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“Does that mean I have to wear a shirt around you?”
“And pants.”
“Amended to allow fully clothed sleepovers, and we’re on to item number two.”
“Okay. Lay off the overly flirty talk.”
But I’m not even sure I can, especially around her. Flirting is my default, the main component of my persona.
“Elaborate, please.”
“I don’t need to hear how good it makes you feel when I touch you, especially in the heat of the moment. It’s confusing.”
I furrow my brow. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise something won’t slip out.” I debate admitting this next part. “To be honest, I very rarely flirt with sincerity. But it’s always been different with you. I accidentally blurt out that kind of stuff, then I’m embarrassed because I actually meant it.” I pause to check her expression. She’s looking down, but her cheeks are flushed. “Besides, flirty banter is our thing. Without that, we’d just be bullying one another.” I wait for her to acknowledge my confession, but besides a small widening of her eyes, she brushes right over it.
“Fair enough. We’ll scratch that one because it’s too subjective and hard to police. Next point, no one can know about the baby until after I tell my family, which won’t be until after my first doctor’s appointment.”
“But what about?—”
“Especiallynot JD. The last thing I want is to upstage their moment.”
I huff. “As if I could do anything to upstage the Golden Boy.”
“Let’s put a pin inthatconversation,” she says, eyeing me suspiciously. “But I’m holding the line on this one. There’s a huge difference between a married couple announcing their pregnancy and their best man knocking up the maid of honor after a drunken one-night stand.”
“Whatever,” I mutter. She glares at me until I speak again. “But I’m removing the term ‘one-night stand’ from all future descriptions or mentions of our baby’s conception date.”
“Okay. And I don’t want you constantly fawning and fussing over me as if I’m incapable of taking care of myself.”
“Agreed,” I say, still salty from the last one. I love my brother, and I’ve never seen him as excited for anything as he is about fatherhood. So I’m not sure why Loren’s words bother me so much when I know she’s right, but they do.
“That’s all I’ve got. What about you?” she asks.
“Hmm?”
“Don’t you have any other demands?”
“Oh. Yeah.” I try to think quickly. “I defer all important pregnancy and baby related decisions to you, though I want informed consent and due consideration whenever possible.”
“I can work with that. Anything else?”
“I promise not to overdo it, but I want first refusal when you need help with anything. And I’d like to be around for appointments and in the delivery room, if it’s not too awkward.”
“You can stand behind me. You don’t need a front row seat for that show.”
“Good. And I think it goes without saying that I want us to figure out some kind of co-parenting arrangement that works for everyone after the baby arrives.”
“Okay.”
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, but I ignore it and clear my throat. “I want to revisit one of the previous points. We’ll wait until you’re ready to tell everyone, including our families, but no one needs to know about the drunken-hookup part. I’d rather we tell people that we dated for a while but decided we were better off as friends.”
“But it’s not exactly true, is it?”
“Loren, I brought you back to my place where we talked over dinner and drinks. We laughed, we cried, we kissed …” She fidgets uncomfortably when I trail off. “If that wasn’t a date, then I don’t know what is.”
“And you expect everyone to believe we’re secretly an item when they don’t even think we’re friends?”
“Of course not. We’ll have to sell it, make a few public appearances as a happy couple and fool them into thinking we really tried.” My mind races ahead. “This is where the kissing comes in, you know, in case we need to look more convincing.”
