by Frost, Sosie
It just wasn’t my day.
Year.
Team.
Clover flung the door open before I could knock. She popped a bottle of sparkling water and handed me a wineglass filled with mostly bubbles.
She always remembered that I didn’t drink during the season.
Her smile was every bit of sunshine comfort that I needed.
“Great news!” Clover took a swig directly from the bottle. “This is the best day ever!”
Thank fucking God. The weight immediately lifted from my shoulders.
“You’re pregnant!” I said.
“No!” She grinned. “I just quit my job!”
And the weight dropped back down, knocking the wind from me like I’d crashed into the benches.
“…What?”
Clover sashayed through her house, an actual bounce in her step. She’d changed out of her uniform and slipped into a tightly fitted tank top and a pair of shorts which declared to the world that her ass was a Cutie.
Such a shame that a woman so beautiful could be so damned insane.
Clover was impulsive, but that usually meant a trip to the Caribbean, not the unemployment line.
“What do you mean you quit your job?” I didn’t have the energy for this conversation. “You’re not a flight attendant anymore?”
“Technically, I haven’t quit yet. But I’m going to. First thing in the morning. I’m putting in my two weeks.”
I pitched the drink. Maybe it was spiked with something worse than mineral water. Only way this conversation made any sense.
I scowled. “Are you out of your mind? Why would you quit your job?”
Clover crashed onto her loveseat, leisurely stretching over her nest of blankets. “Why wouldn’t I quit? The airline has been nothing but misery for me for the last couple of months. It represents everything I don’t want in my life anymore.”
“What? Money? Security?”
“Travel.”
That was bullshit. “You love to travel.”
“Loved.” She corrected me with a smile that pissed me off. “I wanted to see the world. And I did—on my own. But working for the airline? It’s been nothing but a disaster. Dashing terminal to terminal in a panic when I’m on standby? Sight-seeing Seattle and New York and Miami from my hotel’s windows? Fighting for flights like they’re scraps of meat so I can scrounge up enough experience to work the international routes? The terrible hours? The terrible people?” She sighed. “It’s just not me anymore.”
I had to sit down. I batted her legs away from the sofa. She let me settle in before immediately claiming my knees as her ottoman.
How the hell was a man supposed to think with a pair of silky smooth, hazelnut dark thighs twisting in his lap?
I was tired. Frustrated. And none of this was Clover.
“What made you decide this?” I asked.
She stared at me for a long moment. “You don’t know?”
“Fuck no.”
The disappointed crested her features, but she simply shrugged. “I want to settle down. Do something good with my life.”
That wasn’t the real answer.
And I was tired of her hiding shit from me.
I was supposed to be her best friend—the one she wanted to father her child. The least she could do was be honest.
“Is that all?” I asked.
“Well, it’s not like I can be eight months pregnant, waddling up and down the plane, serving ginger ale while practicing my Lamaze breathing.” Her laugh didn’t convince me. “I’ve gotta think about my future. A future with our baby.”
Her words slammed into me like an elbow to the gut. The sort of hit that made a man nauseous and sweaty.
She was planning for a future I hadn’t given her yet.
Clover expected that I would get her pregnant.
She didn’t doubt it. Not for a second.
Even when the last three tests were negative.
Could I give her what she wanted?
Was it possible?
I gritted my teeth. “Wouldn’t it have been smarter to wait until you were pregnant before quitting?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Clover giggled.
Fun? None of this was fun. My life was nothing but stress, anxiety, and doubt, and Clover was still all smiles and sunshine.
And I had liked that. Once.
But not now. Not when everything was crashing around us.
“And you decided this on your own?” I asked.
“Yep.”
“And you didn’t think to ask me what I thought?”
She teased me with her toes, walking them up my arm until she hit my shoulder. I shooed her away.
“I thought you would be happy for me,” she said. “Look at me. Thinking about my future. I’m going to paint the rest of my walls, clean out my basement, and start organizing the spare guestroom to be a nursery.”
A nursery?
She didn’t need a nursery. She needed a baby first.
The irritation seeped into my words. “Guess you’ve figured it all out then. Why am I even here? You don’t need my help.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I mean, I need a little of your help? I can’t whip up a baby like a plate of pancakes. I gotta borrow a some of your syrup.”
“So, you’ll take my sperm but not my advice?”
She kicked away from me with a huff. “Oh, I’ll take your advice—and tell you where to shove it if you don’t settle down. What’s gotten into you?”
“Forget it. I’m here now. Let’s just get it over with.”
She hopped off the couch and pouted her lower lip. “Oh, sure. Sulking gets me real hot. Take me, stud.”
“I’m just in a bad mood. I’ll get over it.”
“And I’m just supposed to get under you?”
“Under. On top. Apparently, you’re making all the decisions now. Might as well choose how you want it.”
Clover glowered, her expression darkening. “You’re right. I choose to pass.”
“What?”
