Sold Short (Sidelined Book 3)

by Ainslie Paton

  “The sex thing isn’t important, so you can stop being all American Family Values on me. It was a means to an end and now I have a better plan.”

  Relief would’ve shown all over his face so he kept his back to Sarina and cleaned up the stovetop, taking the last gulp of coffee to stop himself saying anything further because she’d let him off easy.

  “Reid is going to help me select sperm.”

  He sprayed that mouthful of coffee all over her kitchen window. “Reid.”

  “Might’ve been funnier if it was Owen, you know, after his problem.”

  More to clean up. Story of his life. “A man’s impotency is never funny.”

  “But you think Reid helping me is?”

  “I don’t think Reid and sperm should belong in any sentence leaving your mouth.”

  “It’s science. Comparing and contrasting attributes. I have to design this baby. What sex, what coloring, how tall, and that’s just the start. Apparently some women take up to a year to make the choice of donor. I don’t want to wait that long and Reid can help me with that.”

  Here was Sarina crafting her baby gene by gene with help from Reid, and at home Ana was snoozing while her baby was a radical experiment in random. He cleaned the window and the sink and the counter. He should be grateful to Reid for being there for Sarina when he hadn’t been able to think past his resistance to the idea. Still wasn’t quite there. The whole thing was making his head thump.

  “How long have you wanted a baby?” Why had they never talked about this before? Too personal? Too confronting even now.

  “I always thought I’d be like everyone else, I’d find someone to be with and have kids. I might’ve come from an unorthodox family but we still function the way a family should. We support each other and I wanted my own version of that.”

  “Your family is fine with this?” How long would it take his family to be okay about Ana? Dad would flip his shit; it could trip Mom’s anxiety.

  “Surprised and then delighted. Ro is being all it’s a huge mistake, why would you ruin your perfectly good life with a kid, but that made me realize how much I want this.”

  “But thirty-one isn’t too old to have a baby the regular way.” And twenty-one was too young to do it in any way.

  “The thing is, I don’t think any amount of online profiling, swiping right, clubbing, going on dates will find me someone and it makes me sick to think that’s what I’d have to do. Almost literally hunt for a man who was dad material.”

  “What’s wrong with that? Goddamn, Sarina, I want you to have more.”

  “It’s a baby, at a time in my life when my fertility isn’t in question. Babies might curb your style but they don’t stop you from falling in love, you know.”

  A baby might stop Ana from completing her degree, from getting an internship, from finding someone her own age to be with. He poured them more coffee. “You’re right.” It’s what he’d say to Ana. “The hash browns were to say I’m sorry I was a judgmental asshole and I support you, unconditionally. I’ll be with you for whatever you need.” He’d tell Ana that again today, and every day until she trusted it and maybe it would be easier to believe it was the right thing to do.

  “That’s all I wanted. And maybe no more stalking me.”

  “If there’s no more Colby cheese, it’ll be my pleasure.”

  Sarina rolled her eyes. “Will you get like this if I have a proper date? This big brother posturing. Because at some point, Dev, I probably will have sex again.”

  Would he? No, it was the fact she’d paid an escort that had riled him up. Wasn’t it? His head thumped so it was hard to tell.

  “So, Shush. Are you going to tell me about that?”

  What he should do is take out a banner ad so everyone got the story at the same time. “A mistake. I let it go too far with her. She’s easy to be with, and she’s in my life and we have a lot of the same interests. Both our families expected it to happen.” Like Ana, he’d messed up; enjoyed it at the time and hadn’t thought it would matter, that anyone would get hurt.

  “I don’t see anything bad in that. Why is it a mistake?”

  Because he didn’t love Shush. Because he was jealous of the cheese man, because since she’d mentioned it, he couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to see Sarina naked and to tell Reid his sperm matchmaker services were no longer required.

  ELEVEN

  “The average fertile woman conceives in three cycles.”

  It should make Sarina squirm to have Reid sprout a fertility fact, but he wasn’t the least bit grubby schoolboy about it. Way less prickly than Dev was. Reid found speed dating with sperm fascinating, and supportive though he’d promised to be, Dev was still hugely uncomfortable with it, and all the hash browns in the world couldn’t make up for how disappointing that was.

  “You know the reason Zarley never made the Olympics is because she got pregnant,” Reid said.

  She’d had no idea. “What happened?”

  “It’s her story to tell, but she got pregnant without meaning to, was booted off the team and then she lost the baby.”

  “That’s terrible. Oh, gosh, Zarley. She was so young then.”

  “This having a baby thing isn’t for shits and giggles.” Reid frowned. “Too many things can go wrong.”

  “I’m expecting both shits and giggles.”

  His lips quirked up. “Good idea. Speaking of shits, is Dev back in the program?”

  Sarina nodded. “He’s in, not up to his elbows like you, but he’s joined the team.”

  “Saves me wailing on him.” Reid slapped a booklet called Top Tips for Picking a Donor on his thigh and then used it to wave the janitor away from her office. All Project Offshoot discussions happened after hours now. Tonight they were reviewing Reid’s decision matrix, starting with the question of whether she wanted her donor to be anonymous or open to identification when the baby turned eighteen.

