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  Soon, everything blurred and I was on the brink, aching for release. “Maeve,” I breathed, pulling her hair as I lost control and gave her everything.

  She drank me down before lifting her flushed face, and I tipped her chin and dragged a thumb across her red lips. “Take your bossy pants off and ride me,” I commanded, determined to share my euphoria.

  She tore her shoes and pants off as I unbuttoned her coat, our bodies fumbling in the backseat like horny teenagers. Then she straddled me, and the feel of her most sensitive skin against mine made my mouth water.

  “Do you have a condom?” I asked, fearing the answer before I finished the question.

  Her shiny gaze widened as she shook her head.

  “Fuck me anyway,” I dared her.

  She swallowed and reached for me, guiding the tip of my dick to her wet slit. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded and she sank down on me, the raw heat of her sweet center drawing me in like the look in her eyes, which were filled with a vulnerability that made me feel unexpectedly connected to her. Maybe it was the risk we were taking. Maybe it was the setting. Whatever it was, I hadn’t expected her to look at me like that. Like I was the reason she wasn’t drowning. Or rather, like I was the thing she was drowning in.

  After that, her every shallow breath was all the melodies I’d failed to write, beautiful and mysterious and just beyond my grasp.

  I didn’t know what was happening because it had never happened before. All I knew was that I’d never felt this way about anyone, and I hated it. Wanting her this much. Needing her this much.

  But when she started to ride me, it made me believe in heaven. Because for the first time, I’d found myself somewhere that was too good to be true. Too good to believe. Too good for a loner like me.

  So I kissed her, thinking it would make things better. Thinking if I could just keep her from looking at me like that again, I’d be safe from the tearing feeling in my chest.

  But it didn’t work. I was too lost in her. The soft escape of her mouth, the squeeze of her thighs around mine. The sound of my name on her lips. And with every swirl of her gorgeous hips, I fell further, letting my fingers sink into her smooth curves so I could pull her to me again and again.

  Maeve moaned and gripped my shoulders, her gasping breath skipping like a stone. And then she curled forward, her body clenching as her liquid center burst over me, her pulsing pleasure squeezing every last drop of sense and resistance from my heart.

  And even though it felt like I was crossing a line, I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her close while she caught her breath, my body glowing with wonder at the delicate goddess in my arms. Except there was nothing fragile about her. She was the strongest woman I’d ever met, and I was addicted to watching her unravel, addicted to watching the way she put herself back together.

  A few minutes later, her body was still melting over mine when she leaned back to look at me, her wild eyes sparkling as she blushed.

  I ran a thumb across her rosy cheekbone and smiled. “You can come to music class anytime.”

  T H I R T Y T H R E E

  - Maeve -

  My period was two days late, but it seemed too early to mention it to Finn, especially since I didn’t know how he’d react. No question he’d be panicked. Not that I’d hold that against him. Having a baby was my dream, not his.

  That said, I couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like to go on that journey with him. No question he’d be a good dad. Seeing him with those kids at the Y was proof of that. And while his relationship with his brother was obviously strained, I’d never heard him speak ill of his parents.

  I knew I shouldn’t entertain such ridiculous thoughts. He liked his life the way it was, and I couldn’t blame him. He spent his days writing songs, playing music, shooting the breeze with his best friend, and lavishing attention on Otis. He had a good thing going, and I was grateful to be a part of it.

  Shame things would get weird once I committed to one of the profiles in my hands. I couldn’t imagine he’d want to sleep with me when I was pregnant with another man’s baby, nor could I expect him to put up with emergency pickle errands…or whatever strange impulses pregnancy would infect me with.

  That said, knowing our time together was limited made me extra determined to enjoy his company while I could. Not that it was a struggle. Even the heavy decision weighing on my mind couldn’t diminish the pleasure of his companionship. He was funny, thoughtful, and just rough enough around the edges that I felt safe with him.

  Perhaps that was the biggest difference between Finn and men I’d been with in the past. I could relax with him, let my guard down. I didn’t feel like I constantly had to prove how brilliant and loveable I was. Because I knew he wasn’t judging me. And that unconditional acceptance from him made me want to be more accepting of myself.

  Silly as it sounded, I liked myself better when he was around, and that was a nice feeling.

  “What are you drawing?” I asked after he’d been engrossed at the opposite end of the couch for some time.

  He held out his large sketchpad, revealing an expertly shaded drawing of two thirds of Otis’s face, his head cocked playfully and his dark eyes shining from beneath his haphazard brows.

  “Wow,” I said. “You captured him perfectly.”

  He turned the picture around to look at it, his mouth twisting like he didn’t agree.

  “Did you teach yourself to draw like that?”

  “I never took any lessons, if that’s what you’re asking, but you’d be amazed at what you can learn on YouTube.”

  “I wish I was creative like that.”

  “You’re creative in other ways,” he said, wiggling his brows and playing footsie with me under the blanket.

  My cheeks burned.

  “How goes the search?” he asked, nodding towards the papers.