“Look, I don’t need any sweet nothings from you, Adrian. But I rather not be insulted before taken to bed.”
My frustration peaked. “Then maybe you shouldn’t do stupid ass things on the day you’re supposed to get fucked.”
That did it.
For the past eight years of her career, Clover had traded a harsh temper for patience, restraint, and gentle admonishments. But when pressed, she popped one fist onto her hip and used a finger to wag her displeasure.
“Oh, I know you’re not talking to me that way,” she said.
“And if I am?”
“Then the next words out of your mouth better be an apology.”
The woman drove me insane. She nibbled her lip so as not to say something she’d regret, but it only invited my own teeth, my own kiss.
“Apologize for what?” I asked. “You’re so obsessed with making this baby that you can’t think rationally.”
“Is that right?”
She couldn’t see it? “I get it. You think you need a baby in your life. That’s fine. I’m not fighting you on that anymore. You want a kid, you’ll get one. Tonight.”
“Oh no.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t put yourself out. God forbid I bend over and become a burden to you.”
“You’re lonely. You’re upset. And you’re not pregnant yet, so you’re making rash decisions to fill that void.”
“You think I’m quitting my job because I’m insecure about not being pregnant?”
“Yes.”
She laughed. “You’re so wrong it’s hilarious.”
“You were looking for something new in your life. And you think the baby is going to give it to you.”
I glanced over her house—quiet and still. She’d chosen a pastel purple for her living room walls, something light and closer to grey than grape. It was the biggest change she’d made since choosing an airline to work for eight years ago.
Sure, Clover took risks—bu
t they were superficial. She prided herself on how easily she could leave her home for a trip to any country at any time. But it was only because no one waited for her. No one depended on her. The woman wielded independence like a weapon, but the only thing it couldn’t slay was her own damned loneliness.
And so, she’d pretend to be spontaneous. Travel to some wild, exotic location, stay for two weeks, then rush home to the comforts of her scheduled, pre-ordained life. It was measured impulsivity, and yet, her travel was as structured as it could get. She knew when she was leaving, where she was staying, and when she’d come back. But choosing where to eat each night wasn’t impetuous or freeing. It was just enough adventure to offer her the illusion of reckless abandon. Then she’d return home to me, and we’d both pretend that we were happy with our lives and our schedules and our obsessions.
And we’d support each other’s stupid delusions.
Even when we knew they were wrong.
“Is there a problem with wanting a change?” Clover asked.
If I had to answer that for her, she’d never understand. “Nothing…as long as you know why you’re doing it.”
Her voice sharpened with the edge of frustration. “Because I want to start a family.”
“No,” I said. “It’s because you’re lonely.”
“I think you should stop now before you make a big mistake.”
Clover didn’t often get serious, but her warning might’ve made me think twice had I not been so painfully right.
“It wasn’t about the job,” I said. “Your only goal in life was to keep your feet off the ground. You worked. You traveled. And you ran all over God’s creation looking for something to give your life meaning. But then you realized you can’t trade in airline miles for happiness. And that scared you.”
Her lips pressed thin. “Oh, so that’s it?”
“Yeah. And instead of asking me for help—instead of figuring a way to make it better—you jumped to some half-assed conclusion that having a baby would end all your problems.” I prevented her from walking away from me. “And that’s fine. If that’s really what you want, go for it. But one day, you’re gonna need to ask yourself what exactly scares you so much about being vulnerable with other people.”
“That’s bullshit,” she said.
“Really? Let me ask you—after your flights, did you ever go out with your coworkers? Have you visited any of your childhood friends? Ever decide to head home and spend time with your family?”
I knew the answers. So did she. That’s why she stayed silent.
“You thought you were independent,” I said. “But you’re really just scared to be intimate and vulnerable with anyone else. And instead of opening up to the world, you’d rather create an entirely new person—a safe person—that you can love and who will love you in return.”
Clover’s voice edged with a lethal warning. “Oh, you have me all figured out, don’t you? Makes sense. The great Adrian Alaric. Captain of the Ironfield Forge. Future Hall of Famer. Center. Forward. A man so obsessed with hockey he would break his own body then be naïve enough to think the team would appreciate it.”
My spine stiffened. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that you can be as noble as you want to be on the ice, but, at the end of the day, it’s still a game. You can act like the savior of the Forge, but you know as well as I do—it’s all for nothing.”
This was a cold rage—the creeping numbness of words we’d both regret.
“Nice to know how you really feel,” I said.
And she still fought me. “I have faith in you…but I have none in the Forge. Not after seeing this bullshit they’re putting you through. And sooner or later, you’ll see it too. One day, you’re gonna wake up, and you’ll realize the golden years of your career have passed you by. What happens then? When your body is broken after so many years in the league, and you can’t even bend over to tie your skates? What will you have then, besides crippling arthritis and a dying obsession?”
Leave it to Clover to take the knife and twist, then slice out any remaining hope that let my foolhardy denial blind me to the truth.
“I’ll have a winning team,” I said.