  “Don’t know a thing about my dad other than I look like him and he broke his promise to come back for Mom, and never contacted her again. Don’t want to know the bastard.”

  “This would be different. A donor isn’t the same as a deadbeat dad.”

  “How? Functionally it’s the same thing. He’s not going to be in your kid’s life. No poo patrol, no story time or whatever else it is dads are supposed to do.”

  Trust Reid to see it so logically. “But not because he chooses not to.”

  “Semantics. I didn’t need a dad, why does your kid? By the time I was sixteen, he was completely irrelevant.”

  “But what if my kid feels differently? What if they want to know why they turned out the way they did? I don’t think it’s about a missing parent so much as curiosity about how you came to be. If I choose a donor who is okay to being identified I keep that option open, even if the kid never wants to explore it.”

  “Reasonable, okay. That means we select a donor from the list of men who agree to that.” He smiled. “You just made your first decision. Natural selection, here we come.”

  She groaned. “It feels about as natural as humping a tree.”

  “The process isn’t that different from online dating. You choose level of education, build, height, looks, personality. You get to see the donor’s interests and read their essays. You’re seeing baby pictures as well as what the donor looks like now. You can even hear their voices and read impressions the donor center staff have of them.”

  “You’ve never been on an online date in your life.”

  He laughed. “Correct. And grateful. If Zarley ever wants to leave, she’s going to have to put a contract out on me to stop me harassing her. But this, what you’re doing, hard to see how it could be more ideal from the point of view of creating the best human possible. All the negative health issues are qualified out, you get highly intelligent, well-educated donors, full histories and nothing is left to chance. Only the slimmest percentage of men who apply to be donors get selected. We’re talking cream of the crop her
e.”

  “You’re making me feel inadequate.”

  “Screw that. You’re a superstar, Sarina. Always have been.”

  “I’m going to remind you of that next time you ignore my advice.”

  Reid grunted. “I never said you were infallible. Perfect is overrated.”

  He would think that. “Next decision.”

  “Looks or personality.”

  “How is that a straight choice?”

  “It’s not, but you need to narrow the field down and prioritize. You know the theories about success and physical appearance.”

  It played into her recruiting strategy. “Attractive people win over unattractive in every measure.” There was no objectively measured area of life where an unattractive person had it as easy as an attractive one. Brutal but true. “Attractiveness is considered important even in careers where looks aren’t important. Tall people are seen as more successful.” Didn’t mean she only hired attractive people. It was always talent and fit before height, hair color and facial features.

  Reid held up his tablet, the headline, “Do Unattractive People Have Any Value At All?” on the screen. Cruel and unnecessary. “I’ll put you down for tall.”

  Like Reid and Owen. “I’m not sure about this.”

  “That’s why I’m here. The studies say blondes beat brunettes in likeability scores. That eliminates redheads.”

  Blond, like Owen. She was still unsure. This is why it might take months to narrow down the selection of a donor. “No baby faces. Symmetrical features are considered the most attractive.” Like Colby. Her own face was so not symmetrical; her sunglasses always had to be adjusted so they didn’t sit crooked. “A good smile adds points toward trustworthiness.”

  “So you are agreeing to rate physical appearance ahead of personality?”

  She stared at Reid. He was a good-looking man; tall, well built, dark hair and a strong face. His physical attractiveness got him out of a lot of trouble his mouth got him into. Owen was more classically handsome, blond and blue-eyed. He had the kind of smile that made you want to like him, and definitely trust him. On paper, both men got big ticks on the physical-looks scale and they were both healthy, fit, and intelligent. Reid had an abrasive personality, but since meeting Zarley he’d smoothed over the worst of his rough edges. Owen was the quintessential nice guy, and socially very smooth.

  “She’s giving you the look, Reid. What did you do?” Owen lounging on the doorjamb.

  “Asked the hard questions,” Reid said. “As usual.”

  It was surprising how hard they were and that’s why she’d needed help for what was probably the biggest decision of her life.

  “And?” Owen took the chair beside Reid.

  Reid waved the tips booklet. “We need to prioritize. We’re debating looks versus personality.”

  “Personality, obviously,” Owen said.

  None of this was obvious.

  “I think we should prioritize looks,” said Reid. “Based on the open-ended question of whether personality is innate or learned. Scant evidence for innate.”

  Owen made a choking sound. “Deep, and also incredibly superficial.”

  “Says you who looks like a blond god,” Sarina said.

  Owen frowned. “Way to make a guy feel objectified.”

  She snorted. Owen wouldn’t know objectified if he climbed a mountain of it.

  “Wait, are you saying if I was four foot nothing and ugly I wouldn’t be CEO of Plus?” he said.

  Nothing as easy as that.

  “Because Cara is five foot nothing and a coppertop and freckled and the most beautiful thing I’ve seen, and nothing is stopping her building her business.”

