A Really Bad Idea

by Jeannine Colette

  When Christian arrived at my apartment this morning for date number two, I wasn’t expecting to see a shopping bag in his hand. Especially since it was holding in-line skates.

  “Rollerblading?” I asked with a raised brow, my coffee not consumed to the maximum it would need to be going on a rollerblading adventure.

  “You loved it when we were kids.” He smirked, pushing through my front door, his hair covered by a navy-blue Yankees cap.

  “I was twelve,” I said, closing the door behind him as he makes himself comfortable on my green chenille sofa.

  He grabbed my romance novel off the coffee table, and his brows rose when he read a few lines of the page it was open to.

  “I thought we were going to the zoo?”

  “We are. Grab a pair of comfortable socks.”

  Looking down at my white knee-length skirt and cap-sleeve T-shirt, I said, “I can’t skate in this. I need to change first.”

  He rose from the couch and grabbed my hand before I could make it to my bedroom. “Don’t change. You look beautiful just as you are.”

  And that’s how I wound up on in-line skates in Central Park, wearing a flowing skirt and large wool socks. At least the skates are cute—light gray with pink blades and buckles. He even bought me a helmet, but I put my wheel-lined foot down on that one.

  “Just like riding a bike,” he says, zipping past me and wrapping around the fountain, dodging tourists and dog-walkers. He looks good in cargo shorts and a V-neck T-shirt that shows off toned, tanned arms and legs.

  “Come on, I’ll race you,” I call out and take a lead, heading back under the terrace and through the enclave lined with bronzed tiles on the ceiling, coming out on the other end and onto the Mall, a walkway leading from Bethesda Terrace through the park. The pathway is lined with benches and American elm trees on both sides.

  I have a decent lead despite trying to keep myself from running over people, but then he comes up from behind and pinches my ass as he passes. My cheeks rise to my eyes as I squint with determination and power forward to catch up.

  Christian reaches out for my hand, pulling my pace down to where we’re now skating together. We stop to watch a set of street performers breakdancing, doing tricks and flips. He tosses a ten into the bucket a guy is carrying around to the crowd.

  We skate on, stopping again so that I can peer over the shoulder of an artist who is drawing a caricature of a little girl and then listen at the end of the path to a band of musicians playing hip-hop music on classical instruments. I give them ten dollars of my own.

  At the southern end of the pathway, we play tag around the statues of well-known literary figures. Behind William Shakespeare, I grab the baseball cap off his head, watching his dark hair fall messily onto his head, and he tackles me to the ground in front of Sir Walter Scott, ripping the cap from my hands and securing it back on his head with a smile.

  When we reach the zoo, I’m relieved to take off the skates and slide on my shoes that Christian placed in his duffel bag before we left my apartment. He puts our skates in the bag and then secures it across his body. Then, we walk into the Central Park Zoo.

  I lean on the railing of the sea lion pool and watch as one swims by. Lifting a fin above the water, it waves at us. I wave back with a laugh until a warm body presses up behind me.

  “Is this okay?” Christian asks, placing his hands on the railing on each side of me, enclosing me in.

  I lean my head back to his shoulder and nod as another sea lion appears on the rock above the pool.

  “He’s jumping in,” he says into my ear, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  We watch the sea lion jump into the water and stay for the noon feeding as the trainers show off what the beautiful mammals can do.

  “What is your favorite animal?” he asks as we walk around the octagon-shaped pool, hand in hand, down the paved walkway.

  “Chickens.”

  “Chickens?”

  His response makes me shake with laughter.

  “Yeah. I’ve always wanted a chicken coop. Maybe even property to grow my own vegetables.”

  He grimaces. “That’s not something you can do in Manhattan.”

  “That’s why I’ll never have one. I love it here. I can’t imagine ever moving.”

  It’s true. I grew up across the Hudson, but once I settled in Manhattan, I fell in love with its scents and sounds, the way old and new collided to form a bond of history and futuristic expectations. The museums and Broadway shows are incomparable, and the health care is top notch. There’s a coffee shop on every corner, and you always have a place to sit for a while when you don’t want to be alone.