“Not if the Forge refuses your help.”
“I’ll make it work.”
“For Christ’s sake, Adrian!”
Clover never raised her voice—wasn’t appropriate for a flight attendant—but the frustration leaked through in other ways. Her furrowed brow. The curling of her fingers. The sorrowful scowl that slayed my conscience. She approached me, staring up with widened, midnight coffee eyes.
“Forget the team. Don’t you think it’s time to fix yourself first?” she asked.
I frowned. “Fix me? What’s wrong with me?”
“What’s right with you?” Her words stung like a slap to the cheek. “You have nothing in your life except this game. I walk through your house and trip over boxes you haven’t unpacked. I open your fridge, and it’s empty because you eat at the arena. I spend the night naked in your arms, and you sneak out of bed at the crack of dawn to do push-ups in your weight room.”
“So?”
“Are you that terrified that someone might still think you’re injured?” Her gaze saw through me. “Or do you believe that you are?”
“I’m fine.” The words slipped out in a growl. “And unlike you, I can handle my problems without hiding from the truth in a damned nursery.”
“I’m not hiding from my problems—I’m fixing them.”
“You’re not fixing shit. You think if we have a baby, then all our deep dark secrets can stay hidden. No changing a damned thing about our lives. No confrontations. We can just fuck until it finally happens, and we never have to worry about saying anything uncomfortable ever again.”
“Since when is it wrong to want a baby?” Clover asked. “Is it that wrong to want someone to love? To start something new? To find a purpose in this life?”
“What happens if we don’t have a baby?”
She’d exhausted her patience and surrendered to both of our fears. The finality of her shrug slayed me.
As if she’d given up.
As if she’d always known that this was where we’d end.
Miserable. Terrified. Facing an unknown future with only the shreds of our remaining optimism.
“If you’re that afraid that something is wrong with you…” she said. “Then go take the damned fertility test and find out.”
A dark, righteous anger invaded my thoughts. That was good. It sliced through the savage fear icing my gut.
Because no matter how much I denied it, how much I ignored it, how much I defied my own body…
She was right.
Something was wrong with me.
And what the hell was I supposed to do except defy that god-awful truth?
“I don’t need a fucking fertility test.” I wielded the lie like a threat. “And I’ll prove it to you.”
I grabbed the woman, my hand twisting in her hair to keep her still as I claimed a kiss bred of frustration, fear, and searing desire.
“God, yes…” Clover whispered, diving into my kiss with the same frustrated desperation.
She raged in my arms, nails scratching my chest, whimpered apologies murmured between panting breaths.
Maybe I couldn’t be the one to give this woman the only gift she wanted, but I could be the bastard who ruined everything else instead.
I pawed at her curves, groping every inch of her too-soft skin for my own ragged pleasure. She punished me for it, biting my lip as she ground against my body. Her hand lowered, pressing against my pulsing cock trapped in the prison of my nightmarish desire. She gripped me through the denim and squeezed. Took only a minute before she tore at my zipper.
Why were we doing this?
Why did we punish each other?
For fuck’s sake…why didn’t we just confess the truth?
Three little words.
That was it.
How could declaring my love for Clover be that goddamned frightening?
And why was it so impossible for her to just admit that she wasn’t after the baby as much as she needed a future with me?
Would she still feel the same if she knew I couldn’t give it to her?
I never should’ve fucked Clover. Never should’ve let her get this close. But when had I ever denied my best friend? And once I had a taste…the sex was too good, her body too tight, and the pleasure too forbidden.
It’d destroyed our friendship, and I saw no way forward without heartbreak and chaos.
And so I didn’t say a damned thing. Didn’t reveal any confessions. Didn’t even order her to her knees.
A single word might’ve shattered us from our denial.
It was easier to kiss her.
Faster to rip away her clothing.
Kinder to crash with her to the floor and take what I wanted.
This time I didn’t have to pretend to be tender. No sense playing the part of a gentleman friend indulging an innocent woman with her wildest fantasies. That game was over. That dream lost.
All that mattered now was how quickly I could imbed myself within her tightness and empty my balls into a desperate womb.
At least we’d crash into the truth sooner or later.
I stripped her of everything. Shirt, shorts, dignity. And I felt no shame for my desire. Raw aggression fueled me.
This was how sex was supposed to be—brutal in both honesty and physicality. A man was built to conquer a woman, and his woman surrendered to his strength for the reward of endless pleasure.
For too long I’d hidden my true desires from the one I loved, and that lie of omission would either ruin my future with Clover…
Or destroy it before it began.
So why not enjoy the power in holding her against me? Why not savor her breathless, eager moans as she mewed my name and begged for a fucking only her instincts understood?
I pushed her to her hands and knees and allowed myself to appraise the ravishing beauty that was her perfect curves and soft valleys. Her legs spread for me. Already learning what I liked, how I wanted to take my prize. I dove low, driving my tongue into her secret slit. One lick. Two.
