Straight Up Love - Lexi Ryan

by Ryan, Lexi

  When I go back out to the kitchen, Colton and Jake are already there, shooting the shit, and someone’s made a fresh pot of coffee.

  “It was awesome,” Colton says. “I was flying through the air and then the bottom of my bike, just”—he makes a cutting motion with his hand—“gone. It drops, but I’m still up there, handlebars in my hands and nothing underneath me. My team was freaking out on the sidelines, and I was flying.”

  They must be talking about the last motocross race when Colton nearly killed himself. Not the first or the last time, just the most recent. Thank God I wasn’t there to see that. I don’t think I could have handled it.

  “You’re lucky you didn’t break a leg,” Jake says.

  I nod in agreement. “Or your neck.” Colton needs more voices of reason in his life. Levi just eggs him on.

  Colton shrugs. “I’m fine. The crowd loves that shit anyway. It was great.” He turns to me. “You look better.”

  “Thanks, I guess?”

  He smirks. “Jill left me a message about dinner at Dad’s place in a couple weeks. Molly’s coming back to town?”

  I nod. I kind of forgot, and I’m not thrilled about the reminder. I wonder what Molly would do if her boss tried to put his hand up her skirt. I can’t imagine her confronted with such a situation, but if she were, I have the feeling she’d handle it with grace. And she probably wouldn’t do something like Straight Up Casual to begin with. “Apparently she has some sort of big news.”

  “Maybe she’s moving home,” Colton says.

  Jake stops his coffee halfway to his mouth. “You think?”

  I frown at him before looking back at my brother. “I can’t imagine she’d want to. She’s been here a grand total of five days in as many years.”

  “That’s true.” Colton studies the contents of his mug.

  I stifle a growl. Just the mention of Mother Teresa and all the men in the room go somber. I’m four years older than her, but I have younger friends who told me the guys in high school all wanted a piece of her. I always knew Colton had a thing for our stepsister, but I hate to imagine Jake just as lust-stricken. “Are you going to make it to dinner?” I ask my brother.

  “Can’t,” he says. “Have a thing.”

  “A thing? Sounds super important. I’m sure Dad will understand.”

  Colton shrugs. “Since when do I give a fuck what Dad thinks?”

  That’s true. Colton can’t stand our father, and when Mom moved to Florida, he went with her rather than living with Dad. For me, it made sense to stay. I was a junior in high school, so I only had a year and a half till I finished school, and I figured I’d rather be the odd man out with Dad’s new family than leave all my friends. In retrospect, I think Colton made the wiser decision, but at the time I wondered if part of his motivation was his fear that moving in with Molly made him more like a brother to her, rather than a potential . . . What? What did Colton want with Molly? To screw around, or more? Before Ellie, Colton wasn’t serious about anyone, but I always wondered if Molly was the exception. Maybe even the reason.

  I turn to Jake and catch him staring at the stack of ungraded compositions on my kitchen table. He looks a little stricken as he grabs his keys from his pocket. “I need to head to Brayden’s for brunch. Do you want to come with?”

  I put my hand on my stomach, already full of Star’s incredibly rich donut. “I think I’m all set.”

  He shakes his head and smiles. “You don’t have to eat. You can just hang out with us. I know how much you like Shay’s coffee.”

  “That’s tempting, but I have a bunch I need to get done around here.” Papers to grade, laundry to fold, weeds to pull. Since I work two jobs and volunteer as the director of Jackson Harbor Children’s Theater, I have to be stingy with my time off.

  “I’ll see you later, then,” Jake says, heading to the door.

  “Give Mom my best,” I say.

  “Will do,” he calls back.

  I wander across the kitchen to see whose paper Jake was looking at, and my heart does a stutter step. Not composition papers. Potential sperm donors.

  Colton looks over my shoulder and chuckles behind me. “Jake doesn’t seem to be handling the news of your potential pregnancy very well.”

