Chapter 10
HOLLY
TWO DAYS LATER
Time slowed to a crawl since our dinner. Which is weird, considering how busy I’ve been here at work. Normally I blink, and it’s hours later. But time acts different when something big is coming. It drags, just to mess with you.
Not that I’m in a huge rush to have sex with Dexter. Although, technically, I am.
More accurately: I’m in a rush to get pregnant. Can’t do one without the other. But the thing that’s using up most of my brain space is the small detail where Dexter and I actually have sex to make it happen.
I know it will be just the one time. That’s the plan: just one time.
Sure, it might be a little unfamiliar at first—but it’s Dexter. I’ve known him forever, and I’m comfortable with him.
Sex won’t change that.
Dexter’s calm, confident personality and my optimistic, self-assertive one can handle it.
If there’s one thing I can rely on one hundred percent, it’s that Dexter won’t make it weird.
He never does. Even after prom, when things could have been uncomfortable, they weren’t.
He treated it like it was no big deal and kept things normal, which made it easy for me to do the same.
That’s what I hold onto. That’s another reason why I chose him.
If anything, he’ll throw in a tease or two. Like the whole growly “we will be kissing” thing. Or that “it’s going to be filthy as hell” moment that I’ve definitely not overanalyzed to the moon and back.
Conclusion: He was messing with me. Obviously.
Dexter is the last man I’d fall for. Just like I’m the last woman he’d ever go for.
Besides, men like him? They never sleep alone. And I’m not even on the shortlist. Which, frankly, is ideal.
Because if Dexter is one thing, it’s this: He’s reliable. That was the first thing I wrote on the list. (Well, right after “must be single,” which, thankfully, he is at the moment.)
Still, I haven’t heard from him much since our dinner. And that’s... not like him. We usually text constantly: random updates, dumb memes, minor crises. Silence isn’t normal for us.
And right now, the almost-silence is starting to feel a little loud.
There are several times I pick up my phone to text him. And every time, I put it down again. How do you casually send a Jack Dawson and Rose DeWitt Bukater meme to someone you’re about to sleep with… for the sole purpose of making a baby?
The office phone rings. Shelby.
“I’m telling you, stop making it weird,” she says after I fill her in, her voice crackling through the speaker. Somewhere in the background, a kettle clicks off and someone starts singing out of tune. Probably her youngest.
“I am trying. It’s harder than I thought.”
“Well, try harder. And by try harder, I mean: Honestly, darling, get a grip.”
I let out a long groan. “I hate you.”
“You adore me,” she replies breezily. “Now. Breathe. This is Dexter we’re talking about. You’ve known him since the dawn of time.”
“Shut up.”
“Oh, you’ll be fine. Come on, at some point, a towel must have slipped? Surely you’ve got some idea what’s coming your way.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “I’ve never seen him naked.”
“Never? Really?” Her surprise is genuine. “You two have practically lived in each other’s pockets since puberty. I figured you’d have walked in on him at least once. Left the door open by accident. Shower steam. Something.”
“Nope.”
Well.... there was that one time he saw me. My face heats at the memory. No need to bring that up. Or the fact that my imagination’s wandered occasionally. I’m a grown woman with eyes. And a very active inner life.
“You’re picturing it, aren’t you?” Shelby cuts in.
“What? No.”
“You are.”
“I am not.”
“Liar. What, trying to guess the size?”
“Shelby!”
“Oh, don’t be such a prude. You should be thrilled. This is a man that’s seen you cry in pyjamas, held your hair when you puked after half a cocktail, and now he’s volunteering to give you a baby. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”
“It is not love.”
“What then? High-functioning codependency?”
I grin. “Sacred trust, thank you very much. And I’m not screwing it up. Not for anything.”
There’s a pause.
“Sweetheart, you won’t,” she says, softer now. “You’ll be fine. You always are.”
“Honestly, I think I’ve got a bit of performance anxiety.”
“You’re not doing some kind of audition, you know. It’s sex, not bloody rocket science. Just lie back and think of baby names.”
I snort. “Please. I’ll be lucky if I remember my own.”
She laughs. “Fair enough. Just don’t shout his name by accident. That’s how babies get siblings.”
“If he mentions eye contact, I’m out.”
“Oh no, not your one fatal weakness.”
I groan. “Why do I even open my mouth around you? Change the subject. Now.”
“Because someone’s got to be the adult here, and clearly that’s not you. And because deep down, you know your little sister is right. And can I just say, that baby is going to be beautiful, Holly.”
My breath catches. I close my eyes and let the thought linger. My heart soars when I picture myself cradling a baby in my arms. Will she have Dexter’s unreal eyes? My hair? His strong jaw? His dimples?
I blink, caught off guard by how much I want that to be true.
“And you’ll be a brilliant mum,” she adds, gently. “That child is going to be so loved.”
My throat gets tight. “God. Don’t make me cry before sex.”
“Exactly. Right, darling, pull yourself together. Wear something sexy. Or nothing at all. He’s a man, and men are very simple creatures. All visual. You want this over quickly? A little lacy number might cut your one-minute mission down to thirty seconds.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Fair enough. After all, you’ve got a short night ahead of you.”
I’m still laughing as I grab my purse. I needed that. She’s right. I have to relax and not put so much pressure on myself.