  “You could get a vacation house. Maybe a cabin Upstate,” he suggests.

  “Who would watch the chickens?” I counter.

  “We could hire someone to tend to them when we’re not there.”

  I lean back and blink at his use of the word we.

  He shrugs. “It would be nice to have a place for our kid to run around and experience life outside of the city. Some chickens, maybe a goat. It would teach him some responsibility.”

  “It would be impractical. She’ll already be carted between two homes. Adding a vacation cabin would give her whiplash.”

  “He’ll think it’s normal because it will be our normal.” He squeezes my hand. “I notice you used the pronoun she.”

  “Because you assume it will be a boy.”

  He laughs as he raises his other arm up in surrender. “A man can dream.”

  A thought crosses my mind, causing me to bite the corner of my lip.

  When Christian made his grand proposal to have a baby together, he mentioned throwing a ball in the backyard with his son. He never mentioned the possibility of having a daughter.

  That makes me wonder, Will it disappoint him if we have a girl?

  I must walk away, not realizing he has stopped until he’s tugging on my arm, pulling me back toward him and wrapping his arm around my waist. The other hand rises to my mouth. His thumb glides over my lower lip, pulling it out from between my teeth.

  “Whether we have a boy or girl, I will love him or her, no matter what,” he says, easing my concerns.

  I nod in his hand as it caresses my cheek, gently holding me as he leans forward and places the softest kiss on my mouth. My eyes close as his mouth stays there for a moment before moving away.

  That kiss, that simple tease of a kiss, has just rendered me speechless.

  When I lift my lids, I see his vibrant eyes looking back at me. His face is serious despite the tiniest quirk of his lips. I can’t help but kiss that spot, making his smile take over his whole face.

  “Let’s go see the grizzlies,” he says, tugging on my arm and pulling me toward the big animals.

  “So, when you say Ed Sheeran is sexy, do you mean physically or just the way he sings?” Christian asks for the third time since I told him I thought the English singer was the hottest thing on two legs.

  I croon. “It’s everything. His personality, the way he sings, the way he talks about the love of his life …”

  “What happened to your love of Justin Timberlake?” He knows too well I have a thing for the Man of the Woods.

  “I still love him, too. I mean, he brought sexy back. Trust me when I say, I wouldn’t kick that man out of my bed.”

  He lets out a groan, and I skip away toward the snow monkeys. We try to make them emulate our actions, which doesn’t work at all, and then walk over to the leopards when we see a familiar face walking toward us.

  Garret Kent—aka Bachelor Number Two—is headed our way. He looks as handsome as he did at my mother’s house as he wears a yellow polo and jeans. His eyes flicker between me and Christian with a knowing grin on his face. Behind Garret, a little boy with dusty-blond hair and freckled cheeks trails, standing about six feet away, like an afterthought.

  “Looking stunning as always,” Garret says, coming right up to my personal space and placing
a kiss on my cheek, close to my mouth.

  “Garret.” Christian’s greeting is clipped.

  Garret doesn’t seem to notice or care as his eyes settle on the V-neck of my top. “This is a pleasant surprise. If I had known you liked the zoo, I would have brought you myself.”

  I step away from him and into Christian’s side. “I’m in good company.” I don’t miss the way Christian’s dimple appears as he puts his hand on my waist, liking how I’m not behaving as poorly as I did when we ran into Frank Romano at dinner.

  Garret’s eyes jump up to my face and over to Christian’s with a furrowed brow. “I see.”

  “Besides, it looks like you have your own little date today. You must be Jordan,” I say to his son. “Pleasure to meet you. I’ve seen your pictures on Facebook.”

  The little boy swings around his father’s side and comes up to his hip. “Hi.”

  Garret places a hand on his son’s shoulder. “It’s our boys’ weekend.”

  “You must enjoy them tremendously,” Christian states with a closed-mouth smile.

