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JORDYN
“And I’m telling ya I won,” Connor declared for the fourth or fifth time. “I was out of there before either of you chumps.”
“My door opened at the same time as yours,” countered Aiden from the driver’s seat.
“Yes, but you heard the nurse,” he protested. “Two secondsbehind!”
The car rumbled along, as I settled deeper into the back seat. I was still groggy. A little nauseous from the anesthesia, too. But otherwise good.
The conversation however, was hilarious.
“You probably didn’t stop to wash your hands,” Aiden theorized.
“You didn’t wash yourhands?” Elliot piled on.
Connor snarled from the passenger seat, whirling to face us in the back. “What do I look like, a barbarian?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Well now that you mention it…”
“I even had a crap movie, too,” he went on. “The brunette was fucken lifeless. She lay there doing bloody fuck all, while the guy—”
“You guys are making this all up, right?” I asked.
“No!” they replied in unison.
I laughed, feeling a tiny tinge of pain up near my ovaries. It was hilarious to think of them in three separate rooms, with three different movies running.
“Well you’re going to have to stop then,” I said. “Because I really can’t laugh right now.”
But beyond how funny the images were, they were alsohot. I wondered how many couples went in those rooms together, to ‘help’ the guy out before the retrieval. I’d been told by Denise that was actually an option, although it had to be manual manipulation only.
Manual manipulation only…
Holy shit.
“Besides,” I finally told them, “is this really a competition any of you want to win? It only shows who’s fastest, who’s got the quickest trigger.” I chuckled carefully. “Wouldn’t it be better to belast?”
In the front seat, Aiden and Connor looked at each other. Elliot actually laughed.
“Shit. She’s right.”
Back at home the guys made me comfortable, while bragging about which one of them had ‘produced’ the most. Connor claimed to have filledtwocups, complete with a straight-faced tale of having to scramble to open the second specimen container mid-climax, while Elliot accused both the others’ swimmers of swimming in circles. It culminated with a bet as to which one of them would make me pregnant, with the losers having to wait on the winner hand and foot throughout the first trimester of the pregnancy. I absorbed it all from my position on their living room couch, a cup of good coffee in one hand and a pillow behind my head.
“Can we get you anything else?” Elliot asked, as I slowly began drifting off into a mid-afternoon nap. I hadn’t slept all that well due to the anxiety, and was looking forward to finally relaxing.
“Nah,” I smiled. “I’m good.”
“You’remorethan good,” he said proudly. “The Doctor said they retrievedtwenty-sixeggs.”
I blinked back at him sleepily. “Is that good?”
“The average is twelve to fifteen.”
“Wow,” I acknowledged. “Iamgood.”
“No,” Elliot said, correcting me with a smile. “You totally rock.”
With that he kissed my forehead, and slid the remote for the television into my hand. Elliot’s lips were warm and supple. His immaculately-trimmed goatee felt soft against my skin.
