I tremble.
Then he rains kisses down my face, my cheeks, my jaw. Kisses that make me feel as if we’re under a streetlamp, the roads slick from an earlier rain.
My lips part, and he seals his mouth to mine.
It’s like that kiss on the silver screen when time stops. His lips are all I know. The world is this slow and gentle slide. The wet delicious taste. The feel of this man’s mouth pressed to mine for the first time.
Strangely, or perhaps not so strangely at all, I’m barely thinking of babies.
I’m thinking of bodies. Of my own, and how it reacts to being so close to his.
The hair on my arms stands on end as he kisses me with more softness than I ever expected. He’s tender and gentle—this is how you take a woman into your arms after you’ve told her you’ll help her dreams come true. You give her a kiss that makes her feel like starlight.
I sigh, sinking into it, savoring every wondrous second of his lips on mine. I’m not sure I’ve been kissed like this in ages. This kiss is a luxury. We are living in a slow torch song.
Lips glide. Tongues touch. Breath mingles.
He tastes like spearmint, clean and sexy, and I absolutely love that combination in a man.
He groans against my mouth. That sound, carnal and masculine, lights me up.
He slides his hand up the back of my neck, and I wobble the slightest bit. He steadies me with a hand on my hip. His fingers resume their path, climbing upward. He ropes his hands in my hair, and he tastes me more deeply. More insistent.
I let out a little moan when he nips my lips, and then our slow, deep, wet kiss shifts. It becomes a little harder, a bit faster, a lot closer. I might be panting when we stop.
He is, too. “Did I pass the kiss test?”
I blink, trying to reconnect my brain to my mouth. Fortunately, that’s one of my talents. So is remembering my half of this deal, which seems like small potatoes. But he needs those potatoes, and I’m going to serve them up however he wants. Mashed, fried, roasted, grilled. “You passed with flying colors. We’re going to work through your list of top ten dates, and I’m going to make damn sure you have the best time of your life. Because it’s anywhere, anytime, and any position with me.”
His smile is wide and wicked. “You’re going to make this the best work project ever.”
“I think I’m going to like this project, too.” I shift gears, my organizational side taking over and kicking into full gear. “Speaking of, I should be entering the ovulation zone in a few more days. I’ve been charting so I have a good idea of when it should be. Want to get started on a plan for those top five positions and the ten dates?
“How long does ovulation last?”
“They say it can be right in the middle of your cycle. Personally, I don’t want to miss a shot, so I think it’s best if we try for the five days on either side.”
“Ten days in a row.” He smirks. “I believe I’m amenable to that.”
We grab a seat in the café, and I open my calendar app. We pick a day to start, and I pencil in a few dates for him. I point to a week at the end of the month when I’ll be out of town, doing my show on the road. “But at least I’ll be at the end of my cycle then,” I say, then I meet his eyes. “Will that work out for your dating guide, though, if we miss a week?”
Ryder nods. “Cal sees this as a project that’ll last several weeks, so that sounds good to me.”
When we leave, I’m still giddy, and something occurs to me.
That wasn’t a regular wobble a little while ago when he kissed me. He made me weak in the knees.
But surely that’s because he’s going to give me a baby. I’m only swooning for the baby.
12
Ryder
We fly through the air with the greatest of ease.
Nicole might have been a bird in a past life because she takes to the trapeze as if she has wings, or circus performer blood in her.
She’s strapped in with a harness contraption and swinging upside down, her knees hooked over the bar.
A September breeze zips through the air at Hudson River Park in lower Manhattan, home of Trapeze School New York. In the quest to find ever more interesting activities for dates and life, the city is home to trapeze lessons, rock climbing, indoor golf, trampolining, and more. God forbid we ever be bored in Manhattan. Rest assured I’m not.
When Nicole finishes her swing, the instructor helps her regain her footing on the platform. The look on her face is pure exhilaration. She’s breathless, her cheeks are flushed crimson, and her red hair is wild.