  As cordial as he is, I get the feeling he doesn’t like Garret at all, which is interesting because Christian likes everyone.

  Garret ruffles Jordan’s hair, making the boy laugh with the action. “We were on our way to grab a hot dog.”

  “Ew, I don’t eat hot dogs,” Jordan says like they’re the most disgusting things in the world.

  Garret looks taken aback by his son’s aversion to hot dogs. “All kids eat dirty-water dogs.”

  “No, Dad. They make me gag.” He mock sticks his finger in his mouth.

  Garret’s brows pucker as he places a hand back on his son’s shoulder. “Well then, we’ll just head over to Luke’s Lobster and grab lobster rolls.” His eyes meet mine in invitation. “They are the best in the city. Do you want one?”

  Jordan leans his weight on one leg and rolls his head to the side, pulling his dad’s attention down to him. “Dad! I’m allergic to shellfish.”

  It’s hard to miss Garret’s surprised grimace. “Since when?”

  “Since forever.” Jordan kicks the pavement with the shake of his head.

  Garret looks confused.

  I offer some advice. “Maybe you should just stick to chicken fingers and fries at the zoo’s café. They’re my favorite,” I say to Jordan.

  Garret nods in approval at the idea as he tilts his head at me. “Jordan and I are going to the movies tonight. We’d love for you to join us. Looks like I could use a woman’s touch.” His phrase sounds dirty, and I really hope it’s not intended to be.

  “No, thank you,” I reply pleasantly. “You two enjoy your boys’ day.”

  Garret sneers, annoyed, as he casts a glance toward Jordan. His mouth twists to the side. “I could get a sitter. Make it an adults-only night. Gallagher, you around to hang out at my place for a few hours while Meadow and I go out on the town?”

  “My night’s already booked.” Christian’s possessive hand pulls me further into him.

  Instead of being annoyed by such cavemanish behavior, I settle into him, finding I quite like being nestled into the crook of his arm.

  Garret’s eyes flick toward Christian where they have a visual standoff as I bow down to speak to Jordan, who glances up with a shy smile as sweet as pie.

  “It was very nice meeting you, Jordan. I hope you enjoy the rest of your weekend with your dad.”

  “Here.” Garret slides a hand into his back pocket and takes out a business card. “Call me. We should catch up when you’re not”—he gives a side-eye glance to Christian—“occupied.”

  I have many things I’d like to say, but Jordan is staring at the three of us with the wide eyes of a child, waiting for his father to take him to lunch. So, I say nothing at all.

  I take the card, and as they walk away, I toss it in the nearby trash can.

  “Can you believe that guy?” I ask as I turn to face Christian, who is no longer standing beside me. Upon further inspection, he’s not anywhere in eyeshot. I look around, down the path of trees, and through the throngs of tourists and guides. I don’t see him.

  There’s a bird squawking in the distance, shouting, “Pretty bird,” over and over.

  I know he didn’t go in that direction because he’s not a huge fan of birds, and I head toward a nearby enclave that has a picture window looking out to the snow leopards.

  I step inside and have to adjust my eyes. It’s like a cave in here, cool and dark. Christian is standing by the glass, looking out at the leopards, one of which is licking a tiny cub. I take a spot next to him and watch at the animal licking the fur neck of the cub whose little eyes are closed as he enjoys his bath.

  I giggle, and the sound echoes. It’s quiet in here. Too quiet.

  I gaze up at Christian, who is standing strong with his arms crossed. There’s a tic to his jaw as he works over whatever he’s thinking about. I give him the silence he needs and wait for him to speak.

  “When I was seventeen, I almost asked you on a date.”

  My head swivels toward him. “Really?”

  His eyes are trained forward. “I wanted to ask you to the winter formal.”

  “Why didn’t you?” I ask.

  “Garret Kent. Apparently, you had a thing for the douchebag lacrosse player.”

  His observation is a bit skewed. I was a late bloomer in high school and was beside myself with excitement when Garret asked me to the dance. Then, he tried to steal a few bases without permission, and I hurled on his shoes.

