Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
ALLISON
Tonight was the night.
Wells was coming over to put a baby in her.
Just your average Wednesday night in Fairwick Falls.
Allison stared at herself in the mirror, trying to strike an I-am-clean-and-tidy-but-I-didn’t-try-too-hard look.
She was already starting to get the nervous sweats.
She rolled her lips together and pulled her hair down from the ponytail she’d tossed it in. Just making it easier when we’re in bed, she rationalized, not because she wanted to look better.
She’d already thoroughly brushed her teeth, taken a shower, dried her hair, put on a comfortable but tidy-looking outfit of leggings and a cashmere sweater.
She hadn’t bothered with a bra or underwear—just one more thing to pull off.
She hadn’t eaten a thing all day; she’d been too nervous. “This isn’t a big deal,” she muttered, annoyed with herself. She picked at her bangs, making them lie the right way.
I don’t like him. He doesn’t like me. This is a means to an end.
A hard knock on the door made her yelp.
Be cool. Be cool. Be cool.
She tugged on her shirt and opened the door.
Wells filled the doorframe wearing slacks and a soft sweater. He held up a bottle of wine. “I’m here to make a deposit?”
“Ugh, gross,” she said, pulling him in. She didn’t want the neighbors gossiping.
Wells loomed large in her living room, looking like a bear that had broken into a storybook cottage.
“Ready to make a baby in the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe’s house?” he said.
She glared at him. “We can’t all be as cool as you and live with your parents.”
“I’ve actually started looking for a house,” he said, toeing off his shoes and coat. “So there’s space for when the baby comes.”
Her stomach grumbled.
He stared at her stomach. “Do you need food?”
“No, I just, um, you know…nerves.”
He held up a brown grocery store bag. “I did bring a turkey baster in case you changed your mind.” He took out a foot-long turkey baster still sealed in a bag.
“That’s enormous,” she muttered.
“I hear women like that kind of thing,” Wells said, eyebrows waggling.
Allison grimaced, skeeved out by the whole idea. “I guess it can be a backup if this doesn’t…”—she flicked her hand between them—“…work.”
Harry/Smokey pitter-pattered down the stairs and wound her way through Wells’s legs. He picked up the cat who became a wet noodle in his hands. “We’re promoting you to big sister tonight, Smokey.”
Okay, that’s kind of cute. Allison swallowed a smile.
“And if you hear anything that happens,” Wells said, talking earnestly to the cat who looked up at him with wide eyes, “know that we won’t be paying for your therapy.”
He let the cat down. “Want some wine? I got the terrible kind, just for you,” he said, holding what looked like an expensive bottle.
Allison put a hand to her stomach. “Better to do this with a clear head. I haven’t eaten today, so I’d have one glass and be a mess.” She laughed nervously.
An uncomfortable silence settled between them.
“So,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “I assume the bedroom is not down here.”
“Right,” she said, shaking her head. So awkward. “Um…let’s go upstairs.”
She led the way, trying to calm the beating of her heart.
“Wow, this is like a granny house,” he said, climbing the steep stairs. “I don’t think these stairs meet code standards.” Wells poked his head into the bathroom as they walked past it. “And a clawfoot tub?”
“It’s romantic.”
“It’s a death trap,” he said with a frown. “I can’t imagine bathing a toddler in there.”
“Oh.” Allison swooned, thinking about the potential. “But think how cute the pictures would be. This is just a rental, but I’m hoping to buy the cottage from the owners in the next few years,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself.
Wells nodded, eyes narrowed for some reason.
They walked into her bedroom. The one modern luxury in the cottage was her king-size bed.
“Oh, thank Christ. You have a real bed,” Wells muttered. He pulled at the clasp of his watch with a firm tug.
And why was that so sexy? The posh and proper way he tugged at the clasp before he yanked it off with a ramrod straight spine.
Wells was a big guy, but he carried himself like a prince at court.
“So,” he said, rolling up his sleeves.
“So,” Allison said, standing on the other side of the bed.
The air between them was thick with awkward, unspoken questions.
He wiped a hand across his mustache and laughed. “If we’re going to do this, it helps to be within arm’s length of each other.”
“Right,” she said, and took a few steps closer to him.
They stared at one another for a long beat.
“We don’t have to do this,” he said softly. “I can get the turkey baster.”
She bit the side of her thumb. “It’s just, I’ve never been really great at sex to begin with, and then you’re sort of an asshole.