“Oh my God, that was amazing!” She swats my arm. “I want to see you do that upside down.”
I scoff. “Piece of cake.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh yeah?”
“I used to cover scary-as-hell wide receivers.”
She laughs. “I love that you’re actually trying to equate college football with flying like a squirrel.”
“Squirrels are pretty amazing. So are strapping safeties.”
She shakes her head, amused.
Callie, the pipsqueak instructor with the high blond ponytail, chimes in, talking to Nicole. “You’re very natural on the trapeze. I can’t believe you’ve never done anything like this.”
“I’m naturally daring,” Nicole says with a wink.
Truer words.
“That is the best trait,” Callie says, then she regards me. “Do you want to try catching her? I hear you were some kind of superstar safety.”
Nicole’s mouth turns to an O. “Whoa. She’s calling you out.”
“I was on defense. We didn’t catch that often.”
“Surely you caught interceptions?” Nicole asks, lifting her chin, challenging me.
I scrub a hand over my jaw, gesture widely to the acrobatic setup, then back at my pseudo date. “So you’re daring me to catch you?”
She gives me a tough-girl bring-it-on look, going gangster with her hands. “You’re afraid to catch me?”
I toss my head back and laugh. “Woman, you have no idea.” I cup her cheek and give her my best smolder. “I’m going to catch you so fucking good.”
Her laughter ceases, and she drops her voice. “How the hell did you just turn that into some kind of come-on line?”
Callie is fixated on her sneakers.
“It’s my special talent.” I bring my mouth to her ear. “Plus, I think you might have nothing but sex on the brain.”
She gasps. “How could you say such a thing?” Her voice drips with mock shock.
“Admit it. All you’re thinking about is stripping me down to nothing.”
Callie shuffles farther away from us. Smart girl.
“Why would you ever think that all I want is your . . .” Nicole pauses, slides her lips up my neck, and whispers, “cock.”
One word from her red lips and my dick responds as it fucking should. I yank her closer so she knows. “I have no idea where I got the idea that you were into me for my body only,” I tease.
A murmur falls from her lips when she presses against my erection. “I’m into your body for so many reasons, Ryder.”
I nip on her earlobe. “My date is counting down the hours till she can get me naked.”
“By my estimates, I think that in about sixty minutes, I can get these pesky pants off you,” she says, running a hand down the fabric of my workout pants. That’s what the trapeze lessons call for—exercise clothes.
I sigh heavily as if I’m dejected. “I’m nothing but a sex object to you.”
A throat clears.
“Oops,” Nicole whispers to me. “Guess we’re too dirty.” She raises her voice. “Sorry, Callie. He’s going to try to knock me up later tonight. We might be a little frisky sometimes.”
Callie’s expression morphs instantly from embarrassed annoyance to sheer joy. “That’s so exciting! I love babies. You two are going to have such beautiful babies.” Then worry seems to strike her. She steps closer to Nicole and clasps a hand around h
er arm. “Is there a chance you’re pregnant now? Because you shouldn’t be flying.”
Nicole waves off the concern. We planned the trapeze date for our first one for just that reason. Get all the bouncing, flying, falling, and jumping out of the way before Nicole might be in the family way.
“Nope,” Nicole says to the instructor. “We’re starting tonight. This is our foreplay. Can you tell?”
Callie sighs with relief. “The last minute might have been a tip-off.” She gestures to the swings. “Are you ready?”
“We’re ready to behave now,” I say, my tone deadly serious.
I climb down the ladder and walk to the other side of the net. God bless the huge net. The only way newbies like us could fly through the air is with the cushiest, safest, biggest net below us. As well as waivers. Lots and lots of waivers. And tons of harnesses. You can’t really get hurt here unless you try hard.
As I reach the top of the opposite platform, Callie’s counterpart on this side gives me a quick hello. His name is Mitch, and he has a camp-counselor brightness to him. Once I’m attached to the harness, I chalk up my hands.
“Are you having a good time?” Mitch asks with a big smile.
