The Knocked Up Plan(11)

What would it be like for my friend and colleague to be the fa—

But I don’t bring myself to say the F-word, even in my head. Because this isn’t a choice about how a baby makes three. Ryder and I aren’t a one and two, and that’s just fine. This is a choice I’m making to be a single mother, and I don’t need a father for my child.

I just need the other half of the baking mix.

As co-workers, the situation might be awkward. As human beings, it might simply be odd, too.

But life is a string of uncomfortable moments, and our job as adults is to navigate through them with the least harm and most love. Asking him to donate sperm is awkward as hell, but it’s also precisely the sort of thing that professionals like us, skilled at discussing the ins and outs of the most bizarre requests men and women make to each other, could manage.

That is if he says yes.

Another nosedive.

Oh God, I hope he says yes.

He might say no.

He’ll probably say no.

But I’ll never know if I don’t ask.

“Soooooo,” Delaney says, her eyes wide.

“Soooooo,” I repeat. “I should ask him?”

They wait for me to answer my own question.

“I should?” It comes out tentative at first. I say it again, stronger this time. “I should.” It sounds right. I absolutely should ask him to be my donor.

Penny and Delaney look at each other, then me. They say in unison, “You should.”

“It’s so much better to know the donor,” Penny adds.

“He’s the total package,” Delaney reiterates.

“He really is,” I say, and it feels crazy, but incredibly right, too. It makes me nervous, but it excites me. I set my hand on my stomach, quelling the nerves. I look at the time on my phone. “There’s no time like the present. I’ll ask him tonight.”

After all, this potential donor is as handsome as a girl can dream up and more. He’s got a little bit of everything a girl could want, and he has that extra something special that I especially need.

He won’t want to be involved beyond the deposit.





Six





Ryder

I slam the white plastic ball across the table, imagining it’s Cal, it’s Maggie, it’s the institution of marriage.

What it is, though, is a perfect shot.

However, our opponents are tough as nails, even with Steve’s crazy-ass swing.

It’s down to the final serve. Do or die. The wiry guy is a determined mofo. He extends his left arm so far to the middle of the table that his teammate actually jumps out of the line of fire, like a frog skittering away from the street. But Steve’s backhand is so vicious he grunts as he returns the ball with astonishing power, sending it screaming in Nicole’s direction.

Tension threads through me. No way can she get this. No way anyone can dive the way she needs to. But somehow, the woman stretches across the corner of the table and saves the ball before it rattles to the floor. In a split second, she hits it with a perfect return.

Perfect because Steve’s teammate misses, since he’s still scrambling to get back into position.

I thrust my arms in the air. Nicole hoots.

“We are the champions,” she says, and that calls for scooping her up. I lift her in my arms. “We absolutely are.”

Buoyed by the thrill of victory, I squeeze her tight, and for a second her breasts are pressed flush to my pecs. Naturally, I have no choice but to swing my eyes downward, and hot damn. They are highly bitable. But then, this isn’t the first time I’ve noticed Nicole’s rocking body. She’s lush. Curvy hips, a delicious ass, lean legs. On top of that, she has that long red hair, those fantastic lips, and these light blue eyes that make you do a double take and wonder if they’re contacts, because how can anyone have eyes that shade of blue? I even asked her once, and she got in my face, opened her eyes wide, and said, “See anything less than real?”

“Nothing but blue skies ahead,” I’d said.

Also, it should be mentioned her ass is something I’d like to worship. I’ve checked out her backside pretty much every time she’s ever bent down to pick up a Ping-Pong ball from the floor. If I ever strip her to nothing, I’ll spend ample time nibbling it, no doubt. Then I remind myself to stop objectifying her. Besides, I need her advice and input. I’ve got to sell her on helping me with Cal’s do-or-die project. She’s the perfect companion to test these dates with me, and I need to find the right moment tonight to ask for her help.

“Hey, superstar, want to get a glass of champagne and toast to our victory?” I say as we break the embrace.

“I would love nothing more,” she says brightly, since the bar that hosts our games—the Lucky Spot—is known for its champagne and Ping-Pong nights.

We shake hands with Wide Swing Steve as well as his teammate, congratulating them on a game well played.

“Good job, guys,” I say.

“You, too.” Steve shakes his head in frustration. “You two are a tough team to beat.”

“Why, thank you,” Nicole says. “So are you.”

When we reach the counter, I ask the bartender for the bubbly special—since, when in Rome—but Nicole declines and says she’ll have an iced tea instead.