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“Why not just use someone else?” I asked. “Another donor? There have to be hundreds.”
“Thousands actually.”
“So why me?”
The question seemed to set her back a little. But only a little.
“You appeared to have a lot of great traits,” she shrugged. “That’s all.”
I pushed a mug her way, along with some milk and sugar.
“Such as?”
“Well you’re tall, for one. Your bio said you were six-foot two, but looking at you in person you have to be at least two inches more than that.”
“I was a late bloomer,” I acknowledged. “I had one last growth-spurt.”
“And not to be superficial but youaregood-looking,” she said without batting an eye. “You’re strong. Very well-built.”
I noticed she used that last part as an excuse to really look me over. Her eyes lingered as they crawled my chest, my shoulders, my arms. Unapologetically, too.
“Anything other than physical?”
Juliana picked up her mug and drank, her light brown eyes flashing dangerously over the brim. She took a moment before speaking again.
“I know you’re very intelligent,” she went on. “Your bio mentioned you graduated at the top of your class. It also said that you were athletic, social, artistic.”
“Ah, my ‘artistic’ phase,” I sighed fondly. “I remember when I had the time for things like that.”
“And I happen to know that you’re very, very sweet.”
The last one knitted my eyebrows together. It didn’t seem like something I would’ve put down in my bio when I was nineteen years old and trying to make a few quick dollars. Then again, who knew? In the grand scheme of my life, all of this seemed like a thousand years ago.
“Well, it certainly seems like you’ve thought this through,” I said finally.
“I have,” Juliana replied. “I’ve also made arrangements with a sister clinic in Phoenix. If you’re willing to provide a sample, they’re ready to cryogenically freeze it and ship it back to the sperm bank in New York for me.”
“Phoenix, huh?”
“Yes.”
She had it all worked out in her pretty little head. All the bases covered. Except one.
“I’ll have to think about it.”
Juliana flinched visibly. It wasn’t what she was expecting at all.
“Thinkabout it?”
“Sure,” I told her. “I mean, it’s a big decision isn’t it? Plus I don’t even know you.”
“B—But you were willing to donate without knowing who was getting—”
“That was a long time ago, when I was nineteen. Don’t you remember being nineteen?”
I laughed, and the laughter made her angry. Her anger made her even more beautiful, as she shoved her coffee away.
“C’mon, you have to admit this is a little funny,” I said. “You flew clear across the country with the equivalent of a collection cup. Before I, uh, do the deed,” I flushed, “can you really begrudge me wanting to know who you are first?”
