“You fucked your husband.” The incredulous sharpness of his tone isn’t unwarranted, but it still unsettles me.
“Yes, I fucked my husband.” Shame fills me at the admission, which is disconcerting on a multitude of levels. A wife should have sex with her husband, and in turn, a husband should have sex with only his wife, not a twenty-three-year-old med student. That same husband should love his wife, not decide he wants to do right by the pregnant girl and marry her when he’s still married to someone else. What about doing right by me, his wife?
Bull stands upright, walking in a small circle before turning back to me and waiting on more details. I can’t look at him and glance back at the river as tears fill my eyes.
“Shelton and I had been . . . estranged a bit, but I didn’t recognize how distant we’d become. The night before I left, we’d had sex for the first time in weeks. I thought it was the start of us reconnecting as though we’d just had a little blip in syncing our lives. I had no idea he’d been using his stethoscope with a med student. None.”
Bull nods.
“I’d lost my job the next day, and when I went to him, hoping he’d console me, I found him with his student. He blurted out the truth. She was pregnant with this child, and he was going to marry her. I was such a fool, Bull. When Rita called me later that day, I was packing with no idea where I was going. Then I ended up here, and one week later . . .”
“I see,” he mutters, softly, shakily. “I see.” My hands curl around the seat of the bench. Taking two steps forward, Bull stops. His mouth opens and then shuts.
“And you haven’t been with anyone else? I was your only one-night stand.” There’s no accusation, only a need for clarification.
“I’ve never done anything like I did with you before or after. I swear it on everything I am.” Which isn’t a good person.
“What were we in the bathroom a few days ago then?”
Pregnancy hormones. He just looked so good, and the tension between us set me off, especially when he stepped toward me. Or maybe I stepped to him. It didn’t matter. We were like magnets drawn to one another by sexual attraction. His kiss brings me peace.
When I don’t answer, he steps forward, pauses and, stands taller. “I guess it doesn’t matter, though, if it isn’t mine.”
“But it might be,” I offer weakly, knowing it’s no consolation. Maybe a baby is the last thing he wants. I’m caught between a rock and a hard place if ever that cliché was true. “After our incredible night together—”
“You thought it was incredible?” The surprise in his tone shifts my position on the bench, and I stare at him. Large, soft midnight eyes meet mine, and the hesitancy I see in them almost breaks me in half.
“Of course, it was incredible. You’re amazing, and that thing you do with your tongue . . .” I drift off. Now is not the time to recall his tongue or fingers or even his thick thingy. I clear my throat. “It was incredible because you’re you.”
I gesture my hand up and down, emphasizing his body—the muscles, the mass, the strength, the stamina. A slow smile breaks out on his face, crooked at first, but it does things to my body. Bull should come with a warning: may cause heart palpitations, pulsing between the thighs, and a brain malfunction.
That’s one thing I’ve noticed already changing about my body—the libido shift. Sex is on my mind more than ever, and the way he’s looking at me, I’m ready to pounce on him like I did in the bathroom the other day. I’ve been reading up on heightened sexual desire in baby books, and what the experts say is normal is a relief. I want it, and I want him, and that is all kinds of not a good idea, Scarlett.
“Yeah, I think you’re you, too,” Bull says, turning up the wattage on that lopsided grin, and I chuckle, feeling the tension ease just a little bit between us.
“So, it could be his?” Bull nods slowly. A hand lifts and swipes through his ink and silver hair, mussing up the short strands and making him finger-licking delicious.
“Or it could be yours.”
“How long before you and I . . .” He drifts off, pointing between us.
“One week.” It was one week between sleeping with my husband and sleeping with Bull.
His eyes close briefly. He’s a foot before me, but he might as well be on the other side of the river. Slowly opening his lids, he asks, “Do you want it to be his?”
“No,” I whisper as I seek his gaze. “No, I do not want him to be the father. Does that make me a bad person? I mean, I already know I’m a bad person. Never in a million years did I set out for this to happen. And I’d understand if you want no part of it if it is your child. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never ever thought this could happen to me. I’m on the pill. You used condoms, but I’m pregnant.”
And I don’t know who the father is.
Tears fall in earnest this time, and I lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees as I cover my face. This is another new development—emotion. I’m normally solid and steady. Nothing ruffles me, but lately, I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams. I cry over tissue commercials and insurance advertisements when I generally don’t get worked up over sad stories or the misfortunes of others.
Bull plops down on the bench beside me. “You’re not a bad person, sweetheart,” he offers, rubbing a hand up my spine. His fingers find their way under my hair, and he massages the base of my head. Frick, that feels good. After a few seconds, I can’t help the sound of contentment escaping as my tears settle.
“Like that?” Bull asks, his voice dropping and reminding me of our night when he often asked the same question in the same tone.
I wipe at my cheeks. “Do you hate me?”
“No,” Bull admits, dropping his hand and looking off at the river. “But I need time to process this.”
I snort. “I totally understand. It’s taken me more than a hot minute.”
Bull glances back at me. “Is that why you were holding those baby overalls the other day?”
I nod.
“You said it was a gift.”
“They would have been . . . for the baby.” Something in Bull’s eyes drifts from stormy midnight to deep lake blue. “I didn’t buy them, though.”
Bull doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes my hand and holds it, allowing us to just stare out at the river with our own thoughts for a few minutes. All I’ve told him is a lot to take in, and I will understand if he tells me to go to hell. Somehow, I don’t think he will, though. The heat of his palm against mine hints that he isn’t a man who walks away that easily.
“I’d make a good dad,” he says under his breath. Startled by the hopeful sound in his voice, I pop my head up and look at him. With one glance, I know he’s right. Sitting here, holding my hand, he exudes the qualities of a decent man. A man who would love and take care of his children and perhaps love a wife one day.
“I’m sure you would.”
Bull pulls my hand up to his lips and kisses my knuckles. His eyes momentarily close, but his entire face expresses how much he wants to be a father. Would he want to share that experience with me?
“I never thought I’d be a mom,” I admit. Bull turns my hand palm up and strokes his against mine. “The irony in all this is Shelton didn’t want children, and now he might have two women pregnant.”