She works my length harder, faster, her moans growing louder the greedier my tongue becomes. When her pussy pulses against my lips, I know she’s close. A moment later, I let myself go, filling her waiting mouth as her hips buck and her body unfurls, relaxing against me in a collapsed heap of pent-up exhaustion.
Maybe we didn’t fuck, but I’ve never been this satisfied in my life.
When it’s over, she climbs from the bed and disappears into the bathroom as I lie spent, unable to move. The faucet runs and she emerges a few minutes later in nothing more than her lace bra and matching panties. I watch her body, outlined by shadows and light, as she retrieves a silk nightie from her suitcase and slips it over her head before unfastening her bra.
Guess we won’t be sleeping naked tonight …
Without a word, I head to the bathroom to get cleaned up. When I come out, she’s fast asleep, covers pulled to her chin as per usual. Climbing in beside her, I think about pulling her against me just to breathe in her sweet scent and bask in her warm, soft afterglow. It’s a strange desire, wanting to be close to her. Normally when this sort of thing happens, it’s the other way around. I’ve never been one for spooning after sex or anything remotely couple-y. But once again, I can’t help but feel as if I didn’t get all of her tonight.
And good God, do I want all of her.
But I think better of it because that’s the kind of thing a boyfriend would do, and we both agreed not to complicate this. We even shook on it …
Rolling to my side, I shut down my urges with a massive dose of self-control. But an hour later, I’m wide awake, replaying tonight in my head. And in the middle of the night, I turn to watch her sleep, utterly absorbed by the one woman who can never be mine.
Thirty-Three
Sophie
Past
My morning started with two pink lines and ended with me walking out of Planned Parenthood with a sonogram tucked into my purse.
I don’t understand how this happened. I’ve been on the pill for years. And I don’t know how Nolan will react. We’ve never discussed what we’d do if something like this happened. I’ve been feeling tired and nauseous lately, chalking it up to stress. Between studying for mid-terms and running from school to Nolan’s hotel and back, I hadn’t had a chance to sit still in months. But when I finally looked at the calendar, it hit me…no period in eight weeks.
I sit in my car, tears streaming down my face as I call him.
“Hey, Soph.” He answers after the first ring.
I try to speak, but my lungs gasp for air as I hold back tears.
“Soph? You there?” he asks.
“Yeah.” My voice is a breathy whisper.
“What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
I wanted to tell him in person tonight, but that’s three hours from now, and I don’t want to sit with this for any longer than I have to.
“I’m pregnant,” I say.
His lack of a reaction makes me think of my mother, which only makes me want to cry more. She’s going to be beyond disappointed in me. Not to mention, she’s already got her hands full caring for Emmeline. Add a crying newborn to the mix …
“All right,” he finally speaks. “I’m in and out of meetings the rest of the afternoon, but we’ll talk about this tonight, okay? Don’t … don’t cry. Don’t get upset. We’ll figure this out.”
We end the call, and I check my reflection in the visor. There’ll be no hiding these bloodshot eyes or this puffy face. I can’t go home looking like this.
I drive around until I find an abandoned parking lot, and I have a good cry.
Nolan said we’d figure it out together.
I have to trust that he’ll know what to do, that he’ll have our best interests at heart—all three of them.
Thirty-Four
Sophie
Present
I wake naked, with a satisfied ache between my legs.
The bathroom door is ajar and fog leaks into the bedroom as Trey showers.
The water stops, and a minute later Trey steps out, white towel wrapped low around his hips. His abs glisten, still damp, and droplets of water form rivulets down his shoulders. The scent of soap and cedar fills the air, and when his gaze meets mine, he smiles—dimples and all.
My heart trips over itself, but I quickly remember last night, how quickly everything happened, how my inhibitions flew out the balcony windows, thanks to a few too many celebratory drinks and a pact made in good faith.
Tucking the sheets around me, I try not to make it obvious that I’m checking him out as I replay last night in my head. I can practically feel his feathered, frenzied strokes against my sex. In fact, my recollection is so vivid I almost come just thinking about it …
“Sleep well?” he asks.
I nod. “Haven’t slept that hard in a long time …”
The last man to go down on me had no idea where my clit was and jammed his fingers into me with a haphazard rhythm, like he’d dropped something in my cervix and was trying to fish it out. When I suggested we move onto fucking, he fished an old condom from his wallet and pounded me jackhammer style until he came five minutes later. The guy before him couldn’t get hard, and when he finally did, he used porno moves the whole time. Of course, there’ve been guys who have been too good, which has its own implications. But none of those experiences have come close to the way I felt last night.
It was more than physical, it was liberating.
I’ve never been so at ease with a man, like there was zero pressure to be anything but myself.
Earlier in the day, I promised myself a fun evening. And for some inexplicable reason, there’s something about Trey’s presence that makes me feel safe. His honesty, perhaps? The fact that we’re on the same page? His peculiar interest in getting to know me?
