“Yes,” Li-Mei said cautiously. “Does this mean Noah O’Sullivan has agreed to be the father?”
“No, he hasn’t agreed. And if he does, he won’t be the father, Mom, we’ve talked about this. A donor has no claim over a child conceived with donated sperm.”
“Doesn’t seem natural,” her mother muttered, clearly having as much trouble wrapping her mind around the situation as she had when Yasmin first announced her plan. But to Li-Mei’s credit, her confusion hadn’t stopped her from supporting her daughter one hundred percent. “But all right, I will send his information over to Sarah and tell her to put a rush on it before my daughter gets pregnant on Monday.”
“I don’t know that it will happen on Monday,” Yasmin said, rolling her eyes. “He hasn’t said yes yet, and even if he does, there’s no guarantee it will work the first time. Some people have to go through the procedure several times before they conceive.”
“At two thousand dollars a pop, you better hope it takes the first time.” Li-Mei made her growling, throat clearing, universal sound of disapproval a second time. “There are ways to get this stuff for free, you know, Yasmin. It’s like that song, All I Want to Do Is Make Love to You. Listen to the lyrics. It spells it all out.”
Yasmin’s lips curved. “You’re saying I should go pick up a hot young hitchhiker and bang him all night long, Mom?”
“I don’t want to know the specifics,” Li-Mei said in a voice that made Yasmin certain her mother was shaking her head wearily from side to side, wondering what she did to earn such a daughter. “I’m just saying I don’t want you to be pregnant and in the poor house by the time all of this is done.”
“I won’t be, Mom,” Yasmin said, smile fading. “Trust me. I’m going to do right by this kid, no matter how he or she is conceived. And you’re going to love being a grandma.”
Li-Mei sighed. “I’ll love being a grandma in a few years, too, precious girl. If you decide you want to wait and find a nice man. I know one is out there, Yasmin. Your happy ending was written in the stars the day you were born.”
“Maybe I’m just tired of waiting for it, Mom.”
“When you’re tired is when the end of the road is close. For all you know the one meant for you could be right around the corner, waiting for you to look up from all your plans and see him standing there.”
Yasmin didn’t know what to say to that, only that her mother’s words sent images of Noah O’Sullivan’s face flashing through her head.
Li-Mei humphed. “All I’m saying is that I don’t think you should give up hope. You’re such a good girl. Someday a man will come along who is smart enough to recognize a treasure when he sees it.”
Yasmin leaned against the counter, wishing she’d taken her mother up on that invitation for breakfast, after all. It would be nice to be within hugging distance right now. “Thanks, Mom. And thanks for forwarding that name on. It means a lot that you support me. Even when you don’t completely understand me.”
“I don’t even completely understand your father and I’ve been married to him forever and two days,” Li-Mei said with a sniff. “The only people I completely understand have feathers and live in a chicken coop.”
Yasmin laughed. “Yeah, well tell Sampson good luck for me. I hope the bastard wins top cock.”
Her mother cursed in Chinese. “He’s no bastard! I can trace his bloodline back seven generations, little girl! He’s more purebred than we are, that’s for sure.”
“Love you, Mom,” Yasmin said, hanging up before her mother could start reciting the long and illustrious lineage of her prized rooster. Pouring herself a third cup of coffee and a cup of water, she fetched her laptop from her desk and settled at the kitchen table to work through her virtual assistant duties.
But even as she crafted status updates and organized press releases, a part of her was daydreaming about Noah O’Sullivan and counting the minutes until she would round a corner and find him waiting just for her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Noah
Yasmin stood at the top of the rise just after mile marker three and studied the mud pit they’d helped create underneath an epic set of monkey bars with a critical eye. True to her word, she’d seemed to love getting elbow-deep in the muck and their portion of the course was looking goopier than any of the others Noah could see from their lookout post.
“I think we need to leave the hoses under the monkey bars and in between the trenches running for a few more minutes,” she said, swiping her arm across her lip, leaving a streak of mud behind. “I’m telling you, these things dry up a lot overnight, and I don’t want you to be accused of skimping on the mess your first time helping with a course.”
He grinned as he reached out, wiping the smear from her face. “There, that was it.”
“What?” she asked, grinning.
“My last clean finger. From now on I won’t be able to help wipe away your mud mustache.”
She arched a brow. “What? You don’t think I can pull off the mud mustache?”
Before he could insist that if anyone could, it was her, they were interrupted by a pair of camo-wearing men on four-wheelers. Despite their alleged “no chicks” policy, Spark and Steve hadn’t made a fuss about Yasmin tagging along to help out. With the mud run less than twenty-four hours away and several of their usual volunteers down with a nasty case of Partied-Too-Hard-At-The-Festival-Itis they seemed grateful for the extra pair of hands.
“You two need a ride back to the start of the course?” Spark asked. “We’re all finished up on our end.”
Noah raised a brow in Yasmin’s direction, but she shook her head. He turned back to the other men with a wave of his hand. “You go on ahead. We’re going to stay and make sure the mud here has the perfect consistency before we head out.”
Steve gave them a thumbs up. “Commitment to mess. That’s what I like to see.”
“It’s all Yasmin,” Noah said. “She’s a mud-making animal. You should let her supervise a section next year.”
Spark shot Yasmin an appraising look and nodded. “All right, short stack. If you’re up for it.”
“Short stack?” She bristled beside him. “I’ll let that slide this time because you’re inviting me to come play in the mud. But next time…” She lifted an ominous little fist and Spark laughed.
“Gotcha, killer. You two have fun. See you at the starting line tomorrow.”
Spark and Steve turned their four-wheelers around and headed back toward the start of the course. Noah watched them cruise over the hills before turning back to Yasmin to find her watching him with a calculating look.
“What?” he asked, fighting the urge to reach out and pull her close, the same urge that had been making his fingers itch since the moment she showed up for their date wearing a tight little pair of spandex running shorts and a simple brown tank top that for some reason made the naughtier half of his imagination run wild.
“I was just thinking. Now that we’re alone…”