Page 19 of Books and Hookups

“Uh, yes.” Intellectually, I agreed. Personally? I glanced at the brochure for the fertility clinic I’d picked up months ago, a few days before I’d gotten my book deal. It was shoved under two women’s biographies and my most recently filled notebook. I promised to look at it again after I turned in my book. Maybe then I’d be ready to have a kid.

It had never been the right time to have a baby. Certainly not when I was in college and my hookup had begged to put in “just the tip,” then came inside me. After that, I’d been so busy trying to be one of the guys at work that it had never made it to my list of priorities. But with forty staring me in the face, I knew my time was running out.

If only I were sure I’d be a good mother. I’d never be like my mother, willing to drop everything for my dad and me. If that meant I’d be bad at it, I shouldn’t go back to that fertility clinic.

Like I’d said it out loud, the councilwoman asked, “Are you sure you’re the right person to write this story? Should I be talking to your editor instead?”

My face went hot. “No, I’m a senior reporter. And I have what I need to write the piece. I’ll email you with anything I need to confirm or clarify.”

“All right…”

“Thank you, Councilwoman. I’ll be in touch.” I disconnected the call, then rested my forehead on my hand. I needed sleep. I was no good like this. Mario would fire me if he heard I’d fallen asleep during an interview.

I remembered a night I’d slept like a baby. That night I’d let Danny stay over.

I needed an orgasm. Then I’d drift off to sleep on a soporific cocktail of serotonin and oxytocin. Yet my battery-operated boyfriend hadn’t helped last night. I mean, my self-administered orgasm had been perfectly adequate, but afterward I tossed and turned until practically three in the morning.

Maybe the magic had been Danny’s solid chest at my back. They must sell a pillow like that online, right? Maybe a weighted blanket would feel like his arm, snug around me.

But even one-day shipping would take too long. I needed sleepnow.Danny usually worked Tuesdays, which meant I could have a nice, greasy burger and a drink while I talked him into coming upstairs at the end of his shift. I’d invite him to stay all night. He’d seemed to like that idea last time.

Even with his puppy-dog eyes guilting me the next morning, he’d be better than a vibrator and a weighted blanket.

I walked into my bathroom to wipe away any traces of drool and apply some lipstick.

I met my gaze in the mirror. I’d get good sleep tonight. Then I’d kick ass at work tomorrowandstop neglecting my book.

9

Smooth Move

Negroni

Combine equal parts gin, Campari, and sweet vermouth with ice. Stir, then strain into a rocks glass over ice. Garnish with an orange peel.

DANNY

Around six o’clock, a voice that set my teeth on edge rang out across the bar. “Aunt Barb!”

“Tad, what are you doing here?” She held out her arms, and he flipped up the pass-through to hug her.

I ground my teeth. He didn’t belong behind the bar, but I couldn’t say anything. He might be a smarmy asshole, but he was still my boss’s nephew. He flashed me a shit-eating grin. What was he up to?

Releasing him, Barb said, “I thought my bar was too low-class for you.”

“Did I say that?” His eyebrows went high.

“Only about a dozen times,” I grumbled, plucking a glass from the rack I’d carried out from the back.

Fuck!Still hot from the dishwasher, it burned my fingertips. I bobbled it and almost dropped it.

“Smooth move, Ex-Lax,” Tad crowed.

What the fuck did that mean? Probably some stupid-ass saying from the Stone Age. Regardless, I needed him out of my workspace. I tipped my head toward the other side of the bar. “What can I pour you?”

He sauntered back through the pass-through and bellied up to the bar. “Mojito.”

Clenching my jaw, I grabbed a sprig of mint from the shelf where I hid it to discourage people from ordering fussy drinks. That trick didn’t work on Tad. I shoved the mint into a glass and crushed it with the muddler.

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