The Knocked Up Plan(20)

She nods and runs into the building.

Devon lifts his chin. “Have you decided?”

Nothing like an older brother to cut to the chase. I sought out his advice the other day, but this is the kind of issue that bears repeating, so I ask again, “What do you think I should do, Dev?”

“You know what I think,” he says, his tone as no-nonsense as the rest of him. “I want to know what you think.”

I lean against the side of the building. “I think . . . what if. What if I do this and something goes wrong? What if something happens and it all goes belly up?” I’ve tried to develop a rhino’s thick skin since Maggie, but I’ve got some tender spots still. “I don’t want to get blindsided again.”

“I hear you, man.” He claps my shoulder. “But that’s why you sign papers. You seal it airtight. No one is going to get blindsided when you lay out the terms. This isn’t a relationship. It’s a business deal.”

I laugh. He works on Wall Street, so deal-making is his bread and butter.

“I signed a marriage license, too, and then my whole life was a lie. What if this is the next one?” I ask, since I’m a persistent bastard, too.

“This isn’t the same thing. Besides,” he says, nodding toward his daughter, who’s waiting for the elevator, “look at my girl. I wouldn’t have her if someone else—some scared fifteen-year-old girl from North Dakota—didn’t give her up. She knew her girl would have a better life elsewhere, and she made that happen. Nicole’s not asking you to pledge your life to her like Maggie did. What Nicole is asking is, honestly, a lot simpler. It has a beginning and an end. If you think about it, she’s asking you to give her the same gift someone gave Paul and me.”

And my heart threatens to melt. “You little shit,” I tell him with a sneer. “When you say stuff like that, you make it almost impossible to say no.”

“Maybe you don’t want to say no.”

I go home, and after I walk Romeo, toss balls to him in the park, and feed him the most delicious kibble in the universe, so rich in nutrients it makes his handsome brown-and-white Border Collie coat glow, I flop on my bed.

Romeo hops up and scoots besides me. I rub his head as I think about Nicole. I’ve known her since I started at Hanky Panky Love. She’s always been my sexy co-worker, a fun woman. Now I’m seeing another side of her, one that’s daring in a whole new way. To embark down this path, and to woman up enough to ask me to man up, is bold.

It’s fucking hot, in fact. It takes guts to do what she did. It takes bravery. That’s so damn sexy.

I drag a hand through my hair.

Jesus Christ, this woman has always been gorgeous, and now, she’s even hotter. How is that possible? How the hell does asking me to jack off in a cup make her even sexier? But it does. Judging from my dick’s imitation of an iron spike right now, I evidently find this new side of Nicole intensely hot.

Why the hell am I so goddamn turned on thinking about masturbating?

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I mutter. Romeo licks my face. Okay, my hard-on deflates a bit. “Do I want to say no?” I ask my dog.

He rubs his nose against my shoulder.

“What would you do, buddy?”

He pants.

“Good answer.”

He jumps off the bed, scampers to a corner where he herds his dog toys, and grabs a floppy giraffe. He vivisected the giraffe a week ago. Now it’s a damaged stuffy with a neck and one leg. But he loves it, and holy shit, he loves it a lot. So much that he’s jammed it between his legs and he’s humping it.

Yup, that’s my boy. He’s screwing a mutilated giraffe stuffy.

“Get a room,” I shout.

But he keeps going, thrusting and pumping.

I know the answer. I’ve known it since I left the diner. My brother’s comments only bolstered what my heart had already decided. I needed the time to make sure I wasn’t rushing into this decision.

Nicole is a brave, bold, beautiful woman who’s unafraid to carve out a life on her own terms.

I admire the fuck out of that.

And I also want to fuck her.





Eleven





Nicole

Ever want something so badly it’s like a hungry ache in your bones?

Yeah, me neither.

As I leave the subway and walk the few blocks to An Open Book, I try once more to read meaning into Ryder’s text message as well as the location. We’re meeting at a bookstore on the Upper West Side. What does that tell me? Is his answer a yes, a no, a maybe? Please let it not be maybe. I can’t bear this in-between state much longer. I’m a woman who craves answers.

I tug my light blue scarf around my neck. There’s a cool breeze in the air. My black boots clack against the sidewalk, the rhythmic sound like a metronome, keeping time with my anticipation. I turn the corner, narrowly avoiding a couple with their arms draped around each other. The sandy-haired man peppers kisses on the cheek of the pixie woman by his side. She seems to swoon, her eyes falling briefly shut. I look away. That kind of love is not in my future, and I’m so incredibly fine with that. But I pray that another form of love will be.

As I near the shop, the warm glow of the An Open Book sign dangling above the purple doorframe feels like an invitation. I look up at the night sky and make a wish. Inside this little independent bookshop is the man who is going to give me my heart’s desire.