Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Franky
I had just pulled into a parking spot on Riverbrook’s main drag when my phone rang. Sean.
I felt relief more than hope. I had no plan to renew my application, but I did want to talk to him because he was my friend, and my request had blindsided him.
“Hello.”
“Hey there. How are you?”
“I’m well. Just on my way to the coffee shop.”
“Man, I love those cinnamon rolls.”
His nod to that shared memory, the two of us enjoying a pastry as I tutored him in algebra, felt like an opening. Or maybe forgiveness for my ham-fisted approach.
I took a breath. “Sean, I’m—”
“I wanted to say—”
We both chuckled nervously at talking over each other. I spoke again. “I’m sorry.”
“That was my line!”
Another joint chuckle, easier this time.
“I shouldn’t have cornered you like that at a dinner party. In the bathroom. With the snails as my witness.”
“It was certainly a unique setting for your proposal. The whole thing took me by surprise. I had no idea this was something you really wanted.”
“It’s been building for a while, since Cat had the twins. But I’ve only really applied myself to the problem this year. Another birthday passed and I started to wonder how I could make it happen. Then who might be a good candidate. You were at the top of my list.”
“That’s so flattering. I’m sorry I didn’t react the way you expected. Or wanted.”
“It’s okay, I have options. I liked the idea of a friend helping me out, though I’m starting to see that it’s a bigger ask than I originally assumed.”
He sighed. “It is … and it isn’t. I should tell you why I reacted that way.”
“You don’t have to explain. But I suppose it would help—as a data point—so I can recalibrate my approach.”
He chuckled. “Always with the method. So, yeah, I was shocked, but to be fair, when I thought about it, I realized it wasn’t such a terrible idea. Only I’ve met someone.”
“Ah, I see.” Sean didn’t really share much about his dating life, but I knew he’d seen a woman at his work for a while a couple of years ago and he was sad they hadn’t worked out. “Is it Melissa?”
“It is. We’ve reconnected and it’s really promising.”
I smiled. “I’m so happy for you. I hope she realizes what a catch she’s made.”
“Don’t know about that. But I do know that helping you out in this way would complicate things.”
I agreed. Of course, I didn’t expect any donor to never be in a relationship after providing his genetic material, but the timing was crucial. Giving me his sperm while dating someone was probably not going to further Sean’s ambitions with the woman of his dreams.
“Understood.”
“I would have said something when you asked, but to be honest, I was a bit shell-shocked. By the time I realized I should have explained, you were already gone.”
Fleeing the scene of the crime, except Jason Isner was there trying to make a citizen’s arrest. As if it was any of his business!
“All reasons for refusal are valid. But I think I understand this one more than any.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you. That was never my intention.”
“You didn’t. It was more a realization that I had handled it all wrong. And then Jason rubbed the salt in and made it clear how absurd he thinks it all is.”
“My brother said that?”
“Not in so many words. But I’m well aware of what he thinks of me.”
Sean laughed. “You know, you have it all wrong. Jason’s the nicest guy, but you tend to poke at him for reasons I can’t really fathom. I’m not sure why you’ve never gotten along.”
He once called me a cruel name, and weirdo that I am, I’ve never forgotten it.
“We’re just not on the same wavelength.”
“Ooh, jocks bad. Nerds good.” He sighed. “Not sure the science is there, Franky.”
Maybe not. I knew several smart jocks, but as a rule, I found most of them to be insufferable. Calling Jason an asshole the other night had been so satisfying in the moment. But now? I felt oddly regretful. I was a nice person—I thought—but this man brought out in me a nasty streak a mile wide.
“Well, I don’t want to waste a moment talking about your brother. Tell me more about Melissa.”
Ten minutes later, we ended the call with promises to check in later. I would be living in Boston for the Winter semester as a guest lecturer at Harvard, so I looked forward to getting to know Melissa better.
Would I be pregnant at that point? I hoped so. If I timed this right and conception occurred quickly, I would be finishing up the semester in Boston a few weeks before my child was born. Of course, I needed to find a donor first.
A text came in from my stepmom, Violet.
Running late. Order me a matcha latte!
Matcha. Ugh.
I headed inside and took my place in line, thinking about my list. I would need to do more research before I approached the next candidate, especially in the region of current relationships. The archives of that rumor-soaked rag, Hot Goss, might be useful here. Another column for my spreadsheet.
Behind me, a deep voice interrupted my thoughts. “I hear caffeine is bad for conception.”
