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“Elizabeth.” He got up too. “I don’t blame you for being angry. I know I’ve blown it with you. And I’m absolutely gutted. But I hope we can still be friends.”
“I don’t know.” I shoved my chair under the table. “I don’t think I’m that big a person, Hux.” And I turned and walked out.
I went back to my flat and cried for two days straight, then pulled myself together and realized the sky wasn’t falling down. I’d been on two dates with the guy. It wasn’t as if we were engaged or anything. I was nineteen years old, and I wasn’t going to let this destroy me. It wasn’t his fault. Well, technically it was, but he was right—shit happened, and he’d been big enough to come and tell me about it himself. We’d be mixing in the same circles, and I liked him, and I didn’t want to shut him out of my life.
And so, in the end, on the surface, not much changed. He wasn’t around so much, but when he was, we remained friends. When his daughter was born, I went out with all our mates and celebrated with him. I attended the christening, held the baby, and told Brandy how beautiful her daughter was.
I tried to be the bigger person. I really did. But inside, the fractures in my poor heart refused to heal. Watching him with Brandy, putting his arm around her, being sweet to her, taking care of her, broke me every time. He’d told me it was all pretend, an act for her parents, and I was glad for the baby’s sake that he was such a sweetheart toward her, but it still crushed me.
Then, six months to the day after Joanna was born, he asked me out.
I told him I’d think about it. And I did. I thought about nothing else for several days. But, in the end, I said no.
It was too complicated, and I was too young. I didn’t want to date a guy who had ties to another woman. He must have had feelings for Brandy to have slept with her, and every time I saw them together, he was gentle and affectionate toward her. Deep down I couldn’t shake the notion that they had feelings for each other, and I couldn’t have coped with that if we’d been dating. It made me a small person. I knew that. But at least I was honest with myself. I didn’t want to date him and ruin it by being jealous. I liked him too much.
And so instead, we stayed good friends.
I began dating someone else shortly afterward—Tim Fanshaw, another chemistry student. I was four months into that relationship before Huxley also finally started dating someone else. His relationship was more short-lived than mine. When I eventually broke up with Tim, Huxley asked me out the day after. And then every month after that, unless I was going out with someone else.
We’ve continued like that over the last ten years. I know it’s just a joke now. We’re the best of friends, and there’s far too much water under the bridge for us to make a go of things. I’ve had three failed—no, let’s be honest and call them what they are: disastrous—relationships. And Huxley’s friendship means far too much to me for me to blow it now just because I’m curious about what he’s like in bed.
It’s because we’re such good friends that I came here tonight to ask him something very special. I didn’t think I was going to get a chance. But it’s late, and quiet. Ian the bartender has just gone out with a crate of empty glasses, and there are only the two of us in the bar. And I guess there’s no better time to ask than when you’ve both been drinking whisky all evening.
I gather my courage with both hands and take a deep breath. “I wonder if I could ask you something.”
He swirls his whisky over the ice. “Of course.” I nibble my bottom lip, and he gives me a curious look. “What?”
“I’m nervous,” I admit.
“Why?” He looks puzzled.
I blow out a breath. “Okay. Here goes. I’ll be twenty-nine soon. And I’m done with men.” I watch his eyes flicker with pity. “And that’s all right, I’ve come to terms with that. I don’t want another relationship. I have my work, and my dog, and a great social life. But there is one thing missing. I want a baby.”
His eyebrows rise. He hadn’t expected that.
“I’ve been to a fertility clinic,” I explain, speeding up a little now I’ve finally got the words out. “And I’ve talked to them about having a sperm donor. But there’s a three-year wait for clinic-recruited donors for single women. Three years!”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. So… they suggested I find a personal donor. And so… um… I wanted to ask you. Would you help me out?”
Chapter Two
Huxley
Holy fuck. I did not expect that.
Silence falls between us. It’s not particularly uncomfortable. We’ve known each other long enough that we can allow the other time to think.
She rests her head on her hand again, watching me. Her brown eyes are hopeful. It’s an unusual expression for her. Over the years, she’s become quite cynical, the last person to express belief in notions like true love or soulmates. I know I played a big part in that, and it crushes me every time. But there’s not much I can do about it now.
Instead, I try to force my whisky-addled brain to focus on what she’s asked me. She wants me to get her pregnant.
I blink and grab onto the balloon of pleasure that floats up inside me. No, Huxley. She doesn’t want you to get her pregnant. She wants you to ejaculate into a cup so she can use it to fertilize her eggs. There’s a huge difference.
She has a mouthful of whisky. “Say something,” she says. “You’re making me nervous.”
“I’m not ready to answer yet.”