  “He tried to show me his stick.” My joke falls flat.

  “I hate that guy,” he declares.

  “You couldn’t have been too upset about it. You lost your virginity to Simone Cagney after that dance.”

  Man, he must hate that I know so much about him.

  “True.” His body turns, and he gives me his full attention. “It could have been you.”

  I have to pause and try to think if there was ever a time I thought Christian liked me in the slightest sense. For all the years I’ve known him, especially back then, I’ve never known him to be attracted to me.

  “You would have waited a long time. I didn’t give it up until I was almost twenty.”

  “I should have waited,” he states.

  I let out a sharp laugh. “I knew you junior year, and there was no way you would have waited another four years to have sex. Hormone-laden Christian Gallagher was impossible to keep up with. I tried. I kept a tally in my diary. Wow, that sounds creepy. I wasn’t a stalker. Just curious—”

  “I should have waited.” He’s serious.

  I had a huge crush on him in grade school, and from what he’s saying, it sounds like he liked me in high school. Somewhere along the line, that attraction morphed into a friendship that triumphed over a relationship.

  “Where’s all this coming from?” I ask, looking up into his face.

  His jaw is pronounced as he pushes back his broad shoulders and inhales. “I don’t want to be like him.”

  I tilt my head in confusion.

  “He doesn’t even know his son is allergic to shellfish,” he explains.

  Seeing the truth in someone is an extraordinary experience. Christian is a confident man, proud of himself, and doesn’t hide who he is. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s always been self-assured, nearly to borderline cockiness. But this, here, is the second time he’s brought up this concern, so it’s deep and valid.

  “The fact that you’re worried you will be that kind of father speaks volumes. It means, you’ll never let yourself be that way.”

  “I live selfishly.” His voice rises. “I know I’m a good guy, but my life has been about what I want to do and when. I’m always going to be a doctor first. My career will always be my priority.”

  There’s a tinge of anger in his eyes, widening and glassy. His fear is deep-seated and not something to brush aside. I grab his face and pull his attention toward me.

  “Look down, and you reveal your fear
s. Look up, and you overthink your obstacles. The trick is to look forward,” I repeat his words from the bridge, bringing his focus right into my eyes. I hold his gaze and try to seek with every bit of conviction in my body that place in his soul that’s telling him he’s not good enough. “Even if our child only sees you one day a month, they will be the luckiest kid in the world because a smart, giving man is their father. You are out there, saving lives. You are building a career, so your future family will have everything they’ve ever dreamed of. And, because you want to do this with me now so that you’ll be able to have more years, more opportunity to love your child, it means you are going to be an amazing father.”

  His eyes fall to the side. “You don’t know that.”

  “Did you tell anyone about us?”

  He squints his eyes in question and hesitates for a moment. “I told my dad.”

  “You only got to choose one person to tell, and you chose your dad?” I feign surprise even though it makes perfect sense that he turned to his father.

  His answer is effortless and exactly what I knew he’d say. “He’s my best friend.”

  I smile big and raise my brows in realization for him. How he can’t see it at this moment is beyond me. “That right there is why you’re gonna make an amazing father, Christian. Family has always come first for you. This baby will be no different.”

  His hand glides over to my cheek, and his thumb gently rubs a circle on my skin. “How did I get so lucky to have you in my life?”

  I lift my eyes to heaven. “You just happened to choose a lunatic for a best friend.”

  My sarcasm is met with a smoldering expression. His all-consuming stare is making my heart race. I have to close my eyes to escape it.

  “For the record, I really wish you had waited,” I whisper.

  I let out a long breath and open my eyes. It’s so dark in here, but it only takes me a moment to adjust and see his piercing eyes looking deep into mine.

  That breath I just let out? I lose it again.

  Christian snakes a hand around my waist. The other rests on the side of my face, his fingers weaving into the fine threads of my hair as his thumb draws tiny circles on my lips.