Of all the coffee shops …
Because I wasn’t a rude person, I turned to face him.
Good God, he was handsome.
The shock almost bowled me over. My dislike of Jason Isner should be the primary emotion here, but apparently my lizard brain had activated, and I could only now view him sexually. A barrel-chested, broad-shouldered, thick-thighed warrior, who would know exactly how to please a woman.
Perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing. I certainly didn’t want to view him in any other way. Keeping him in his muscle-bound box as a sex object was far safer.
Those eyes, the ones that contributed to his nickname, the Green-Eyed Monster, were doing some sort of sparkling nonsense.
Very odd, considering they usually held nothing but contempt for me.
Perhaps it was the glimmer that pulled me in, making me notice more details this time.
A bump at the bridge of his nose. That scar above his eyebrow, from when he got struck during a particularly brutal playoffs game three years ago.
Sensuous lips, the bottom one a little plumper than the top.
I shook myself back to reality, the one where this man was the enemy.
“And what would you know about conception?”
“Just what I read in Scientific American.”
“You read?”
“Scientific American. Yep.”
“No, I was commenting on the fact you read. Period.”
He did one of those finger gun gestures. “I see what ya did there. Move up.”
“Move—?”
He touched my elbow. “Almost time to order, Francesca.”
Francesca? No one called me that, except the former head of my department at Lakeshore University and Cade Burnett, one of Rosie’s dads. To everyone else I was Dr. St. James or Franky. Discombobulated, I turned back and closed the gap on the person ahead of me.
I was suddenly hyperaware of the blistering energy behind me. I wanted to turn. I wanted to stay stock still. I preferred to ignore him, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had made an impact.
I was about to turn back when, thankfully, the person in front of me completed their order.
I stepped up. “Hello, could I please have a Matcha latte, medium, and a Jasmine tea, also medium?”
“I can get this.” Jason moved beside me, closer than necessary, his hip touching mine.
“That’s quite alright.”
“You won’t let me buy you a coffee to apologize?”
“I—” The female cashier, who had evidently recognized the great Jason Isner, was clearly wondering why I was not falling to my knees in gratitude. “Apologize for what?”
“Let me pay and I’ll tell you.”
Sean must have put him up to it. Rosie had also given me the side eye when I shared the broad strokes of our childhood beef. Perhaps she told him. My sister was fond of stirring the pot.
“Okay, that would be acceptable.”
“Triple grande Americano,” he said. “And two cinnamon rolls.”
“Sure. And the name?”
My scoffing laugh went unappreciated by the cashier. Come on!
“Jason,” he said with an easy smile as he tapped the payment receiver with his phone. His case was covered in butterfly stickers, which I would have not considered on brand for a hulking brute that stalked the defensive line like he was protecting his genitals.
The cashier handed off his cinnamon rolls, and we stepped aside to wait for the drinks.
“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He leaned against the back of the espresso bar, as if propping up this heavy piece of machinery with his brutish bulk.
“Triple grande? That’s what—four shots of espresso?”
“Uh huh.”
“That’ll affect your sperm count.”
His brow crumpled. “What?”
“Didn’t you read that in Scientific American?”
“Must have missed that issue.” He took out a cinnamon roll and passed the other one in the bag to me. “I know you’re a fan.”
That gave me the perfect opening. “I just spoke with your brother. We’ve smoothed things over, and he explained his reasoning for denying my request.”
“His new relationship.”
“Right. If I’d known, I would never have dreamed of asking.” Maybe we weren’t as close as I thought.
Jason seemed to read my mind. “Well, he didn’t tell me either until last night. I’m guessing it’s so new he wanted to nurture it in secret for a while.”
Nurture in secret. That’s what I would have liked to do with my plan. But now it was out there, common knowledge, and people were going to have opinions. The longer I went unpregnant, the more pathetic I looked.
“Continue.”
“What’s that?”
“This apology of yours.”
“What apology?”
I rolled my eyes. “You said—wait, isn’t that what you said?”
His eyes did that twinkling thing again, like glittering Christmas lights. Not attractive. Not. Attractive.
“Yeah, I said. I stuck my nose in there the other night. Not my circus, so yeah. Sorry.”
Worst. Apology. Ever. But about what I would expect.
“Jason?” Two of the drinks appeared on the counter, quickly followed by my tea. I noticed the barista had scrawled a series of numbers on his cup. Her digits, I assumed.
He handed off the Matcha latte to me. “So that’s your drink, huh?”