Ready and Willing (11 page)

Noah smiles.
“Sonic Youth.”

“You know what I mean… Sometimes I feel like I’ve known you for ages. Then other times I look at you and I think, ‘who is this strange man in my kitchen?’”

“Which do you feel right now?”

“Right now I feel like we must’ve gone to kindergarten together. But then tomorrow it might take me a minute to even remember your last name.”

Noah just nods, and we’re silent for a few moments. I’m adrift in a sea of what-ifs. What if I’m pregnant? What if I’m not? What if I am and it’s Rob’s, not Noah’s? Would I love it any less?

Noah interrupts my racing internal dialogue. “I’ll stay with you.
While you do the test.
If you want.”

“Things feel blurry between us,” I say. “Do they feel blurry to you?”

He nods again. “I like you. You probably knew that.”

“I wondered.”

“I know that’s really shitty of me. And it was probably shitty of me to come over today or give you back the checks or even stay the night those two times. I know I’ve broken a lot of unspoken rules. It’s pretty unfair. I’m surprised you’re not royally pissed off at me.”

I shrug. “I let you do all those things. We broke the rules together.”

“I guess.”

“Can you tell me how you feel, exactly?
About me?
Like, what do you want to happen with us now?” I hold my breath, not sure what reply I want to hear. One answer could break my heart, but the other could turn my life upside down and force me to rethink a decision I already accepted as best.

Noah stares at our knees. “It’s hard to say. I mean, we really
don’t
know each other. But I think you’re just…fascinating. And part of it
is
the idea that you could be carrying my child. It’s hard to just push that concept out of my head, you know?” He meets my eyes.

I nod, impressed by his honesty and self-awareness. “I’ll bet.”

“But I don’t have any expectations. I signed your waiver, and I’m not going to try and renege on it. That said
,
I won’t lie to you… This whole thing is a million times more complex than I ever expected. I don’t know how I’ll feel if I see you pushing a stroller in the park someday.”

The kettle whistles, and I fill the French press, eyes on Noah to tell him I’m listening.

“Part of me feels really desperately like I want us to be friends,” he goes on, “so I’ll be allowed to walk up to you and say hello and squeeze your baby’s little hand without feeling like a creep. Or a…
a nobody
.”

“That might be possible,” I say. “Lots of people use their friends as surrogates and donors.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I should just do the test. So we don’t go constructing elaborate scenarios when I might not even be pregnant.”

“That might be a good idea.”

I nod my head passionately, putting down my foot for the both of us.
“Definitely.”
I leave Noah and do fearlessly what I haven’t been able to for the past few days. I march into the bathroom and pee on a stick.

“Done,” I say as I return to the kitchen. “Three minutes.”

“What should we do for three minutes?” he asks.

“Blur some more lines.”

I step over to where he’s sitting. Our eyes are level, my boring brown ones and his fascinating greenish gray ones. As much as I still genuinely crave genetic anonymity, I secretly hope my baby will come out with those eyes.

I lean in and kiss Noah, then let him take over. I knew he would, just as I knew it was him at my door, as I subconsciously knew he’d come over when my fingers dialed his number. His cool, smooth palms cup my face as his hot tongue slips between my lips. Before I know it we’re stumbling toward my room. I yank Noah’s sweater up his chest and over his head, and he pushes my duster off my shoulders. His big fingers fumble with the bow of my pajamas’ drawstring as my small ones struggle with his belt. After a minute’s frantic pawing, we get each other undressed in such a desperate rush you’d think a trophy were riding on it.

“God, Abby.”
Noah pushes me onto my unmade bed, climbs on top of me. He’s ready—so hard it’s intimidating. He tries to push into me, but my body hasn’t caught up with his yet. I reach for my bedside table drawer and get the lube. I prep Noah while he does the same for me, two slick fingers sliding inside me, the stiff, thick cock in my fist promising me everything I want at this moment.

“I need you,” he mumbles, eyes unfocused as he guides his head to my pussy.