  Any awkwardness from Jake was less about a potential pregnancy and more about me asking for his sperm, but since Colton would flip out if I shared my embarrassing drunken request, I think I’ll keep that to myself. Maybe I shouldn’t be allowed to drink.

  I look at my brother, narrowing my eyes. How’d he find out, anyway? “Ellie told you about that?”

  He nods and studies my face. “Would’ve rather heard it from my sister.”

  “Well, it’s only a possibility. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I shrug. “How’s your season shaping up?” I ask, intentionally changing the subject.

  Sometimes I think my brother chose his career in motocross just to spite our father. Then again, everything about racing appeals to Colton. The travel. The constant thrills. The life-threatening levels of danger. The women . . .

  “Season’s good,” he says. “There are some new guys trying to make a splash, but we’ll see if they last.”

  “And how are you and Ellie?”

  “We’re fantastic.”

  I grin. “That’s why she keeps hearing wedding bells.”

  Donut halfway to his mouth, he freezes. “Did she tell you that?”

  Folding my arms, I frown. “Not in so many words, but she talks about you two getting married like it’s inevitable. I think we all assume it is.”

  He cuts his gaze from mine and studies the big calendar I have taped to my fridge. The silence grows heavy between us. I sip my coffee, waiting him out.

  “I love her. I’d just hate to ruin it by rushing into something.”

  “You’ve been together for more than two years. Is that really rushing?”

  “If we’re meant to be together, what’s the harm in taking our time? Where exactly is it that we’re trying to get to?”

  I sigh. I know Ellie doesn’t feel the same way, but the last thing I want to do is guilt my brother into a proposal he’s not ready for. “Just make sure you’re telling her how you feel.”

  When he turns back to me, there’s more anguish in his eyes than I would have expected. Sometimes I forget my kid brother isn’t a kid anymore, and he has problems of his own. “I’m not like you, Av. I’m not happy with the status quo. I want more.”

  I’m not sure he intended to insult me, but it stings. “Who said I’m happy with the status quo?”

  He arches a brow and points to the papers on the table. “So you’re going to go through with the sperm-donor plan?”

  “It’s complicated. I think so. Maybe in a couple of months, but . . .”

  He folds his arms and studies me, and for a split second I see my father in his stern expression. All the McKinley men look so much alike. “Do you remember when we were kids and Mom sold the camper and put the addition on the house?”

  I smile, remembering. I was twelve, and Colton was seven. Mom had gotten the camper in the divorce, but Colt and I hated camping, so we never used it. We convinced her she should sell it and use the money to buy something for herself—an elaborate vacation, a new wardrobe—anything, as long as it was for her. She decided to put an addition on the back of the house with the master bedroom and en suite she’d always dreamed of, and we had so much fun helping her with all the design decisions. “I still can’t believe we talked her into that.”

  “Do you remember how excited you were to move into her old bedroom?”

  Frowning, I shake my head. “You moved into her old bedroom, not me.”

  “I did, but only because you decided you didn’t want to. You were so excited about having all that space and the big windows, but the closer it got to moving day, the more anxious you became. None of your worries made any sense, but you refused to move.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I vaguely remember that now. Mom had
said the old master could be mine because I was the oldest, but I decided Colton should have it. I don’t remember why I made my decision, only that afterward I was jealous of Colton. He had space for three friends to roll out sleeping bags during slumber parties, whereas my friends and I had to spend our sleepovers in the living room.

  “You were so scared that you’d miss your old room that you refused to take the bigger bedroom even though you wanted it.”

  “It worked out okay.” I punch him on the shoulder. “And I don’t remember you complaining.”

  “And then when you got the fellowship to get an MFA in drama in New York City . . .? You worked so hard on that application, and when they offered it, you declined.”

  “I’d started dating Harrison. It didn’t make sense to leave. And anyway, I avoided a lot of student loan debt by passing on that program.”