“A great time.”
“Best date ever?”
Briefly, I think of Maggie and our dates. My ex was outdoorsy, but not daring. She liked to head out of the city and hike in the woods. Since we loved movies, we spent many nights at the cinema. But trapeze was never in the cards, nor trampoline, nor rock climbing. I haven’t taken anyone here since my divorce, either. Honestly, I haven’t dated much since the split, and I wouldn’t be here if Cal hadn’t said my ass was on the line.
I swing my gaze to Nicole, more than a hundred feet away. “Definitely a great first date,” I tell Mitch.
He gives me a toothy grin. “All right. You’ll need to hop on then go upside down.”
Once I grab hold of the bar, Mitch barks, “Safe to go.”
I step off the platform and whoosh. I’m fucking flying. It’s as thrilling as it was the first time I did it tonight.
“Feet up,” he calls out as the swing arcs. I lift my feet up and hook them over the bar, and then Mitch calls out, “Arms free.”
I drop my arms below me, hanging on with my legs. This is like the loop on a whip-fast rollercoaster. Everything is a fast rush as the world flips into a topsy-turvy blur.
Callie shouts instructions at Nicole, who swings at me.
“Let her build up speed,” Mitch yells.
I give a thumbs-up as I arc closer.
From my vantage point, speeding upside down, I don’t take my eyes off my date. Nicole moves like a monkey, and in mere seconds, she’s switching from hanging by her hands on the bar to holding steady with her feet hooked over it.
“Hands catch,” the instructors shout in their shorthand as Nicole soars to me, her red hair in a long ponytail below her, her arms reaching for me. I stretch out my arms, hands ready. Closer, closer, and here she is.
For a brief moment, nerves spike inside me. But I shove aside hair-raising images of what could go wrong, and do what I have to do. I grab hold of her hands, and she takes mine.
Her neon laughter lights up the sky as she calls out, “Yes, oh my God!”
I’ve caught her, and I’m the only thing between her and the net. I grip her tight as she swings once beneath me, then she lets go, dropping to the net, the harness giving her a bouncy, soft landing.
It’s not the first time tonight I hope to hear her say oh my God.
“A-may-zing,” she says as we pile into our waiting Lyft ride outside the trapeze school.
“I’m sure Cal will be pleased that his first idea for this crazy assignment turned out to be a good time.”
“I didn’t just have a good time,” she says, shaking her head as I pull the door shut.
I arch a brow, curious. “No?”
“I had the best time,” she corrects. “And you can take that to the bank. Let all your listeners and readers know that trapeze lessons are a big win.”
Maybe I won’t get canned. I breathe a sigh of relief as the driver heads uptown. “Tell me why you liked it so much. What makes it a great date for the woman?”
She tilts her head, considering. “It’s different from the usual, you know?” Her eyes are serious. “And different is good. It gets you out of your comfort zone.”
“Out of the coffee, dinner, dates, this-is-so-fucking-boring-sometimes zone?”
“Exactly. You have to trust someone to do something like this. Sure, we have harnesses, but going for a trapeze lesson says the man is willing to put himself in an unusual position. After all, you were upside down.”
“It was definitely a new vantage point.”
Her eyes grow more animated. “And see, I think that helps two people connect. It helps for the woman to see the man can be strong but vulnerable.”
I nod as I take in her assessment. It makes a hell of a lot of sense. “Damn, you’re brilliant. That’s exactly what Cal wants me to talk about in my”—I stop to sketch air quotes to show what I think of Cal’s plans—“dating guide.”
But Nicole doesn’t let it go. Her eyes pin me with an intense look. “But did you feel that way, Ryder? I loved it, and it felt freeing. Did you feel like it would be a good first date for a man trying to romance a woman?”
Romance. I shudder at that word and all its implications. I romanced Maggie like I was a fucking hero in a novel, pulling out all the stops, sending her not only the lilies she adored, but her favorite artisanal butter for the pastries she made. We kissed at the fountain at Lincoln Center after a ballet she wanted to see; we strolled through the farmers’ market in Union Square hand in hand as she shopped. I rolled out the red carpet for her, and she loved it all, and that’s why it was so fun to treat her that way.