The man shatters my expectations on a daily basis. Sometimes it’s the little things, sometimes it isn’t.
At dinner last night, he didn’t take his eyes off me once. Not to check out the gorgeous brunette who sauntered by our table. Not to peruse the menu (he already knew what he wanted). He studied me with an intensity in his gaze unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. And in the car on the way home, our fingers brushed, causing a hitch in my breath because I almost thought he was going to hold my hand—and I almost thought about letting him.
The lines that separates the road to love and the magic of lust can be dangerously thin.
I take comfort in knowing we’re on the same page.
Trey takes the spot beside me. Bedhead frames my face, I obviously haven’t so much as brushed my teeth, and yet he drinks me in like I’m the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. His eyes flash. I wonder if he’s replaying last night, too.
“I’ve got a meeting this morning,” he says. “But I’ll be back shortly before noon. We can spend the afternoon together. Anywhere you want to go.”
“Sounds good.” I tamp down my excitement and ignore the erratic beating in my chest when a curious urge to kiss him goodbye washes over me.
No, no, no, I tell myself. Don’t do it.
It won’t end well.
Thirty-Five
Sophie
Past
We’re slouched on the hotel couch. Side by side. Nolan’s head is in his hands. My elbows are on my knees. There are no fresh flowers on the coffee table. No champagne on ice. No dimmed lamps.
Tonight’s not about that.
All afternoon I conjured the dozens of different ways this could go. Maybe he’d propose? Maybe he’d embrace this unexpected gift and make the best of it? We could get a house in the suburbs with a yard. I even pictured what the baby would look like, trying my best to guess the gender, but neither one felt quite right. I thought women were supposed to just know when they’re pregnant, like a gut feeling, but so far I feel nothing but confusion and a laundry list of conflicting emotions.
My hopes fly out the window as I study him.
Nothing about the way he looks suggests he’s about t
o spin this into a fairytale ending.
“I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon, about the right thing to do,” he says. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Being a mom would take all of that away from you, every last opportunity.”
“So what are you saying? I don’t want to get rid of it …”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all, Soph.” He places a hand on mine. “I can get you into Princeton this fall. My father’s on the board of trustees. He knows people in admissions. All I have to do is make a call and you’re in.”
He’s insane.
“I can’t afford Princeton.”
“I’d pay for it all. Every last cent.”
“And what about the baby?”
He pushes a breath between tight lips before dragging his hand through his hair. “I’ve never wanted to be a father, Soph …”
“So I’m on my own?” My voice breaks and my voice is so tight in my throat that it burns.
He pinches the bridge of his perfect nose. “That’s not what I’m suggesting.”
“So you’re saying we should give it up for adoption?” My palm cups my flat stomach. It’s crazy how something so tiny has the power to change so much.
“Out of all the options, I think that’s what’s best. Don’t you?”
“I don’t know.” I pick at my nails. “The idea of just … handing my baby over to some stranger …”
The thought alone blurs my vision with a waterfall of tears.
Damned hormones.
“What if I knew someone?” he asks. “A woman. A friend of mine from college. She’s been trying to have a baby for years. She’d give anything to be a mother.”
A hot flash of jealousy jets through me even though he says she’s just a friend. Obviously he has female friends. And he’s dated other women before. But he’s never talked about them around me.
“It’d be better than giving it to some stranger …” he says. “I just … I think this baby would be better off … without us for parents.”
“How could you say that?”
“I’d be a terrible father. I work too much. I play too hard. I’m always traveling … I’m only in Chicago on the weekends, and not for much longer,” his voice trails. We hadn’t talked about an end date. All this time our nights together felt infinite. Or maybe I was in denial, needing to believe something like this was a forever kind of thing. “And you’re so young. You should go to college, get a career established, make something of yourself before you dedicate the rest of your life to another human being.”
I think of my parents, and how my father up and decided he didn’t want to be a dad anymore. Just like that. Mom sent him to the store for diapers and he never came back. I can’t imagine raising a child for years with Nolan, only to have him walk out of our lives.
It’d destroy me.
“How old is she?” I ask. “This woman you know.”
“My age.”
“What does she do for a living?”
“She’s a pediatrician.” He smiles. The room is dim but I could swear his eyes light, like he’s certain about his choice and his mind is settled. “Never met anyone who loves kids more than she does.”
“Can I think about it?”
Nolan breathes hard and lets his hands fall in his lap.
“I just found out about this. I need to wrap my head around the concept of giving birth to a child and handing it over to someone else,” I say.
“You really want to raise a kid, Soph? Is that what you want to do for the next eighteen years? While all your friends are out running around, having the time of their lives? You want to work paycheck-to-paycheck jobs, barely making ends meet? Like your mother?”
My jaw falls—even if he has a point.
I don’t bring up child support. He’s always been generous with me, but he’s always wanted me. He’s always gotten something out of this. If he doesn’t want this baby, he could easily sign away his rights. And he’d have every reason to if he had no intention of being in its life.
