Page 95 of The Mistakes I've Made
I forgot about the hours before and my father’s new life.
And I even forgot about the minutes leading up to our lovemaking and the one tiny detail we’d both definitely forgotten.
Sleep had a way of refreshing you in more ways than one.
It was like, while your brain was idle, soaking up those precious hours of rest, it was playing an ongoing game of Tetris, tediously putting those random nuances of life into place that maybe hadn’t made sense during the day.
Or that perhaps you’d forgotten.
When my eyes popped open that morning, the first thought that flew into my brain was of that stupid condom.
Or lack thereof.
Sitting up in bed, I realized I wasn’t the only one with this realization.
Taylor, who usually seemed like a fairly laid-back guy, was currently shirtless, pacing the room like a caged bear.
Back and forth, back and forth, he went.
“We forgot—” he began.
“The condom,” I finished, meeting his worried gaze.
He slumped down in the corner chair, the sunlight from the window casting a beautiful glow across his broad chest. “I don’t know how I forgot. I’ve never…”
I didn’t know what I’d expected, definitely not happy jubilation or glee, but after last night, after the connection I’d felt, I guessed I’d just thought he’d be calmer.
But it didn’t matter anyway.
“I have an IUD,” I said, making his eyes jolt back to mine.
“You do?” A glimmer of hope appeared in his eyes.
I nodded. “I know I said it’d been a while, but I’m still responsible.”
“More responsible than me,” he said, the guilt written all over his face.
“Hey,” I said, rising from the bed and grabbing his button-down from the floor.
He watched me, like he always did, but I could see he didn’t think he deserved to. Not bothering with the buttons, I just pulled it on and walked over to him, his hungry gaze taking in every inch of me.
“We both forgot.”
I slid onto his lap, and his hands glided up my legs, wrapping around my waist.
“There was a lot of that going on last night,” I told him.
A satisfied smile crept across his face. “Well, at least I can do something right.”
I leaned forward, close to his ear. “Oh, believe me, Taylor Sutherland, there are many things you can do extremely well.”
He chuckled. “I feel like that particular gift has left me lacking in other areas as of late.”
“Like what?”
His head tilted to the side. “Like the fact that I haven’t fed you in nearly twenty-four hours.”
I opened my mouth to protest, remembering the ice cream, but his eyes motioned toward the bed, and I followed. There, sitting on the nightstand, was the sad, melted pint of Ben & Jerry’s we’d forgotten about minutes after he brought it to me.