  He steps forward and taps the stack of potential sperm donors. “And now you want a baby, but you’ve put the brakes on that too.”

  My cheeks heat because I’m still embarrassed about my plans, and it’s weird to have this conversation with my brother. “Is my wild-and-free brother actually trying to talk me into having a baby?” I ask.

  “Maybe.” He folds his arms. “When Ellie told me she’d successfully stalled your plans, I was pissed. You need to be reminded to go after life, not to be cautious. Your whole life has been cautious.”

  “She just doesn’t want me jumping into anything.”

  “I know you, sis. You don’t like change. It scares you to death. So I know it’s a big deal for you to have even gone this far. Don’t stop short of your dreams because you’re afraid of change. Change can be good.”

  “This decision isn’t just about me. I have the child to consider, and Ellie’s right. It’ll be so hard to do it on my own.”

  “The timing will never be perfect.” He narrows his eyes and shakes his head. “You gotta take risks if you want to be happy.”

  “Coming from the boy who spends his whole life taking risks and never feeling content, I’m not sure that’s great advice.” I bite my lip. “No offense, Colt.”

  “Nah. I get it. We’re different. Maybe you need to be a little more like me, and I need to be a little more like you. But you’re prepared for this. You have a job—two, really, and three if you count that summer thing you do with the kids. And that’s not even accounting for all the rainy-day savings you’ve worked so hard for and refuse to touch.” He taps my nose affectionately, just like he used to when we were kids. “Everything will work out if you just let it.”

  “I never would have guessed you’d be so in favor of me doing this.” I expected him to be more like Ellie—terrified I’d be wasting what was left of my youth. But as shocking as it is, it also feels good. I like having my brother on my side.

  “I know you. I know what matters to you. Focus less on making the safest decision and more on making one that’s true to you.”

  “Damn.” I prop my hands on my hips. “When did you get so wise?”

  He grins. “I gotta jet. Let me know how dinner goes, and tell Molly I said hey.”

  “Will do.”

  He leaves, and I turn to look at the calendar on my fridge. My hectic schedule is all there—theater rehearsals, drama club meetings, and shifts at Jackson Brews. I love this life. I’m truly, truly grateful for everything that fills it. So grateful that I’ve spent years feeling guilty every time I wanted a little less busy and a little more meaning.

  A baby. A family of my own.

  Maybe Colton’s right. Maybe I should be a little less afraid of change and a little more willing to grab on to the life I want.

  Ava

  “I’m torn between the six-foot-tall physicist and the five-foot-eight therapist,” I tell Jake behind the bar on Friday. “I want my child to be smart but also empathetic, so it’s a tough decision.”

  He folds his arms, and his dark T-shirt pulls across the bunching muscles in his shoulders. “You’re seriously choosing the father of your future child based on his height and profession alone?”

  I shrug. “There’s some additional information too, but all other things being equal, the details are definitely limited.”

  “So once you decide, then what happens?”

  “Well, I’m going against the advice of the doctor at the clinic and taking the cheap route, which means self-insemination.”

  “Turkey baster?”

  I roll my eyes. “Not exactly.” But close.

  “Why does the doctor advise against that?”

  “The clinic offers all this fertility help, and he thinks that’s what I need. I want to be careful with my money, though, so I’d rather do it on my own. At least at first. Maybe I’ll get lucky.”

  “Fertility help?”

  “You know, they’ll figure out when I’m ovulating and do the insertion at the best time. They can even give me some meds to make me ovulate, but all that costs money, so I want to try it this way first. Truth be told, I’m probably a prime candidate for the additional help, but I want to believe that my inability to get pregnant with Harrison was a fluke and doesn’t point to serious fertility issues.”

  Jake winks at a girl across the counter and fills her beer before turning back to me. “Explain this to me. What makes the doctor think you need additional help?”

  “I don’t have regular periods, so it’s hard for me to know when I’m fertile. I could buy those ovulation detectors, but really those are best used around the time you think you might be ovulating. Since I have no clue, it’s a giant waste of money.”