In return, she treated me like gum on the bottom of her shoe.
I could answer Nicole with starkness and say, I don’t really care anymore about romancing a woman.
But she deserves more than that. “For most men, yes, I suspect it would be a great start to romance. And for me, I had a hell of a good time with you.”
Nicole doesn’t balk at my honest assessment. Instead, she nudges me with her elbow. “Good thing we can be so scientific about this, right?”
I laugh, relieved that we don’t have to tread more seriously on this topic. I adopt my radio announcer voice. “Gentlemen, tonight we conducted a highly scientific study of dates in New York City, and we’ve concluded that the flying trapeze is an excellent jumpstart to romance.”
Nicole jumps in. “If you play your cards right, by the end of the evening her heart will be topsy-turvy for you. You might even land a first kiss.” She winks at me and whispers, “But I’m pretty confident you’re a sure thing.”
That’s because the sex is guaranteed in ink. It’s sex with a contract, outlined in legalese. The last week has been consumed by paperwork for our arrangement. First, I showed her my health records—a clean bill of health and no STDs. Same for her. Then, the more formal agreement. My lawyer checked the contract for me. It’s everything Nicole proposed. Sex for the sole purpose of procreation. If she conceives, I owe her nothing. That’s the bottom line. No expectations. No future payments. In return, I won’t ask for anything, either. No parental rights. Nothing at all.
Fine with me.
At its heart, it’s a beautiful sort of deal, one that says neither party expects a damn thing. I run a hand through her hair. “Fuck that romance shit. I want you in bed, woman.”
Her eyes blaze with heat. “And that’s exactly where I want to be.”
I love that she’s down to fuck. And I fucking love that we’re not playing games. There’s something incredibly freeing about this kind of relationship. Maybe this is the way it should be—clear and easy.
But once we reach her place in the East 80s, all that easy, breezy, sexy confidence slips away.
13
Nicole
Dogs are a woman’s best friend.
They’re also buzz killers since I need to tend to my doggy before we get into doggy-style.
Ruby jumps up and down when I unlock the door. She whimpers her excitement at seeing her mistress. She swings her gaze at Ryder and unleashes an accusatory bark at the unknown man.
Who the hell are you?
“Shh. He’s a friend,” I tell her and instantly she settles down.
“Hey girl,” he says, in that sweet but firm voice that dog people know how to use. “You’re gorgeous.”
My heart goes pitter-patter over the compliment.
“She says thank you,” I translate, though it’s readily apparent Ruby likes the praise, seeing as how she’s waggling her butt. “She’s shameless. She falls lickety split.”
Ryder shrugs. “Not a bad trait.” He quickly adds, like he needs to correct himself, “In a dog.”
He rubs her chin, and Ruby’s sold. For a second, it hits me how odd it is that they haven’t met yet. Despite our work companionship, there’s never been a need for him to be here.
Now there is, and it’s business time.
But first, I need to take Ruby for a quick walk around the block so she can attend to her business. Ryder joins me, grabbing a dog bag from the stash I keep in an open jar by my door. Dog people get dog people.
“Where’s your boy right now? Waiting patiently by the door for you?”
“Romeo’s at the neighbor’s,” he tells me as we head down the stairs and out to my quiet block. “There’s a sweet lady who lives upstairs from me. She’s been in my building forever, and I mean forever. Rent-controlled and all that jazz. Her niece lives with her and walks dogs, so they have Romeo right now. I booked her because I wasn’t sure how long we’d be tonight.”
“Hopefully we will . . .” But then I’m not sure what to say. Are we hoping it’ll be long or short? Does he want to get in and out with three Hail Marys so he can get home and walk the dog? We’ve been out for a few hours already. Furtively, I check the time. He probably needs to do the deed quickly.
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