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“Brand, I’m on the pill.” His thoughts came to a screeching halt at her revelation, and it took a moment for him to process her words.
“What?”
“The pill.” He didn’t know why, but the information startled him.
“You are?”
“Yes, I went on it a week before my wedding date in a futile attempt to stave off a wedding-day period. I found it convenient to stay on the pill after that. It kept my cycle regular.”
“Why didn’t you mention it before now?”
“Well, I figured—considering the nature of our relationship—that it would be best for us to continue using condoms. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have teased you. I just couldn’t resist. You looked terrified. I feel kind of bad now.”
Terrified? Far from it. Stunned by his own carelessness, maybe. Overwhelmed by the notion that a whole new person could result from that carelessness and a steely resolve to be part of said new person’s life if it came to that.
What had terrified him was the inexplicable pang of disappointment he felt when the possibility of that baby had disappeared with just a few words.
He watched Lia gather her coat and push herself up from the floor. She was getting ready to leave.
“Stay,” he whispered, getting up as well. She paused in the act of shrugging into the coat and stared at him for a long moment.
“No.”
“Lia, we have to rethink these guidelines of yours.”
“Agreed. We can discuss them tomorrow and find a list that works for both of us, but this one rule remains sacrosanct. No sleeping over, Brand.”
“I’d prefer it if you called me Sam.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s my name.”
“So’s Brand. Mason calls you Brand.”
“You’re not Mason.”
“How am I different from Mason?”
“I’m not sleeping with Mason, for starters.”
“You’re not sleeping with me, either.”
“Fine. Jesus! I’m not fucking Mason. Look, call me Sam, okay? I just . . . I like it more.”
“If it means that much to you, you should tell Daisy and Mason to use Sam. You shouldn’t be called Brand if you dislike it. I’ll tell—”
“Christ, Lia. I don’t give a fuck what name they use. I like it when you call me Sam.” He watched her process the words, chewing the inside of her cheek as she considered what he’d said.
“Okay,” she decided. “Sam.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll be around tomorrow morning to fix your breakfast,” she informed him.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know,” she said easily. “But I want to.”
She walked toward the door and Sam watched her go, frustrated that she wouldn’t stay.
“Lia, don’t get me wrong . . . I love that we’re back on the coitus carousel, but why did you change your mind about us? Was it because of the shitty dates?” he asked before she reached for the doorknob. She turned to face him, leaning back against the door as she considered his words.
“Not really, it was mostly because I want this. And I was talking myself out of having it because it didn’t suit the image I had of the Dahlia McGregor I should be.”
“And which Dahlia McGregor is that?”
“The same Dahlia who saved herself for the man she was supposed to marry.” She shook her head and laughed self-deprecatingly, the sound ending on that little snort he was growing to like more and more. “And look how that turned out. Not the engagement, but the actual intimate act. Clayton was . . . unsatisfactory, to say the least. A fast fumbler. And then he blamed my lack of enthusiasm on me. If I’d gone through with the wedding, uh . . . sex would have remained a disappointment to me. I would never have known how much better it could be.”
She hesitated and blushed before saying sex. Still so shy about verbalizing certain words when she seemed so comfortable sending naughty texts to him. Not to mention how expressive she was during sex. He found that idiosyncrasy positively adorable.
“It made me think, and I recognized that I don’t want to go back to being that willfully ignorant Dahlia McGregor again. I like what we do together. I understand that it’s temporary, and I intend to enjoy it while it lasts. Without guilt or shame.”
“What about my lie about Lally? You were pretty pissed off about it.”
“I was being a total hypocrite. I told you that personal conversations were off-limits and then I got irritated with you for not divulging the truth about your personal business. I don’t like being lied to, but it was none of my business in the first place. As long as you’re not cheating on someone and making me an accomplice in that act. I wouldn’t stand for that.”
“So we’re flinging again?”
“Until you get sick of me, or I get sick of you, or you leave. Whichever comes first.”
“One day, when you meet the man of your dreams, you won’t regret having a wild, crazy fuckfest with me, will you?”