  "I think I’m almost ready to make a decision.”

  His eyes widened. “Oh?”

  “Well, I can’t drag my feet forever, and it’s not like there’s any new information coming in.”

  He blinked at me.

  “I’d like to choose before the 8th.”

  “What’s the 8th?”

  “My brother’s having a Groundhog’s Day…get-together,” I said. “I was actually hoping you’d come if you don’t have to work.”

  “Isn’t Groundhog’s Day the 2nd?”

  “Yeah, but he has some work conflict, so he pushed it back and convinced everyone celebrating a week late only adds to the sense of occasion.”

  “Is James a big Bill Murray fan?”

  “Is anyone not a big Bill Murray fan?”

  “Fair point.”

  “So will you come?” I asked, thinking I could use the extra support when I broke the news to my siblings.

  “I’ll have to see what we have going on at the bar.”

  “Right,” I said, doing my best to hide my disappointment. “Of course.”

  “Are those the final candidates?” he asked, lifting his chin towards the stack of papers in my lap.

  I nodded.

  He tossed his sketchbook on the wooden coffee table and extended a hand towards me.

  I leaned forward to give him the paperclipped stack of my top ten, my chest tightening as soon as I let go.

  He pretended to push invisible glasses up his nose before looking down at the first profile. “I thought you cut this guy?” he asked.

  “Which one?”

  “Brad the Cat Guy.”

  “I decided it wasn’t right to cut him just because you’ve never met a Brad you liked.”

  “Wasn’t there something else wrong with him?” His brow furrowed as he scanned the page. “Oh yeah. He’s lactose intolerant. Do you have any idea how big of a pain in the ass that is?”

  “Sort of, but it’s not genetic.”

  “Seems like an unnecessary risk to take.”

  “Almond milk i
sn’t exactly a death sentence.”

  He laughed. “What about ice cream, though? And cheese?”

  “I do love cheese.”

  “Could you give it up?” he asked. “To avoid making little Bradley Jr. feel left out?”

  “First of all, I wouldn’t call him Bradley Jr.,” I said. “And it’s not like I’d have to give up cheese.”

  “True. I suppose you could eat cheese in front of him. Causing trauma is an essential part of parenting.”

  I cocked my head. “Okay, I get it. Brad isn’t your favorite.”

  “Brad is my least favorite,” he corrected before lifting the page and wincing like I’d planted a crime scene photo in the stack.

  “What is it now?”

  “The Texan made the top ten?”

  I shrugged. “It’s not his fault he was born in Texas.”

  “It’s not his geographical location I have a problem with,” he said. “The guy has three PhDs.”

  “Don’t you think that’s impressive?”

  “If emotional quotient isn’t important to you.”

  I squinted at him.

  “There’s nothing on this guy’s profile that suggests he’s ever had a friend in his life.” His neck hinged forward. “He literally put n/a in the hobbies section.”

  “He’s probably always been too busy studying to have hobbies.”

  Finn scrunched his face. “Don’t you want a well-adjusted kid who leaves his room once in a while?”

  “There’s no saying the Texan’s sperm wouldn’t make that kind of kid.”

  “He’s obviously a serial killer.”

  “Doubtful,” I said, wishing he would take this more seriously. “If he were, he would’ve listed that under hobbies.”

  “You want my opinion?”

  I hesitated a moment before nodding.

  “This guy’s worse than Brad.”

  I groaned, letting my head fall back.

  “Think Otis wants some attention.”

  I glanced down beside the couch to find my favorite furball sitting tall, his tan tail wagging against the floor like a windshield wiper. I straightened my legs and patted my lap to invite him up, and two seconds later, he’d nestled in and rested his chin on my thigh. When I looked up, Finn was scowling at the next profile. “Now what?” I asked, fearing the worst.

  “Nothing,” he said, turning the page.

  “Wait, go back. Don’t you have anything to say about guy number three?”

  “No,” Finn said. “He’s fine.”

  “Which one is he?”

  “The military pilot who graduated from Dartmouth and likes to play guitar,” he said, not looking at me.

  “You like him?” I asked, scratching Otis behind the ear.

  “Doesn’t matter if I like him,” he said, his eyes on the next profile.

  But he was so wrong. It did matter. I don’t know why, but it mattered so, so much.

  T H I R T Y F O U R

  - Finn -

  I bought her a new pair of underwear as promised…along with a matching bra I was dying to see her in. I even had it giftwrapped for Valentine’s Day before stashing it in my closet, where it had been sitting for a week while I struggled with buyer’s remorse.

  Was I being foolish? I owed her a pair of underwear because of Otis’s thirst for destruction, but part of me feared the fancy set was too intimate a gift. After all, at the end of the day, she was a friend with benefits who was planning on having another man’s baby.

  A sexy Valentine’s Day present might send the wrong message. Namely, that I wished things were different. Which I did. I could tell by the tight feeling I got in my chest every time she showed me the profile of another guy she was thinking of taking a chance on. Yet, at the same time, I could see how much she wanted this, and I knew if I wasn’t supportive, I’d lose her altogether.

