I hold out my cup of full-octane and watch as her mouth closes around the rim. Lust spears through me. I take the cup back and try to focus on the stock market page of the paper.
“Hey, I asked Kelsey if she wants to go to an early dinner with us next week, maybe one day after I get off work at the bookstore,” Liv says as she pours a bowl of granola. “She got back a couple of nights ago.”
“Fine.”
“Sounds like she had a good holiday visiting her mom.”
“Good to know.”
Liv tilts her head, regarding me. “So… Kelsey said she kissed you.”
I can feel a flush creep up my neck, which irritates me. “Uh… yeah.”
My embarrassment seems to amuse her.
“Kelsey is a spitfire, but she’s also a wise woman,” Liv says.
“I wouldn’t put it that way.”
She doesn’t say anything else, which makes me edgy on top of embarrassed. How am I supposed to tackle this one? What did Kelsey even say? When Liv and I were separated—I still hate that word—Kelsey decided to prove some stupid point about male-female attraction by kissing me.
I shove away from the table and go to refill my coffee.
“You’re blushing,” Liv remarks.
“I am not.”
“It’s cute.”
“It is not.”
“She said you’re a great kisser.” Liv arches an eyebrow.
“Yeah, so’s she.” I swallow some coffee. “If you like kissing pit vipers.”
Liv grins. I drum my fingers on the counter. She gets up and slides her bathrobe-padded arms around my waist. Her warm lips press against my neck.
“If it’d been anyone but Kelsey, I’d be upset,” she admits. “But she’s different. She’s like my older sister.”
“That is so amazingly unhelpful.”
“Will it make things weird between you and her?” she asks.
“Considering her technique, no. She was like a spider attacking a defenseless fly.”
She laughs. “I’d hardly call you defenseless.”
“It was a surprise attack.”
“Really, Dean.” Her expression sobers. “You’re not mad at her?”
“Nah.” I turn to put my mug in the sink. “I’ve known Kelsey too long to be mad. And it did kind of change my thinking. But don’t tell her I said that. I’d never hear the end of it.”
“Where did you and Kelsey meet anyway? I mean, I know it was in college, but she was in the sciences, and you were in the history department, so how…?”
“I dated one of her ex-girlfriends.”
Liv’s eyebrows lift. “How very modern.”
“Not really. I went out with the girl a few times before she decided she wanted to get back together with Kelsey. Didn’t make me look too good.”
“So what happened?”
“We saw Kelsey at a bar, and the other girl went up to her and made a scene. Crying about how she shouldn’t have broken up with Kelsey and wanted her back. Kelsey wasn’t having it. The girl left in tears. Kelsey told me I must’ve been a lousy lay, then bought me a beer. We’ve been friends ever since.”
“And she never knew about your first marriage?”
“No.” I shove away a flood of bad memories. “We lost touch for a few years in grad school. Reconnected through a mutual friend when we both started looking for tenure-track positions.”
“She’s lucky to have you.” Liv pulls her hands through her hair and yawns. “So am I.”
“Not as lucky as I am to have you.”
We give each other a couple of goofy, cornball grins. My unease settles. For now.
“So you’re about eight weeks, Liv?” Dr. Nolan, our family physician, takes a circular calendar from her desk and twists it around. “When was the first day of your last period?”
“Um, November seventeenth or eighteenth, I think?” Liv glances at me from her perch on the examination table. A flush colors her cheeks. “Actually, I know the date of conception.”
A combination of heat and guilt goes through me. I know the date too. December first. Explosive as it was, it hadn’t been a night of hearts and flowers. Anything but.
“December first,” Liv tells the doctor.
“We prefer to figure out the date based on your last period.” Dr. Nolan checks the calendar again, unconcerned with our sexual history. She’s an older, gray-haired woman with a no-nonsense attitude that both Liv and I have always appreciated. “Okay, so your due date is August twenty-fourth. You’ll be eight weeks on Saturday.”
She punches a few keys on her computer. “Let’s get some medical questions answered, then we’ll do a physical exam. My nurse is getting a prenatal information package for you. Afterward you can go downstairs to the lab for blood and urine samples.”
“Do you need me to leave?” I ask.
“Only if Liv would be more comfortable alone,” Dr. Nolan replies, her fingers moving with brisk efficiency over the keyboard.
Liv shakes her head at me. She looks a little nervous, but Dr. Nolan is so matter-of-fact about the whole procedure that her anxiety seems to ease. We both answer a host of questions about our medical and family histories. Dr. Nolan gives Liv a physical exam and asks about her current symptoms.
“Do either of you have any questions for me?” Dr. Nolan swivels her chair to regard me through her glasses. “Dean?”