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“I’m glad,” she says softly, happiness glistening in her wrinkled eyes. “You haven’t been having enough of the sex, and at your age, you should be doing it at least two, three times a day. It’s so good for your complexion, you know.”
“A day?” I gasp.
“A day, Lexi Lou. That’s why I knew that Chris wasn’t right for you. You have my blood in you. We’re very sexual creatures. Just ask your grandpa.”
“I’d rather not,” I grumble, helping her stand and walking with her towards the dryer.
“Mark my word, Lex. When you and that beefcake of a man start to have the sex, it’ll be two or three times a day.”
Why does that prospect excite me? Probably because it’s been a long damn time since I had the sex, let alone multiple times a day.
“Anyway, am I crazy? Am I completely off my rocker for even considering this?” I ask, suddenly needing her approval and understanding.
“Absolutely not,” she tells me adamantly. “You’ve wanted a baby since you were old enough to carry around baby dolls. You’re an adult; he’s an adult.”
“He wants to be a part of the baby’s life.”
“As a real man should,” Grandma says, “And that one is all man, Lexi Lou. Hard, chiseled, muscular man. I say do it. Do it a lot. You know, because practice makes perfect.” Then she throws me a wink.
Rolling my eyes, I say, “You make it sound so easy.”
She shrugs. “Maybe it is. Maybe it doesn’t have to be difficult. It’s not like you had a one-night stand and got pregnant. You’re both prepared and understand what this is going to take going into it. So what if it’s not the traditional way to have a baby. Phooey! I say you do what you want to do, and screw everyone else.”
I blink at the woman who helped raise me. She makes a valid point, one that, in my heart, I know to be true. It’s my life, my decision. And if Linkin is willing to help give me the baby I’ve always wanted, then why not grab a hold of the dream? Why question and stress about it?
She’s right. It’s what I want.
And I’m taking it.
“And besides, I bet that man is a stallion in the sack,” she whispers with a wide smile, eyes sparkling like diamonds in the sunlight.
“You’re horrible,” I tell her turning on the dryer and ending the conversation.
But I’m pretty sure she’s right. I bet sex with Linkin is going to be way more than I bargain for, in all the right ways. If the man fucks the way he kisses–passionately, deeply, thoroughly–then I have a feeling I’ll be left boneless and satisfied, yet yearning for more.
And more will hopefully mean one thing: Knocked up.
* * *
At six-thirty on the dot, there’s a knock at my door. I’ve been anxious for tonight, thinking and wondering about what his plans are all day. We’ve texted daily, sometimes early in the morning after he’d close down the bar. One of his messages last night was a simple request for this evening: wear jeans, sweatshirt, boots, and a jacket.
I’ve been a mixture of eager and excited all afternoon. My last appointment was at five-thirty, which left me a little bit of time to change and freshen up all the girly bits that need freshening.
Except that Aunt Flo came to visit me last night.
On one hand, I’m saddened because that means I can’t expect anymore of Linkin’s magic fingers for a few days. On the other, that means that I’m one step closer to ovulation, and that means a baby. So if this deal between Linkin and I is going to proceed, we’re already one step closer.
When I open the door, words completely flee my vocabulary. Looking at him in dark jeans that hug his powerful thighs and dangerous hips, a gray Henley under a worn leather jacket that molds to his arms and chest like a second skin, and a smile that makes my panties practically useless, makes my heart try to crawl from my chest. He’s breathtaking, if it’s okay to say that a man is breathtaking.
But, my God, he is.
“Hi,” I squeak out, finally finding a two-lettered word to speak.
He doesn’t speak. Instead, he steps inside and drops a big bag on the floor. Then, he gently grabs my right hand, placing a kiss on my knuckles. Without a word, Linkin turns the hand over and kisses my palm. I shudder. And since he’s clearly in the mood for a little kissing, he steps forward, grabs my jaw, and places the most perfect kiss on my lips.
Lips that have been missing him for four long days.
“Is it crazy if I tell you I missed you?” he whispers, placing soft, sweet kisses across my lips. He took the words right out of my mouth.