  Fortunately, I had two more weeks to ruminate on the lingerie situation, which was plenty of time to come up with a plan B.

  “You alright?” Brian asked, squaring up to me on the opposite side of the bar. “You look like your dog just died.”

  My eyes flicked up at him. “Fine.”

  “You and Maeve have a fight or something?”

  “No. Why?”

  He shrugged. “Can’t think of anything else that would put you in such a bad mood.”

  “I can think of lots of things,” I said. “My dog dying, for one. Or another weirdly vague phone call from Max.”

  “How many is that now?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, thinking back. “Four or five. I even got a message from my mom asking me to call him.”

  “Maybe you should,” he said. “Get it over with. What’s the worst he could say?”

  I knew the answer to that. Had thought quite a lot about it, in fact. “I’m coming to visit.”

  He laughed. “So everything’s fine with Maeve?”

  “Yeah, fine. Better than fine, actually. That’s the problem.”

  “Hold that thought,” he said, excusing himself to serve a guy who’d just arrived with his pregnant girlfriend. Her belly looked uncomfortably swollen under her thin sweater, and although she smiled as she accepted her Sprite on ice, I couldn’t help but think a pub was no place for a woman about to pop.

  Brian returned with a fresh rack of glasses from the dishwasher, grabbed the towel from over his shoulder, and started drying them one at a time, his practiced hands making the job look easy. “You were saying?”

  “I fucked up,” I said, taking a swig of my beer.

  He raised his brows, inviting me to continue.

  “She told me the first night we met why she was the last woman on Earth I should date, and I’m fucking dating her.”

  “I thought you weren’t dating.”

  “Technically, we’re not,” I said. “But we’re definitely seeing a lot of each other.” My mind played a montage of how she looked in my T-shirts, how she looked cuddling Otis, how she looked riding my cock. “Truth is, I don’t know what we’re doing. In the beginning, I figured I was a rebound.”

  “And now?”

  I sighed. “Now I’m sick with feelings I never wanted to have.”

  “What’s wrong with catching feelings?”

  “The feelings aren’t the problem,” I said. “The problem is that she can’t reciprocate them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she’s about to have another man’s baby,” I blurted, provoking curious looks from a few people down the bar. Shit.

  “Would you rather she have your baby?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “I have no interest in having a baby.”

  “You say that now, but babies are kind of cute. They brainwash you with advanced finger holding techniques and shit. You forget pretty quickly how attached you were to your youth and freedom and…sleep.”

  “I don’t want to be brainwashed.”

  “Unless it’s by yourself, is that it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Do you love her?” he asked, squinting at me.

  “I’ve only known her a month.”

  He set a glass down and picked up the next. “Is that a no?”

  “It’s a stupid question.”

  “It wouldn’t be if the answer was yes.”

  “I don’t love her,” I said. “I’m just sleeping with her.”

  He scoffed. “Pathetic.”

  “What?”

  “Lie to yourself all you want, but don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Please,” he groaned. “When you’re just sleeping with someone, you don’t think about them when they’re not around like this. You’re lovesick. It’s written all over your stupid face.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I haven’t seen you this sprung since we watched that Kate Bush documentary.”

  I pointed at him. “
You were affected by that documentary, too.”

  “Don’t change the subject,” he said. “My point is, you should tell her how you feel.”

  “No chance. Telling her I feel crazy helps no one, and she needs support right now. She’s emotional enough as it is over this donor thing. The best thing I can do is be cool.”

  “Yeah, because that’s what women want: apathy.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “You don’t pay me to fuck off.”

  I folded my arms on the bar. “I just don’t get why this is happening. I’ve never had a problem keeping women at a distance before.”

  “Maybe you never met a woman you liked this much.”

  I scowled at him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me settling down. Coming over for Maria’s pasta bake with my pregnant wife to discuss breastfeeding and how good baby diarrhea smells.”

  “That’s not what parents talk about.”

  “That’s exactly what parents talk about. That’s why they stay home. Because they don’t want their friends to know what child-centric monsters they’ve become.”

  “Are you trying to talk yourself out of parenthood or out of falling for Maeve?”

  “Both,” I said. “Because I can’t have one without the other, and even if she did want more with me, she wouldn’t when she found out I’m not interested in having kids. That’s a total dealbreaker for her. Even worse than not flossing.” I glanced up to find his face twisted with confusion. “Never mind. You don’t want to know.”

  But he wasn’t even listening anymore. He was staring towards the door behind me.

  “What?” I asked, looking over my shoulder. Speak of the devil.

  T H I R T Y F I V E

  - Maeve -

  Maddy’s thumbs were flying across her phone screen when I arrived at Brisket Bar, a BBQ spot we’d been meaning to try for ages.

  “Hi,” I said, pulling out the chair across from her. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was murder. And by traffic, I mean the client meeting I should’ve rescheduled for Monday.”

  “That’s okay,” she said, lifting her chin but not her eyes. “Just give me one sec.”