Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Lola: Dick fingers? Actually, don’t answer that.
Sebastien: Because everything he touches, he fucks.
Hugo: You’re just jealous because you didn’t pull last night.
Matt: Shut the feck up, the lot of youse!
Hugo: But at least you get more action than Matt.
Sebastien: Father O’Flannery gets more action than Matt.
Lucía: Matt, *youse* isn’t a real word.
Lola: No wonder he doesn’t have a girlfriend.
Me: Hilarious. But you’re all wrong because I’m about to become a father.
Hugo: You’re such a gobshite.
Letty: It’s true.
Lola: He told you first?!?!
Me: Blame Clodagh and her flapping lugs.
Sebastien: Clodagh knows you used a surrogate?
Me: Feck off.
Letty: Her name is Ryan. She’s very nice. And she’s living at Matt’s place. They’re in this together but not to-Geth-er.
Me: Thanks for that, Letty. Next time I’ll let you break the news.
Sebastien: Matt . . . she already did.
Me: Ah, Letty. Fuck’s sake.
Letty: Sorry. I was too excited for you.
Sebastien: Congrats, big bro.
Lola: Yes, congratulations, Matty!
Lucía: Same.
Hugo: I’m pretty sure there are wiser beings out in the fields chewing grass than you.
Me: . . .
Well, that went about as well as I expected.
Chapter 30
Ryan
Twenty-five weeks, and my bump no longer looks like it might be the result of a big meal. Matt’s baby bible informs us that the bean is a big as a cucumber now, but I’m thinking this bump looks more like half a pumpkin. And I cannot contemplate what half a pumpkin might do to my vagina, never mine a full-grown one.
I might never have sex again.
And speaking of, the day following my needy kitchen cave, I couldn’t look him in the face. Meanwhile, true to his word, Matt carried on as though everything was normal. As though my hormones weren’t responsible for turning his back massage X-rated.
In the cold light of day, alone and in my own bed, I googled my reactions, and it turns out I wasn’t losing my mind. A person can actually orgasm from a massage of the sacral region. Of course, the orgasm that followed had nothing to do with a back massage.
But I’d felt so close to Matt, and his touch was . . . Well, I needed it. The connection and closeness. I needed his hot breath and whispered words. His fingers, his tongue. All that bliss.
The experience certainly hit the spot. A couple of times.
And because I’m not as good at pretending as Matt is, I brought it up. Spoke the words. Mainly to say it couldn’t happen again. And he was so casual about it—“Yeah, okay.”
His response should’ve helped, not stung, right? But ignorance is bliss, so they say.
Not that I could feign ignorance at my next clinic appointment. As I lay on the bed trying not to react to the weight of Matt’s dark gaze on me. Or remember how his tongue felt inside me.
Hot Doc Travers, as I now refer to him—though not to his face, obviously—had suggested we might learn our baby’s sex during the scheduled scan. We declined. Matt is a fan of surprises, so he says. Me, not so much. But discovering our baby’s sex seems like a reality I’m not quite ready for. I’m not sure that even makes much sense.
Matt: What’s on the menu tonight?
I give in to a tiny smile. Matt’s afternoon text is right on schedule.
Me: You tell me. Mary is your chef.
Matt: Yeah, but you can probably smell it.
Me: How do you know I’m home?
Matt: Because I didn’t see you last night.
Me: And that means . . .
Matt: That means, statistically speaking, I will tonight. Not that you’re avoiding me. Or rationing our time together or anything, right?
I frown down at my phone and take the coward’s way out.
Me: Statistically? Are you a secret quantitative data gatherer?
Matt: I’ve been called worse.
Me: Does that stuff get you hot?
Danger! Danger! I need to rewind time, because my fingers were too quick for my brain!
Matt: I think you know what gets me hot, Ryan.
Me: Yes, but we agreed not to speak about it.
Matt: And I know what gets you hot.
Me: Matt, we can’t have this conversation.
Not when it already has me hot under the waistband. Not that I have a waist currently.
Matt: You started it.
Me: And you’re riding too much into it.
Me: Reading—you’re reading too much into the conversation, I mean.
Riding was something I dreamed of last night. And not a horse in sight. Matt is hung—
Stop.
I guess it’s safe to say our little dalliance last month didn’t really help my hormones any.
Matt: But am I? I don’t really think so.
My heart gives a little pinch. I was hoping he didn’t care either way.
No, that’s not true. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice.
Okay, so that’s a lie too.
I know he’s not dumb, but I was mostly hoping he wouldn’t call me out. Rationing our time together. That’s exactly what I’ve been doing.
Matt: By the way, my parents are coming to visit next month. I hope that’s okay.