Chapter 4 #2
“Security,” I say. “Stable companionship. A business arrangement that benefits both of us with perks like life insurance and healthcare coverage. Family, if we both agree to that.”
The intensity in her eyes makes something twist deep in my belly.
“And sex,” I add. “Safe, mutually satisfying, reliable sex.”
Toe-curling, mind-blowing, body-shaking sex.
I keep that thought to myself, not wanting to pat myself on the back. But if it was even a fraction as good for her as it was for me, she knows this is true.
Her cheeks go even pinker, and I see I’m not the only one having these thoughts. I can read it on her face like lines from the economics texts we used to pore over together while cozied up in my brown beanbag chair.
She stares at me for a long, long time. She doesn’t look moved, but that’s not what I’m after here anyway. “I still can’t figure out if you’re serious.”
“Dead serious.”
“You’re bonkers.”
“I’m practical.”
She snorts. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Pragmatic.”
Sarah shakes her head, her expression halfway between fondness and amusement. “This is not how I pictured my engagement.”
“Sorry.” I pull her closer, loving the feel of her body against me. “If it makes a difference, I can get you a killer engagement ring.”
“You know I never gave a shit about jewelry.”
I shrug, stroking her thumb with mine. “I wasn’t sure if that might be one of the things that changed.”
“It’s not.” Her face creases with the same intense concentration she wears when she’s puzzling over something important. “Some things don’t change, ever.”
“True enough.”
There’s that serious look again, the one that tells me an argument is coming. “You live in New York. Not exactly conducive to all that safe, mutually satisfying, reliable marital sex we’ll be having.”
“This consulting job with Wyeth Airways,” I say, “the one I’m in town for? Odds are pretty good it’ll turn into a full-time job.”
“And?” She always did know when there was more to a story.
“It’s uh—the kind of job where they like to see a certain stability in the personal lives of the management team.”
“Ah,” she says, a syllable infused more with understanding than judgment. “So they want you to be married?”
“No one’s said that outright,” I say. “And that’s just one fraction of the reasons this makes sense.”
She nods, still taking it in. Or maybe just humoring me. “So you’d be moving here?”
“That’s the plan.”
She tilts her head to the side like she’s taking in the information. “Is your mom still in Central Oregon?”
“Yes. I haven’t seen her since—for a long time,” I finish, embarrassed to admit how long it’s been. “It would be nice to be closer. She’s always wanted grandkids.”
That gets a laugh out of her. “She’d be a great grandma.” Her expression turns wistful. “I do want kids. And I guess the clock is ticking.”
As enthusiasm goes, this isn’t the best. But I don’t want us to be reckless and lovestruck about this. I want us to be smart. Careful. Responsible.
She shifts a little under the blanket, and a totally irresponsible part of me flares to life again. I do my best to ignore it, but it’s tough with Sarah squirming against me.
Her eyes are locked with mine like she’s trying to crack my head like a walnut. “I can’t believe you’re serious.”
“But you’ll consider it?”
“Ian—”
“Just take a few days,” I suggest. “Let me send you a formal proposal.”
“A formal proposal.” She rolls her eyes. “Will this involve spreadsheets and a PowerPoint presentation?”
“If you want it to.”
“You’re crazy.” She says it with a fondness that’s achingly familiar.
“Possibly,” I agree. “I’ve been called worse.”
“By other women?” She doesn’t give me a chance to respond to that, which is just as well. “Why aren’t you hitting them up?” she asks. “Beth or Julie or Katie or any of those other girls you’ve dated over the years?”
Her familiarity with my ex-girlfriends startles me. “How do you remember that?”
“We may not have kept in close touch, but I always paid attention to your social channels.”
“Huh.” I’m not sure what else to say to that. Here’s where I should probably admit to scoping out her socials a little more than I’ve let on. Watching the parade of guys she’s dated over the years and secretly noticing that none of them were good enough for her.
I clear my throat. “I never had the sort of friendship with them that I did with you.”
Or sex as mind-blowing as what we just had.
“Besides,” I add. “We made a pact to marry each other if we were both still single at thirty. I’m here, you’re here—”
“You’re hard,” she says, grinning as she grips my cock under the blanket. My mind veers from a place of responsibility and logic and into a much darker corner.
“At least promise me you’ll consider it,” I say. “Humor me?”
She stares into my eyes for a long time, then shakes her head. “Fine,” she says. “If you’re serious—and I’m still not convinced you are—then I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I can ask,” I say, my voice cracking a little as she strokes me under the blanket.
We may not be on the same page as far as this marriage business goes, but clearly there’s one thing we both want.
So I roll her onto her back and set about making it happen.