Page 72 of Crazy Imperfect Hearts

Then I remember it’s not wine, riches, or a big cock that he lacks. It’s respect. The one thing he’s lost in this town, and probably the hardest thing to regain.

In the bathroom that I presume is one of many, but that’s still three times larger than my only one, I change into the sweatshirt. I’m glad it fits. It would have been embarrassing had it not. But Lucas is a big guy. Not fat big. Muscular big. And tall.

I look at myself in the mirror, running fingers through my wet hair to tame it, and try to figure out if I’d be interested in him if circumstances were different and he weren’t the man that he is. Then again, if he weren’t the man that he is, he wouldn’t be thirty and still single. He’d have been married long ago, probably with at least a few kids.

He’s very handsome. Hot even. That’s for sure. And he’s genuinely nice. I’m sure, having abandoned all the women he has, a lot of people think he’s some cocky rich guy. But it’s quite the opposite. The man is truly the whole package. With one exception—he’s never going to commit. That’s what makes this what it is—a business transaction. Nothing more. Even beforewe were going to try for a kid, it was still basically a transaction. I was giving him sex when nobody else would, and he was going to give me an orgasm.

Has sexalwaysbeen transactional? I scrunch my face. Now that I think of it, I swear it has. Especially with David. He got his rocks off and I got what I needed: love, affection, adoration. The longer we went without sleeping together, the less I’d get those things. So, yes… it was transactional.

What about before David? And the few times after? I think back and rack my brain. Wasanyof it unconditional?

A tap on the door interrupts my mental spiral. “Regan? Everything okay?”

“Be right out.” I hang my wet cardigan, shirt, and bra on hooks by the shower and open the door.

“Hmmm,” he says, standing back.

I quickly look myself over. “What?”

“You just look so normal.”

“Is that bad?”

He shrugs, offers, “It’s just not… you,” and turns to walk back to the kitchen.

I follow, nearly asking what he means by that, but don’t. Could it be that he actually likes the way I dress? Surely not. Not the guy who’s never seen out of business attire unless he’s out jogging. I narrow my eyes at him as he walks away. Could it be that he likes…me?

I shake the ridiculous thought from my mind, not even wanting to think of the ramifications of trying to have a baby with a guy who’s been carrying a torch for me all these years.

Lucas pours us each a glass. “To successful baby making,” he says, his glass held high.

“I’ll drink to that.” The incredible flavor of the wine explodes in my mouth. “This is really good.”

“I’m glad you think so. It’s one of our best.”

I almost spit out my next mouthful. “One of your best? Lucas, you shouldn’t have let me pick this one. I’m sure it’s expensive.”

“It retails for about four hundred a bottle.”

Now I do choke.

“Lucas, I—”

“Do you think I care, Regan? I have five other similar bottles. And an unlimited supply at the winery.”

I put my glass down and glare at him. “I’m telling you right now that I’m going to teach any child of mine the value of money. He or she isn’t going to grow up with a silver spoon in their mouth. I get that you have an unlimited supply of cash, but I don’t want my kid growing up with a stick up their ass.”

“Do I have a stick up my ass? What about Blake—does he? And Dallas and Allie?”

He’s got me there. They are all normal people, far different from how the uber-rich McQuaids were when they were younger. In fact, if you were out with a Montana and didn’t know they were wealthy, it’d be hard to tell. His parents too. They are incredibly nice. And, wonderful role models for parenting.

This kid hasn’t been born yet—heck, he or she probably hasn’t even been conceived—but I feel a sense of peace knowing the kind of people he’ll be surrounded by.

“Sorry. I was out of line. I, of all people, shouldn’t be making assumptions based off stereotypes.” I pick up my glass and take another sip. “This may be the best glass of wine I’ve ever had. Thank you.”

He smiles. I like his smile. And I realize I won’t be disappointed if we have a son who gets it.

I thumb to the opposite hallway. “Is your bedroom in there?”

---