My hands scream their agreement, grasping his hips and tugging him close, driving that delicious, familiar length inside.

I hold him close for a moment, just savoring. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Noah starts to thrust, his body pumping fast and greedy, everything about it hot and needy and desperate—everything I want too. His moans are the deepest, most animalistic and wondrous sound I’ve ever heard, and my hands grip his ass, keeping the strokes rough and the sex dirty.

He groans, eyes shut tight,
then
flips us over so I’m on top. “Use me,” he begs. “Use my body.”

I do. I draw him in deep, stroke my burning clit along the base of his shaft with each thrust, lean back on my haunches, and stare down at him. He brings his knees up, cradling my butt and hips. I rock in his lap, the need so tight and hot between my legs I feel high.

“God, yeah.
Fuck my cock, Abby. Come on.” His strong hands urge my
hips,
keep the rhythm fast as I lose coordination. His aggression is twice as hot as the thick heat spearing my pussy, the mean, horny look on his face sexier than every last perfect detail of what’s-his-name’s body put together.

“Fuck my cock. Fuck me.”

The pleasure hits its peak so suddenly I gasp. All the warmth and pressure and tension built up in my cunt shatters,
floods
my limbs and chest, and leaves me a panting, gasping mess, arms shoved under Noah’s back as I fight for breath. He’s moaning, hips thrusting softly between mine. He turns us over and starts pumping again, slower, steadier.

“Don’t be gentle,” I say. I don’t fear the tenderness as much as I simply crave the rougher stuff. This experiment is so intrinsically
selfish,
it’s a relief and a thrill when Noah makes it seem as if he’s the greedy one.

He locks his arms tight against my ribs, and I revel in his body, his raw, flexing muscles as he takes pleasure from me. I run my palms up and down his chest and stomach. “Good.”

“Oh fuck. I’m
gonna
come.”

“Good. Let me see it this time.
Lemme
see when you come, Noah.”

He hammers me for half a minute, grunting and moaning, skin slick under my palms, cock flashing between our bodies with every racing thrust.

“Oh fuck.” He pulls out, leans back, and jerks himself home, bathing my belly in that thing that’s become so intensely sacred to me. He strokes until there’s nothing left to give me; then he collapses at my side. He kisses me deep, and I feel his fingers rubbing the warm cum into my skin, possessive. I put my hand over his and join him. He laughs—a tiny, smug noise that warms my lips.

We lie together until our collective sweat cools, until neither of our minds is on the sex anymore.

Noah clears his throat. “Coffee’s probably ready.”

I don’t think for a second he’s any more concerned about the coffee than I am. We slowly get cleaned up and dress, and neither of us speaks until we’re back in the kitchen.

“You want me to stay in here, or…how do you want to do it?”

“Why don’t you come stand in the doorway while I
check.
”

He follows me to the bathroom. “Is it the two lines or a plus sign, or how does it work?”

“This one’s digital. It’ll just say ‘pregnant’ if it’s positive.”

“Ah.”

I keep my eyes away from where the tester waits on the rim of my sink. Noah leans in the threshold, and I reach back and take hold of his hand.

“Okay,” I say through a desperate, huffing sigh. “If it’s negative, that means I still get to drink on New Year’s.”

Noah squeezes my fingers. “Go on, Abby.”

I grab the smooth plastic wand and shut my eyes, bring it close. I open them.

“Oh my God.”
My arm starts shaking, followed by my entire body. I hold the tester over my shoulder to show Noah that one immensely loaded digital word.

“Pregnant,” he reads.

I shake harder, clench my fists around the wand and Noah’s hand, and start to cry. I let Noah turn me around, and he hugs me so hard it knocks my wind out. I wrap my arms around his
middle,
bury my face against his warm, sweet-smelling neck. God, I hope it’s his. I want it to be. I want this man’s blood in my child’s veins as surely as I want his warm, strong body against mine right now.

I speak against his throat. “I hope it’s yours.”