Plus this is goal-oriented sex, where the stakes are very high,” she said, pacing back and forth.
“In a lot of ways, this is my every nightmare coming together in a hellmouth, including you laughing at me because I’m so bad at this, or because I look weird, or smell weird—”
A hand on her hip stopped her.
“I promised I wouldn’t laugh. And if you look weird, I won’t say anything,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. She elbowed his arm away. “Genuine question, though,” he said, widening his stance and crossing his arms to match her. “How are you bad at sex?”
“I mean, I don’t have teeth down there or anything.
” To her surprise, Wells let out a sharp bark of laughter.
“I’m usually in my head, and the whole thing is hard for me when I’m with somebody else.
I don’t have a ton of experience with people other than Keith,” she said reluctantly, finally meeting his eyes.
One other person, she admitted. And it had been passable, but nothing spectacular.
He nodded without judgment, shrugging as if it was no big deal. “Okay. So what gets you off?”
Allison let out an embarrassed laugh, looking everywhere but at him. “Well…I…I don’t…” She blustered as she tried to form a coherent response.
He shrugged as if they were discussing sandwich condiments. “Nipple play, clitoral stimulation, a finger in the ole bonus hole—”
“Oh my god.” Her face was burning, and she covered it with both hands. “That’s, um, not something that happens when I’m with someone. You don’t need to worry about it.”
“Wait, like ever?” he said, his eyebrows reaching his hairline.
She tugged at her sleeves, pulling them over her hands. “It’s harder for me to…get there. Keith said he couldn’t have fun if he was focused on trying to make that happen for me. So…”
“Fucking Keith.” Wells wiped a hand down his face. “It’s fine; we can use your vibrator.”
Allison’s cheeks flushed.
God, this was like every one of her insecurities on a light-up Main Street parade. She toyed with the heirloom jewelry dish on her dresser, straightening it. “I don’t have one.” She shrugged as if it was no big deal.
“No vibrator?” he said, clarifying, disbelieving. “Are you…against them?”
“It’s fine for other people. I just felt weird ordering one, like…it’s not something that’s for me. I’m the bad-at-sex, responsible person. Plus I was overwhelmed with all the options. There are whole chairs you can order,” she said, chewing on her thumbnail again.
“You don’t own one vibrator?” he said, looking baffled.
“I don’t need your judgment right now. My body, my choice also extends to sex toys. You don’t need to worry about me. Just do your thing,” she said, getting defensive.
He looked horrified. “If you’re not having a good time, this isn’t going to work, and I wouldn’t make you. Is that what Keith did?” A look of fury washed over his face, but as soon as she blinked, it was gone.
“It was pleasurable but not…you know…” She mimed an explosion.
Wells scratched his head. “And he didn’t eat you out beforehand?”
She laughed. “Definitely not.”
“This is just going to be hard,” he said, scratching the back of his head, a twinkle in his eye. “I didn’t know you were a prude.”
“A prude?” Allison stomped her foot in dismay. “I have had sex in two public places, thank you so much.”
Wells laughed. “I’m sure the Amish Quilt Bonanza was a perfect place for you to lose your virginity,” he said, pointing to a quilt displayed on a rack.
“You’ve probably picked up every ex-wife of the people you represented,” she said, glaring at him, arms crossed.
She liked feeling angry at him—liked getting out of her head, making it his problem.
Finally, for once, not caring about somebody’s feelings and tiptoeing around them, not trying to make them like her. It was freeing.
“Better than a sexually repressed doily addict.” He smirked.
I should have pushed him into traffic when I had the chance. “Repressed? Just because I don’t pick up ladies at bars?”
“You took me home, Ms. Room 407,” he said, looking exasperated.
He remembers the room number? “You seduced me,” she said. Somehow, her back hit the wall without her realizing he’d maneuvered her there.
“So, I did seduce you,” he said with a wolflike grin. “Am I seducing you right now?”
Yes. “No.” Why don’t I want to say yes? She couldn’t drag her eyes away from his lips as they curled in humor.
“Listen,” she said, pointing a finger in his face.
He clasped her wrist and pinned it against the wall beside her head. Her mouth dropped open in surprise.
“I’m listening,” he said, with a hungry lick of his lips. “And it sounds like you are scared out of your mind at the prospect of having a good time, Granny Beatrix Potter.”
She smacked his arm.
He pinned her other wrist above her head, and he stood there leaning over her as her chest rose and fell.
She liked feeling pinned by him, feeling helpless and exposed.
Wanted.