The Knocked Up Plan

When he pulls out, he tugs me up on his bed and wraps his arms around me. “I think we did it,” he murmurs in my ear, and my heart beats harder. I love that he believes the same thing about how we just came together.

I grin as I wriggle back against him. “Me, too.” I am a happy, dopey, woozy woman.

“Oh shit,” he says, sitting up straight.

“What’s wrong?”

He grabs a pillow, pats the bed, and instructs me to lift my butt. I raise my rear, and he slides the pillow under me.

It’s the most endearing thing, the way he always remembers. Part of me wants to keep that thought to myself because it feels so couple-y, and I know we shouldn’t even pretend we’re that. But I want him to know how it makes me feel. “Hey, Ryder,” I say, looping a hand in his hair. “You’re really sweet about this whole thing.”

He narrows his eyes and huffs. “I’m not sweet.”

I push his chest. “You’re so sweet, and you don’t even want to admit it.”

“I’m just helpful.”

“Hate to break it to you, but being helpful is sweet.”

He laughs then levels me with an intense stare. “It’s helpful when I put my sperm in you, isn’t it?”

“Helpful and so, so sweet,” I say, playfully.

I sigh as I run my hand over my belly, imagining. It’s an astonishing thought that someday soon I might feel a bump. I want that so badly—to be in my own bed at night, my palm spread over my basketball, feeling the life inside me. I want to know what that’s like. So much hope bubbles inside me I have a surplus. I could bottle this hope, sell it, and still have enough. I turn to look at Ryder. He’s propped on his side, his head in his hand, his fingers tracing my hip. His firm, strong body is naked and sheened with sweat. He’s gorgeous, and I could stare at him all night. “Do you really think it worked?” I ask.

“I do.”

“Did you ever think you’d be doing this with your colleague?”

He cracks up. “Hell, no. I thought I’d be . . .”

“You thought you’d still be with . . .” I let my voice trail off, too. For some reason, it makes me sad that he was so connected to someone else.

“Yeah, but that’s not something I think about anymore.”

“Do you miss her?” I ask, my muscles tightening with the wish for a no.

He shakes his head and drags a hand through his hair. “Nope.”

I relax. “Does she ever try to get in touch with you?”

“She did, but not recently.”

“Are you glad it ended?”

He draws a deep breath. He’s never told me in detail, but I was able to figure out she cheated on him from things he’s said. “I’m glad it ended when it did. Before I was in even deeper. Before we had kids.”

“Did you want them with her?” I ask, once more holding my breath for a no.

“Eventually,” he says, and that’s as close to a no as I can ask for. He draws lazy circles along my thigh. “What about you? Did you ever like anyone enough to want to have kids with him?”

I shake my head a little wistfully. “I think that part of me is broken.”

“What part?” he asks, his brow knitting in curiosity.

I tap my heart. “I’ve never been in love. Sure, I felt puppy love for my high school boyfriend. But as a grown woman? I think I’ve come close, but nothing that feels like mad, passionate love. Unless you count Ruby. I’m definitely in mad love with her. Like you are with Romeo.”

When the dog hears his name, he bounds into the room. He plops his butt down and wags his tail. Ryder pats the bed. The dog jumps up and flops next to his master. Just two naked adults, and one naked dog. “And now there’s three in the bed,” I say with a laugh.

“A ménage à trois,” he jokes, then his voice turns serious again. “You’ve really never been in love?” He sounds flummoxed, like he can’t quite imagine how I’ve gone through life without this.

I run a hand through my tangled hair, smoothing it out. “It sort of felt like it once a few years ago, with someone I was with for several months,” I say with a shrug. “I thought it was. But looking back, I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

I stare at the ceiling. “Why?” I repeat. “I’ve asked myself that question. I liked Greg so much. He was a good guy. But I didn’t feel that zing,” I say, tapping my breastbone. “That magic here. You must have felt that.”

He nods. “Definitely.”

My heart plummets, and I’m ashamed that I’d wanted him to say he never felt the zing with his ex. I shouldn’t be jealous that the man has fallen in love in the past, especially when I’m not interested in love. I focus on Greg instead. “I didn’t feel that zing with my former fiancé, so I called it off.”

“Ouch.”

I crinkle my nose. “I’m mean. A terribly cruel woman.”

He laughs lightly. “No, you’re not. Hell, I’m sure it hurt him. Any man would be devastated to lose you,” he says, and my heart dares to twirl. It’s such a strange little sensation hopping around in my chest. “But better at that time than once you were married.”

“That’s what I figured. Because I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be certain you’re in love. You’re supposed to get that feeling when you know it can’t be anything but love, right?”

His lips curve into a smile. “Yeah,” he says, and his hand slides over my belly, on top of mine. He squeezes my fingers. “The way you’ll feel soon.”

“Yes.” My eyes light up because he gets it. He truly understands me.

“Still,” he says, shaking his head in amusement, “it’s amazing you can talk about love the way you do, and yet you’ve never really felt it. You understand on this deep level, but you’ve never been in love.”

I’m an oddity to him. I’m the clock in the antique shop that doesn’t tell time. “But see, I don’t think romantic love is all that different than the love for your friends, or your family, or a dog. Is it? That kind of love?”

He turns away from me and strokes Romeo’s soft fur. “That kind of love is different, but I try not to think about it.” He stops then exhales heavily. “Or to let myself feel it.”

My chest aches, and sadness tunnels through me. I despise that his ex-wife hurt him so much that he has to turn off his heart. I run my fingers through his hair. He tenses briefly then relaxes. He sighs, and it sounds almost happy, as if he’s truly content in this moment here with me. I know the feeling—it matches my own right now. But whether I’m content, whether I want to throat-punch his ex, or whether my traitorous heart spins when he says sweet things, I’m still a practical woman, and I’m well aware of how absolutely critical our arrangement is.

“It’s a good thing we know the score, right?” I say, keeping it light before it gets heavy.

“Absolutely. And speaking of score, I’m including the Knicks game in the dating guide, especially because you liked pretending to be on the kiss cam so much.”

I smile, remembering how very much I enjoyed his version of the kiss cam. “Loved it. You’ll be doing men all over the city a service if they kiss their woman like you kissed me.”