“It’s
yours
,” he whispers, melting me. He stands up a little straighter, pushes me away enough to establish unsteady eye contact. “Even if it’s me who gave it to you, it’s just
yours
. I’m just going to be the best friend I can to you, for as long as you want me here. I don’t know if it’ll be anything near as simple as that, but that’s what I’ll try to do.”

“Thank you, Noah.”

We hug again, softer than before. I feel my nerves subsiding, and behind the adrenaline cloud, there’s a wide, blue sky of pure joy.

“Merry Christmas, Abby.”

I laugh and wipe my cheeks. “Thank you.”

“Do you want to be alone now?”

“No… You can go if you want, but I’d like you to stay. Let me pour you an insanely strong cup of lukewarm coffee. You can enjoy caffeine for the both of us.
Holy shit—for the three of us.”
I
laugh,
the sound caught somewhere between silly and maniacal.

“Sounds good.”

I fill a mug for Noah, and we sit at the breakfast bar, knees locked like zipper teeth, tester beside us on the counter.

“Thanks again,” I say, barely a whisper.

“You’re welcome.” Noah takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Congratulations. I’m really happy for you.”

“We should get to know each other,” I say, my subconscious hijacking my mouth, voicing what my gut wants even as my mind struggles to sabotage the impulse with its tiresome logic.

“Okay.”

“Why don’t you ask me over to Jamaica Plain some time?
To your place.
We can watch one of your favorite movies, and you can tell me nerdy film-buff things about it. Maybe go out for Thai or something. I can watch you drink.”

“Like a date?”

I turn that idea over in my head a few times. “I don’t know. Every ten minutes I seem to make a decision about you that complicates everything I thought I wanted to keep simple. I want to say, ‘let’s just be friends for a few months.’ But I honestly don’t trust my body to stay on that bandwagon.”

Noah looks thoughtful for a few breaths, stares at our hands when he speaks. “We’re both grown-ups…and this situation’s already woefully complex. We could try and just be friends, and if we fuck it up, we’ll just agree to not be psychos if things go totally Hindenburg.”

I nod my agreement, but I don’t really feel it.
Feel
it. If the past couple weeks—if the past half a year—taught me nothing else, it’s that my feelings make better decisions than my head. My feelings ended a comfortable relationship that was leading me nowhere, and they brought me the little white wand with its fabulous headline. “I already know we’ll fuck it up,” I tell Noah. “If we try to just be friends.”

His face falls. “Oh.”

“But that’s okay. I want to fuck that up.
With you.”

He blinks, considers what I’m saying.

“I mean, we can pretend we’re just going to be friends…”

“But you think we’ll fail?” he asks.

I nod and smile.
“Yeah.
I want us to fail. I want to wake up in a few weeks with you and me as…as you and me. I don’t care if it messes everything up that was supposed to be simple.”

Noah’s lips purse. At first I think he’s hesitating; then I realize he’s suppressing a smile. “I’d like that too.”

I grin, reach out, and squeeze his thigh. He straightens up, looking instantly confident.

“So, would you like to come to J.P. this Friday after work?” he asks.

“Okay.”

“Cool. Meet me near the garage at five fifteen. I’ll get us a copy of
Rosemary’s Baby
.”

I punch Noah gently on the sternum.

“
Firestarter
.”

I hit him again.

“
Raging Bull
?”

“Better.” I smile at him, feeling suddenly very shy. “Should I bring an overnight bag?”

Noah shakes his head with well-faked conviction. “No, we’ll be good. I’ll give you a ride home after.”

“Okay.” I’m a big girl. I can live without Noah’s body for a night, maybe a few nights, if we decide to pay lip service to our half-assed attempt at staving off a relationship. And if we do manage it, the fact that I could be carrying his child is physical intimacy enough for the immediate future. Plus I’ll still have all the filthy-good sex memories to keep me going until we inevitably crack and wind up in bed together again. I give us about two weeks… But who am I kidding? I give us two
hours.