I can see Grace wearing a white dress. A wedding dress. I bet she’d wear one of those big ass gowns with a train that fills the aisle. It’s not hard to imagine how the dress would move around her long, shapely legs.
The thought of her walking down the aisle to someone else, a man other than myself, pisses me off. The anger rises, heating my blood just thinking about it and that tightness in my throat comes back with a vengeance. But there’s no way in hell I’ll be the man she’s walking toward. We both know that. I have Grace for tonight, and that’s all that matters. It’s what I wanted in our deal.
It was a drunken deal we made when our flirtatious natures got out of hand. She promised to come to the wedding and pretend to be my girlfriend, to keep my family off my back.
I slip off my shirt, and start undoing my belt just as she turns onto her side and looks at me through her long lashes, her eyes shining with lust.
“I want you, Charlie.” She whispers the words I’ve been dreaming of since she first stepped into my life.
Fuck. I can’t take my name sounding like lust on her lips. As if the taste of my name is all she needs to get off.
Or maybe I’m just imagining it. Maybe all this is in my head, because I want to think that hooking up somehow means more to her now.
It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious.
It was just a date. Just a release. All of this was only for fun.
And I know after tonight, she’ll be long gone.
The bed groans as I climb on top of it and I bend down to kiss the soft skin on the tender side of her neck, I can’t help thinking she feels so right. So perfect in my arms.
I pull back the comforter, revealing the lacy negligee she's wearing, and watch a beautiful pink blush travel up her chest and into her cheeks.
“What’s this?” I ask her with a cocked brow. My already hard dick twitches with the need to get that lingerie off of her and onto the floor. I want what’s underneath.
She bites down on her bottom lip and attempts to throw back one of those smart ass responses she’s always got for me, but my lips are on hers before she gets a single word out. Nipping and sucking and reveling in what’s to come.
Her fingers spear into my hair and she deepens the kiss, wrapping her legs around my hips. My hands roam up the curve of her waist and back down as she moans into my mouth.
This is dangerous. I’m fucking addicted. I swear, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
As I stare down at her beautiful face, her lips parted and her gorgeous baby blues half-lidded, I know this isn’t just a good time anymore. Not for me.
I’m not the type of man she wants. We both know that. I don’t have what it takes to keep her.
But damn… I want to.
Grace
Rewinding to the beginning of this story….
“It’s not the worst news, but I know it’s not what you wanted to hear. Honestly though, Grace, there are a number of options,” Dr. Abrahams tells me but all I can hear is the last option she gave me. The best option according to her: freezing my eggs. She smiles at me, brushing a strand of gray hair behind her ear. My own simper falters and I hate that I can’t hide the disappointment better.
Looking past her at the wall I note that it’s plastered with what must be hundreds of pictures of newborns who Dr. Abrahams has helped other women conceive. Their little smiles and bows and cute little fingers and toes stare back at me. The photos are framed with pink and blue paper and give the room a hopeful atmosphere. I should be more thankful; the doctor just told me my eggs are still viable, after all. But she’s given me news that a woman at my age shouldn’t be getting. ‘Premenopausal’ isn’t a word I ever thought I’d hear. Let alone this soon.
My parents always said, career first. “Figure out your life and make sure you’re stable before settling down. You have plenty of time for marriage and babies.” I suppose my father didn’t think I’d be premenopausal either.
Barely keeping the smile on my face, I nod at whatever Dr. Abrahams said although I have no idea what came out of her mouth.
All isn’t lost yet, but if I don’t act soon my chances of having a child will be gone. Even now, without IVF, the odds are slim. My hormones have just given up apparently.
I’m only thirty. So… I’ve got to meet someone, and get him to propose. That’s a year and a half, optimistically. Hopefully it’s someone who wants to have kids, with extensive and expensive medical help more than likely. My mind drifts back to my health insurance and I wonder what’s covered and what’s not.
They say that people who wait at least three years before tying the knot stay married longer, so that’s three years longer I’d have to wait. Then there's conception and gestation… and the birth, of course. My fingers run circles around each other, twiddling as I think of how this is possible. It has to be possible though, because I’ve always wanted a child. The thought of a bundled up newborn with a little button nose and sweet yawn takes over for a moment and my throat goes dry as my eyes prick. I can’t not have a child. I nearly say the words out loud but somehow I keep them down. Swallowing them and reminding myself that freezing my eggs will work. The doctor said so.
The little plan in my head means it will be more than five years and thousands of dollars before any baby could be a reality, assuming everything goes perfectly. If the IVF works on the first try. My gaze drifts to the wall of babies, which seems to be mocking me.
“Grace,” Dr. Abrahams says gently, reaching across her desk to touch my hand. The sudden touch is jolting, bringing me back to the present. My very single, very baby-less present. “Did you hear me? I have some pamphlets here for the fertility preservation clinics I recommend.”
She presents a number of brightly colored brochures, waiting for me to take them and smiles.
“Okay?” My answer comes out as a question, rather than any kind of statement. This isn’t at all what I expected from my checkup. To say I’m shocked is an understatement. “Thank you,” I quickly add and hope that she didn’t take my initial response as rude. Clearing my throat, I smile broadly. “I appreciate it,” I tell her and somehow my voice is even and echoes a happiness that’s absent from how I truly feel.
“We have your follow-up visit scheduled,” the doctor says absently, clicking the keys on her computer and staring at the screen, “so you’re all set.” She finally looks at me with a smile.
I can’t return it as I nod my head. A follow up in a few days to see how bad it is. How bad. Not if it’s okay. But how bad. She didn’t use that exact term but it’s what she meant. Once the blood work is done she can tell me just how bad it is.
Just wonderful. I can hardly wait, my inner voice is deadpan and again I keep my mouth shut.
“If you have any further questions, don’t hesitate to call.”
I manage a smile, nodding and when she stands, I do too, gripping my purse with both clammy hands.
A nurse in hot pink scrubs whisks me out to the reception area. “Have a nice day, Miss Campbell,” she tells me, winking before she turns to call her next patient amongst the women seated there. “Mrs. Gray? Shellie Gray?”