Who wouldn’t have a crush on Rory Pike?
I’m not sure how long I sit in my car, engine still running, staring at the dark Pike house.
I’m not sure when I put my foot on the pedal and drive home.
The only thing I’m sure of is that taking a cold shower and jacking off isn’t going to help me tonight.
Chapter Seven
Rory
Zach, my new rescue dog, wakes me up promptly at six thirty. I actually managed to log a few hours of sleep. A beer at one in the morning probably helped.
I pad out of my bedroom, let the frisky pup out, and then I start a pot of coffee. Mom isn’t up yet, which is unusual, but she and Dad were out late at the Steel party.
They must be over the moon about Callie’s engagement. One daughter taken care of—by a Steel, no less. Callie will never have to worry about money, and now she’ll be able to go to law school as planned.
I sit down at the kitchen table, my stomach growling. Hungry? At six thirty a.m.?
My body is rebelling. I haven’t been eating well since the whole Pat Lamone thing was dredged back up. Everything tastes kind of like sawdust. Not even as flavorful as sawdust, to be honest. Still, I have to keep my body going. Callie and I both do. I rise and open the fridge. Bacon, eggs, toast. None of it sounds good.
So I head to the cookie jar.
Chocolate chip cookies. Not the most nutritional food for breakfast, but they actually sound good. I pull two of Mom’s giant cookies out of the jar, place them on a napkin, and bring them back to the table.
I take a bite, letting the soft and buttery goodness explode on my tongue.
Has there ever been a problem in the world that a chocolate chip cookie couldn’t solve?
I used to think there wasn’t.
Until Pat Lamone and Brittany Sheraton came back to town.
“Hey.” Callie follows a scampering Dusty—her rescue—into the kitchen. After she lets her dog out to join mine, she sits down next to me. “Cookies?”
“Yeah. The only thing that doesn’t taste like complete shit to me.”
“I hear you.” She grabs my second cookie and takes a bite.
“Hey!”
“Sorry.” She rises, walks to the counter, brings back the cookie jar, and sets it in front of me. “Here you go.”
I can’t help a slight chuckle. “Looks about right.” I take another cookie out of the jar as I polish off my first.
“Thinking about Brock?”
I am, but I hesitate to admit it. I don’t want to look as self-absorbed as I feel. “No. Just about our situation.”
“Yeah. Me too.” She holds her left hand in front of her, and the track lighting in the kitchen bounces rainbow spikes off her orange sapphire engagement ring. “I’m on top of the world. Part of me is anyway.”
“You should be,” I say. “Don’t let Pat Lamone ruin this for you.”
“You’re right.”
“So… What did you think of Sadie?”
“She really didn’t make an impression on me.”
I take a bite of my second cookie more harshly than I mean to, and for a split second, it’s Sadie’s head that I’m ripping off. “Brock probably screwed her last night.”
“Probably.”
Nice. My sister doesn’t even try to assuage what could be my fears. True, she doesn’t know what I’m feeling. Heck, I’m not even sure what I’m feeling.
“I’m still considering… You know.”
“I know you are, Ror. Just because I tell you not to do something doesn’t mean you’re not going to do it. It probably means the opposite.”
“I respect your opinion, Cal,” I say.
“I know that. But you’re Rory Pike. You’re going to do your own thing no matter what anyone tells you. Even me.”
Callie’s not wrong. “I just want a kid badly.”
“I know. There’s no way I’m going to talk you out of it. I won’t even try.”
I scoff. “Yeah, you will.”
She laughs. “Yeah, I will. But seriously. I think there might be a better choice than Brock Steel.”
“You might be right. We don’t have a sperm bank here in Snow Creek though.”
“Sure we do. Go have a one-nighter with someone.”
I lift my eyebrows. This isn’t Callie speaking. More like the anti-Callie. “Seriously?”
“I’m kidding, Ror. Man, what’s with you? Or both of us, for that matter? This whole Pat Lamone thing has really messed us up.”
“No kidding. And for the record, I happen to think Brock Steel is of high genetic quality. Better than I’d get at any sperm bank.”
“I know you do. You’re probably right. The Steels are hardy stock for sure. But it’s a big step for him. He’s only twenty-four. I don’t want you to get your hopes up just to have them dashed. We both know Brock is only looking for one thing from you, and it’s not fatherhood.”
I shove another bite of cookie into my mouth. Sawdust again, with a chocolate edge. “You’re right. I guess I will check out sperm banks. Do you think there’s one in Grand Junction?”
“Probably. Let’s research it today.”
“Sounds good.” I rise.
“Where you going?”
“Pour some coffee, will you? I’m getting my laptop.”
“It’s not even seven o’clock.”
“So what? I’m going to research sperm.” A few moments later, I return with my laptop and fire up. “What do I type into the search engine? Sperm bank?”
“That’s as good a place as any to start,” Callie says.
Good enough. Sperm bank Grand Junction Colorado.
“I’ll be damned. There are a few.” I tap on the first option. “Check this out. They’ve got their profiles online.”
Callie scoots her chair closer to me so we can both see the screen.
“I can choose hair color, eye color, height, weight. My God, there are photos. Intelligence quotient. Hobbies, likes, and dislikes.”
“It’s a smorgasbord.” Callie takes a sip of coffee and then another bite of cookie.
“I like brown hair and brown eyes. I mean, that’s what I have. That would virtually guarantee that our kid would have brown hair and brown eyes.”
“Not necessarily. Brown hair and brown eyes are both dominant traits. Most people with brown hair and brown eyes carry the genes for the recessive traits as well, so you could end up having a blond-haired and blue-eyed child, even with a brown-haired and brown-eyed guy.”
“For God’s sake, Callie. Can you turn your brain off for one minute?”
“Hey, I’m just telling you. If you want to have a child who has brown hair and brown eyes, there’s absolutely no way to guarantee it. On the other hand, if you had blond hair and blue eyes, and you chose a blond-haired and blue-eyed guy, your kid would have blond hair and blue eyes. Except it might have green eyes, since green are more recessive than blue.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. I don’t really care what color hair and eyes my child has.”
“But you just said—”