Page 75 of The Baby Bargain
Okay, that's my fucking brain. They're having a perfectly chaste conversation. Heisa gentleman. And even if he wasn't—
The goal of this is getting him in her bed by next Friday. (I know her cycle better than I know my work schedule at this point).
She should talk about his thighs. And how much she wants his body over hers. And how much she wants to take his cock.
It doesn't bother me.
I'm not jealous.
I'm happy for her.
Happy they're hitting it off.
It's fucking fantastic.
It's everything I want for her.
It is.
I suck coffee through my straw. It's the same rich, chocolate it was yesterday, but it doesn't satisfy.
I don't want coffee.
I want Ariel in my bed. Away from this asshole who's not remotely an asshole. Away from this whole stupid idea.
She deserves better than a stranger.
She deserves more than a one-time thing.
She deserves everything.
It's not my fucking decision. She wants someone who isn't involved. That's her choice. Not mine.
If she wanted me, she'd ask.
It's not like she needs her kid to inherit my genetic predisposition to alcoholism.
Even if everything else about this made sense, that doesn't.
The more I repeat the mantra—It's her decision-the less I feel it.
Iknowit's her choice, her body, her life.
But the sound of her date's laugh still makes me sick.
For an hour, I sketch. They talk. She giggles. He laughs.
Finally, they hug goodbye. She watches him leave. Waits.
Moves to me. "What do you think?" Her smile spreads wider. "He was really nice. And on board. I think he gets it."
"Perfect." I try to smile, but it's impossibly forced.
"You think so? He's not too…"
"You like him?"
She presses her lips together. "He's a good guy."
