Gentleman Sinner(114)

‘Then how?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe you have acid sperm.’ For the love of all things holy. It’s happened. It’s no good going over the hows and whys of it all. It won’t change anything. I sag, trying not to let my budding frustration get the better of me. ‘Come and sit down,’ I order, patting the seat next to me.

‘No, thanks.’ He begins with the half stalk, half hobble again, going up and down the room, stopping every now and then, opening his mouth to speak, then shutting it again and commencing half stalk, half hobble. He’s making me dizzy.

‘I know what you’re scared of,’ I say, finally pulling his irritating circuit of the room to a stop. He looks at me in question, though he doesn’t ask. ‘But you don’t need to be,’ I assure him. ‘It’s going to be fine.’

‘Izzy, I’m far from cured. That reflex is ingrained in me.’ His hopelessness is rife, and his doubt is strong. ‘Look what I did to you.’ He sighs, bringing his palms to his temples and dragging them down his beard. ‘I’ll be a terrible father. The worst.’

Resentment ignites in my gut and bubbles up to the surface, exploding. ‘Don’t say that.’ I jump up and point at him, so fucking mad.

‘Isn’t it true?’ he asks. ‘You’ll never trust me with your baby. You’ll be on the edge of your seat every moment of the day, and I’ll be worse.’

‘Our baby,’ I correct him. ‘It’s our damn baby, not mine. And I have a plan,’ I declare. I’ve thought about it so much – about therapy, shrinks, and counsellors, all of which are lined up to help Theo with his surprisingly easy acceptance. But I had another idea last week when I was watching the Miami Open. I’m willing to try anything. I hold my finger up in indication for him to wait, dashing off to the bedroom and collecting my plan. I’m back in seconds, tipping the contents of the bag out at my feet, a hopeful smile on my face.

Theo looks at the floor, then to me, baffled. ‘We’re going to play tennis?’

I can’t roll my eyes. I guess the balls would suggest it. ‘No, I’m going to throw them at you.’

He looks at me like I’ve totally lost my mind, and I’ve questioned a few times whether I have. I dip and collect a ball before pulling my arm back and lobbing it across the room without warning, aiming for his chest. His hand comes up and catches it with ease. ‘So you want to play catch?’

‘You’re not supposed to catch it.’ I take another ball and toss it with as much might as I can. And he catches it. ‘Theo!’

He laughs. ‘Izzy, if I don’t catch it, it’ll hit me.’

‘Exactly.’ I clap my hands, delighted.

‘Why the hell would I let that happen?’

‘Because after time, you’ll get used to it. Unexpected touches, I mean. I’ll throw balls at you all the time, and you’ll learn to ignore them. I’ve been reading about exposure therapy, and I think it could really help you.’ I collect another ball and chuck it at his chest, and despite his two hands each holding a ball, he still catches the damn thing.

I growl, and his mouth forms a little O. ‘Oops.’ He drops all three balls at his feet. ‘Might take me a while to get the hang of this.’

‘At the very least, can we talk to your counsellor about it at your next appointment?’

‘What, about you throwing tennis balls at me for the next . . .’ He drifts to a stop, thinking. ‘Seven months? Hoping I’ll get used to it and not kill our child if he or she happens to touch me?’

I recoil, hurt. ‘You don’t have to be so brutal.’

‘You’ve really been studying a lot about this, haven’t you?’

I look away, a little embarrassed.

‘Izzy?’

‘Hmmm?’ I don’t look up.

‘I love you.’

I smile at the floor, slowly raising my head to find he’s matching my gleam. ‘I love you, too.’

‘That’s good, because I’d be fucked right off if I was doing this crazy shit for anything less than your love.’

‘So you’ll try?’

‘Anything.’

I let out a squeal of joy and run at him, giving him plenty of time to prepare for my attack. ‘Thank you.’ I crash into him and immediately apologize for it. I’ve been chucking balls at him and all, and he’s not even fully recovered yet.

He hushes me and tolerates his discomfort. ‘How many tennis balls did you buy?’

‘A few . . . hundred.’

He laughs and lifts me from my feet, ignoring my protests.

‘Theo, put me down.’

‘Be quiet.’ His progress to the bed is slow, and my face remains tight with concern the whole way, but he’s determined, and his smile through the obvious pain he’s in is a joy to see. ‘There,’ he says, placing me on the end and nodding to the top of the bed. I start to shuffle up blindly, following his order, my keen eyes concentrating on his hands, which are slowly pushing his shorts down his thighs.

‘You’re in no condition,’ I murmur, my voice full of lust, my hands reaching to the hem of my T-shirt without thought and lifting it up over my head. Then I remove my bra. My statement is pointless, said through a silly sense of responsibility rather than objection. My blood is heating rapidly, rushing through my veins. My body is calling for him. My nipples are tingling sweetly. My eyes are heavy, my lips parted. I push my jeans down my legs and wriggle to get them off.