. Preservative-heavy, cardboardy bagel with cream cheese. Or diet yogurt.”