I rise from the sofa. He didn’t need to bring my mom into this. “I can’t believe you just went there …”
He wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls me back. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just … this is a lot.”
I avoid his gaze, though I can’t ignore its heaviness.
“I just want what’s best for you,” he says. “And for the baby.”
“I still need to think about it.”
“Fine.” He lets me go, watching my every move. I try to imagine what’s going through his mind right now, but something tells me I don’t want to know.
“You were never in this for the long haul, were you?” My voice is meek yet jagged. I never dreamed I’d be asking this question. “This was never about us. You just wanted sex. I can’t believe I was so blind. God, I’m an idiot—”
“—this was always about us,” he says. His dark eyes plunge to my stomach. “But now it’s about … all of us.”
There’s no compassion in his tone, no tenderness in the way he touches me. He doesn’t reach for my stomach. There were no saccharin tears in his eyes when he picked me up earlier. The entire drive to the hotel was radio silent. Nothing but road noise and the occasional brush of the windshield wipers against glass as we drove beneath spitting rain clouds.
“I’m scared,” I say, wishing I could lose myself in his arms but knowing it wouldn’t be the same as before.
I don’t know that it’ll ever be the same.
He pulls me into his lap, but he doesn’t kiss me. He isn’t hard. He simply holds me.
“I need you to trust me,” he says. “Can you do that?”
Burying my face against his shoulder, I cry into his dress shirt. Quiet, contained sobs so as not to make a complete fool of myself.
“Can you trust me, Soph?” he asks again.
Sitting up, I dry my cheeks with the back of my hand. “Can you take me home?”
He frowns. “Why?”
“I want to be alone tonight.” As alone as I can be. Mom and Em are home, but they’ll be in the living room watching Friday night TV.
“Are you sure?” The fact that he doesn’t beg me to stay stings, even if I’ve already made my mind up to leave.
“Yes. I want to go.” I collect my purse, phone, and duffel bag and wait by the door.
The drive to my apartment, much like the drive to the hotel earlier, is filled with silent uncertainty. When we arrive, he holds my hand, kissing the top as he promises everything’s going to be okay.
I say nothing as I climb out and head inside.
To my surprise, Mom and Em aren’t home. Looks like I got what I wanted—to be alone. Only then I remember I’m not alone. Placing my hand on my belly, I close my eyes.
It’s a girl, I think to myself. Certain this time.
Even if Nolan doesn’t want her, I do.
But even if I kept her, would I be enough?
Could I give her enough?
I amble to my room, darken the blinds, grab my ear pods, and collapse in a heap on my bed listening to a playlist I made years ago, long before Nolan Ames walked into my life. I pull the covers over my head. Close my eyes. And let it all out.
I’m half asleep when Nolan texts me, asking if I’m okay.
NOLAN: Just checking on you …
NOLAN: Let me know if you need anything.
NOLAN: I’m here for you.
I silence my ringer, taking comfort in the fact that he reached out. Maybe he cares more than he lets on? Maybe our little predicament has paralyzed him with fear and he’s not thinking straight? He’s definitely not acting like himself.
We have thirty-two weeks to make this decision.
A lot can change in seven months.
Thirty-Six
Sophie
Present
A woman with green hair and Doc Martens points her camera phone in our direction as we take in the view of Elliot Bay Saturday afternoon. I
t’s the third time today that Trey’s been recognized.
“Don’t look now, but we’re being watched again,” I say through the side of my mouth, leaning in. I find it humorous how people care so much about someone they’ll never know.
“Maybe we should hold hands? For authenticity’s sake?” he suggests, his expression serious.
We’re flanked by a team of security, all of them ensuring no one invades our personal bubble while keeping a comfortable distance.
I nod.
This is literally what I signed up for—to be his fiancée. Public displays of affection are a part of that.
I take Trey’s hand and brush my shoulder against his arm as we stroll unhurried, like a lovely, normal couple enjoying the moment. He looks down at me with a knowing, closed-mouth smile and, for a microsecond, a spark of realness passes through me. Hot then cold. Electric then gone.
Diverting my attention, I focus on the Olympic Mountains in the distance. From here, I’m reminded how tiny we are in the grand scheme of things. Lifetimes from now, no one will know my name. It makes all of life’s big problems and impossible decisions seem almost miniscule. And it gives me all the more reason to do as much good as I can while I’m here.
We grab a quick lunch at a local oyster house before ambling into a vintage bookstore and a handful of charming little shops all lined up in a row. In the end, we’ve amassed a collection of things we don’t need. A first edition Maya Angelou. A crystal candy dish the shape of the Space Needle. A postcard-sized, framed map of the city from 1962. A Babe Ruth autographed baseball card that reminded him of his grandfather’s card collection. A few hundred dollars later, we climb into his rented SUV and head to the hotel.
Buying things I don’t need without giving them serious contemplation isn’t something I’m accustomed to, but Trey does it as if it’s as natural as breathing.
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