Page 14 of Unexpecting

″As long as there’s no smelly hockey clothes, that’s a fair deal. Is it just you home, or have you got some anorexic chickie stashed upstairs?” I poured myself a glass of wine and watched him julienne a pile of vegetables,his hands and the shiny, sharp knife moving intricately together. I tried to avoid watching J.B. caress my cat with his bare feet, because J.B.’s feet are fairly funny-looking. At least some part of his body is. No one should be that perfect all over. “Or is she coming over later?”

″I’ll have you know…” J.B. began before he noticed the teasing expression on my face. “What gives with all the interest in my sex life, anyway?”

″What’s with the interest in mine?” I countered.

″Only when I’m part of it, which isn’t very often to begin with and apparently not going to happen again, especially if you’re looking for a specimen cup to get you knocked up. You pregnant yet?” J.B. asked over the music as he chopped.

″Yep. It’s called Immaculate Conception, and in all recorded history, it’s only happened once, thousands of years ago. I should make the history books, don’t you think?”

″Smart-ass. Speaking of which, I’d really like to give you a kick for dropping that little bombshell about wanting to have this baby right after we…you know. That’s not a nice thing to do to a guy, you know? Makes a guy really think twice about a repeat performance, you know?”

″I’ll give you some warning next time, okay?” I smiled at him.

″Ah, but I thought you said there wasn’t going to be a next time.”

″I did,” I agreed, trying to keep the regret out of my voice. “Sorry.”

″You’d be sorry if I wasn’t tightly bagged the other night.” J.B. gave a bark of laughter.

J.B. and I have been friends for years—good friends, I think—and have slept together three times, so I guess that makes us lovers. Occasional lovers. But never had we ever talked about the fact we’ve been intimate like we were now, casually and comfortably, sort of like an old married couple discussing a romp in the bed they both enjoyed. I kind of liked it, but then I started feeling guilty for liking it so I tried to stop thinking about it.

″So what gives? Did I somehow make you feel all maternal or something?” he continued in a curious voice. He turned toward me, leaning against the counter. “Can’t say I meant to.”

″It wasn’t anything about you,” I assured him. “It was—it just happened. Something that won’t happen again.”

″What—the sex or the wanting-to-have-a-baby part?”

″I always think about the baby part. I’ve wanted to be a mother since I was a kid, which is surprising considering my less-than-stellar role model. The sex—it happened, it’s over, and it’s not going to happen again.”

″So you’ve said.” J.B. gave me his slow smile, which had the effect of making the tiny twinge of regret blow up into a big balloon. He continued to scratch Sebastian with his ugly toe, and I concentrated on his unattractive body part. I also started singing the Kelly Clarkson song “I Do Not Hook Up” in my head. It would be so easy to fall into something with J.B. But the problem with that is that I’m not looking for something and I know he wasn’t. So what would be the point? It’s easier just to keep my distance—emotionally and physically.

″Whatever. I just woke up Sunday morning feeling all sorry for myself—”

″Feeling sorry for yourself? After sex with me? Can’t say I’ve heard that one before. Thanks.”

I had to laugh at his annoyed expression. “I said it wasn’t anything about you. You were—fine.”

″Fine? I’m telling you, Casey, you do wonders for a guy’s ego.”

I laughed again. “I don’t think you need any help from me with your ego department. I’m sure there’s a huge lineup if you’re looking for gushing compliments.” I sat down at the table. “I was feeling sorry for myself because of Mike and came to the conclusion that I’ve been wasting all this time trying to meet the right man so I can start a family. I’m not getting any younger—”

″No, you’re not,” J.B. said, which I’m sure was in response to my fine comment.

″Hey, I’m only thirty-five. You’re what—almost forty, and—”

″Eh, eh, eh,” J.B. interrupted, pointing his knife at me. “We don’t say the F-word around here.”

″Thirty-eight,” I relented. “I was thinking that if someone doesn’t come along soon, I’m going to have to settle for someone like Mike to have a baby.” J.B. turned his head, but not before I caught sight of him wincing. “So why not do it alone? I think I’ll be better off in the long run: I’ll have my baby and not have to deal with some slimy, cheating bastard trying to break my heart.”

″Not all guys are slimy or cheating, you know.”

″I know. You’re not. But then, you don’t want a baby or any sort of commitment, so that leaves you off the list.” J.B. grimaced again, and I laughed nervously. “Don’t tell me you want to be on my list.”

″You wouldn’t know what to do with me if I was.”

Oh, yes, I would, I found myself thinking to myself.

″You know it won’t be easy,” J.B. was saying, turning back to his pile of vegetables. “You have your teacher’s salary, you live here—”

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