Page 257 of The Last Good Man

I slide the glasses onto the coffee table and stopin front ofhim.

“What is that?” I ask, and he brings his eyes to me.

Clouds of sadness muddy up his gaze.

“I can ask you the same thing? What is this?” he asks, flipping the marketing material over and giving me a full view of the shirtless male on the cover. What a poor visual choice.

“Are you in the market to buy sperm?”

His lips barely move as he forms the words.

He looks petrified, yet he’s not even close to how horrified I am once it all sinks in.

Talking about the misunderstanding of the century.

“No, no… This is not how it looks. I can explain.”

I yank it out of his cold hand, mumbling anxious words about how I had run a few online searches and must have gotten on somebody’s mailing list.

HowI thought my life would be a string of mishaps and that I’d need to think practically at some point.

How that has never been my first choice.

How a lot of things would’ve had to happen before paying a stranger for some sperm.

I’m breathless and sweat like crazy when a small smile flickers through his gaze.

“You’re too easy, baby…” he says.

For a moment there, I thought this would crush our trust. It’s been too much, so when he openshisarms, I welcome his hug with tears on my lashes.

“Don’t cry, baby…” he says, running his thumb below my eyes.

“It’s not because of this.”

“I know. Just calm down. We’re going to make it. I promise you that. I might charge you an arm and a leg for a shot of good sperm, but you’re going to be happy with the outcome. And free delivery is included, by the way.”

I laugh and cryat the same time, and then he kisses me, making me feel safe again.

“I love you,” he says quietly, still brushing tears away. “And I love how emotional you get around me. Maybe it’s a phase, but I hope it will last.”

I nod in silence while his eyes move to our drinks.

“I’ll only get a sip. I really need to go.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow?” I murmur, handing him his drink.

“Yes. I’ll call you as soon as I get home. “

We clink our glasses and drink wine.

“To us,” he says.

“To us.”

“And our babies.”

“And our babies,” I say like a parrot. “I’ll probably need a ring for that.”

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