  Wincing, he pulls a tap and pours himself a beer. I’m pretty sure the only time we’ve talked about this without Jake reaching for a drink was the morning at his apartment, and I’m starting to think he might have done so then too if it hadn’t been before noon. He looks horrified—like, truly horrified to be having this conversation—so I snap my mouth shut. I’ve been thinking about this so much that it poured out of me. I can’t tell Ellie because I know she’s not a fan of my plan anyway. But Jake’s a dude. He doesn’t want to hear about irregular periods and ovulation testers.

  “I’m sorry,” I moan. “You were just being polite, and I responded with total diarrhea of the mouth. I’m becoming one of those women who overshares everything. I’m just trying to plan it all out before I get started, but I can’t plan like other women, and that’s frustrating.”

  “Yeah.” He clears his throat and stares into his beer. “It’s too bad you can’t just have a guy you sleep with regularly, so you don’t have to worry about conserving the precious sperm for fertile moments.”

  I grunt. “If I had a guy I slept with regularly, I wouldn’t be in this position, would I?”

  He takes a long drink from his beer and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I guess not.”

  “Am I being an entitled brat? I just want a baby. I’ve worked really hard to set my life up so I’d be in a good position for a family. I have summers off, and I’ve worked two jobs so I could pay off my little house and have a good nest egg. I don’t drive a fancy car or go on elaborate vacations. I make good decisions because—” I snap my mouth shut and shake my head. “I am. I’m being an entitled brat. I think that just because I want something, I should have it and I should have it now. But it’s gonna be fine.”

  Jake rubs the back of his neck and stares at me. “Fuck,” he mutters. Then he grabs my arm and pulls me through the swinging door into the kitchen. “On your birthday, were you serious when you asked me to help you?”

  “I mean, drunk serious, but yeah.” I make a face. Did I ever properly apologize for putting him in that position? I am the worst. “Jake, I’m sorry about that. No one should ever ask something that big from a friend.”

  He taps his fingers to his lips and studies me. “You know you’re never going to get knocked up on your own if you’re this stressed about it.”

  I wince. Harrison used to say that.

  “Stop putting so much pres
sure on making this happen.”

  “You try to control everything. It’s no wonder your body won’t accept a baby.”

  “Can’t you meditate or something?”

  I lift my chin. “You might be right, but that’s not a very nice thing to say.”

  “Shit. I mean . . .” Reaching out, he tucks my hair behind my ear, then he puts a hand on the wall on either side of my head and leans in. And I mean he leans in. His heat is close, his eyes are on me, and his forehead is nearly touching mine.

  A shower of flurries goes through my belly and up my arms, and long-ignored lust for my best friend wakes up and stretches her arms.

  Down, girl. This is Jake. Not some hot stud preparing to take you home.

  “Let me help you,” he says. “I want to help you.”

  I drop my gaze to his mouth. It’s so close to mine and making me feel things I’m not allowed to feel. “Are you offering me unlimited sperm until I’m knocked up?” I’m trying to be funny and force a laugh, but laughter fails me when he’s this close and my heart is hammering.

  His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I guess you could put it that way.”

  “How would that even work? Would you just hand over a fresh cup of the goods every couple of days?” My second attempt at a giggle sounds maniacal, but my body is a flurry of excitement—because, yes, I have my reservations about doing this with a friend, but that doesn’t change that he’s offering me my dream. I want to wrap my arms around him and squeeze him hard. Instead, I study him and unsuccessfully try to read his thoughts. More than once in the last week, I’ve looked at potential sperm donors and thought about that awkward morning at Jake’s apartment. He never said no, did he? He had misunderstood my request, and then I shut it down as a bad idea before he could answer. “You’d really do this for me, Jake?”

  “You’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you.”

  My chest is warm. “I’m not sure I deserve that.”

  “But I’m not jacking off into a cup.”