  She gave him a stop sign hand. “I was about to say no. It’s not as simple as looks versus personality. Nature, nurture, circumstance. It’s a complex mix of things. People aren’t like a cake. They’re more than a list of ingredients and some heat.”

  “People should be more like cake,” said Reid. “Who doesn’t like cake?”

  “People on diets, diabetics, fitness nuts,” said Owen.

  Reid slapped Owen’s shoulder. “This is why we keep you. Opposing viewpoints matter. But in terms of a decision matrix, Sarina, you have to choose. No avoiding it.”

  He was right. That’s why she’d failed to make any progress on this alone, she’d phased out on the array of choices. “This is hard,” she whined. “There must be studies that say less attractive people try harder, or make better friends or something.” It was one of the reasons she hired outside of Ivy League graduates. Ordinary people who weren’t born to think they could never lose had an easier time accepting failure with dignity, and were quicker to regroup.

  “Less attractive people have plastic surgery if they can afford it,” said Owen. “Mom is addicted to it. My dad had his eyes done. But that’s not the point. Whichever way you go, this kid has half of your genes and you’re beautiful so you can’t really lose on the attractiveness scale.”

  “You’re not even looking at the photos yet,” Reid said. “These men are supermodel quality and even I can tell that.”

  And so were the two men she was looking at while her face got hot.

  “What am I missing?” Dev in the doorway, an apprehensive expression.

  “We’re designing the baby,” said Owen.

  That made Dev look more uneasy. He hesitated and then came into the office and threw himself on her couch. “What have we got so far?”

  “Open to identification when the kid is eighteen, graduate degree level education, tall, blond, good set of teeth, that kind of thing.” Reid handed Dev the tips booklet, and Dev looked at it as it if might lick him. “That’s the logic.”

  “We’re up to looks versus personality,” said Owen. “It has to be personality.”

  “Except looks clearly have an influence on that,” said Reid. “Among other things.”

  “Is that proven?” said Owen.

  Sarina let them tease the subject out and watched Dev. He flicked through the booklet, eyebrows drawn together, his dark eyes scanning the text underneath the thickest set of lashes she’d seen on anyone. Imagine those lashes on a baby. What would it feel like to have Dev’s lashes brush her lips, her cheeks? That wasn’t a new thought. It didn’t trip any alarms. Dev was handsome too. Pale golden skin and dark glossy hair, big brown expressive eyes, and high cheekbones. He wasn’t as tall as Owen or Reid so there was no neck cricking needed when they were standing together. He wasn’t as athletic as Owen and didn’t have Reid’s energetic presence. He gave the best hugs, he had the gentlest voice. He was the most thoughtful person. He’d gotten better looking with age, lost some of his youthful gawkiness and settled into his features. And he was dead cute. That was the best description for him, and she’d thought so from the moment he’d fallen over her all those years ago.

  Dev read the booklet, Owen and Reid argued about the decision matrix. This wasn’t easy; but then, it wasn’t meant to be, she was making a person. It would totally freak her out if she had to do this alone, but she had her handsome, intelligent, successful best friends to help.

  She couldn’t have loved them harder than in this moment.

  And in the next moment she felt sick.

  “Sarina are you all right?” Dev knelt at her side. “You’ve gone white.”

  “No, I’m. Oh God.” This was a mistake. Like Dev going too far with Shush. She’d skipped a step.

  “What’s wrong?” said Owen.

  “We don’t have to finish tonight,” said Reid.

  “I don’t want a donor from a sperm bank.” She said it with a laugh. Her mother had it right and she should’ve listened. Mom knows best, even in genetics.

  “What? Have you changed your mind?” said Dev.

  She touched his cheek with a shaking hand. “You’re the three best men I know.”

  “You’re scaring me,” he said.

  This was one mother lode of a scary precipice. “I will regret it if I don�
�t ask.”

  “Ask what?” said Owen.

  Reid bolted to his feet. “She’s suggesting—”

  Dev stood too, cutting him off. “She’s not.”

  “She is,” said Owen. He looked at her, over the remains of the chips and dip she and Reid had been snacking on, with a widening smile. She slapped her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t thought this through carefully enough and the horse had bolted.

  “No. What?” Dev sounded offended.

  “It makes sense,” said Reid. “I should’ve thought of it.”

  “It does,” said Owen, still smiling.

  Reid sat again. “Totally does. My bad.”

  “No, it makes no sense at all,” said Dev. “What is up with you two?” He had his hands to his head as though the very idea hurt. Was it so wrong to want a baby with a man she loved and trusted, instead of one chosen from a catalogue?

  “You’d rather Sarina had a baby with any old donor?” said Owen.

  “Not any old donor. The top one percent.” Dev thrust a hand at Reid. “You’re supposed to help her find the best of the best.”

  “Who cares for her more than the three of us?” said Reid. “You can’t buy that in a test tube.”

  “What she’s supposed to do, play eenie meenie miney moe?” Dev raged.

  “Scissors paper rock,” said Owen, but low-voiced, almost to himself.

  “No, this is wrong.” Dev kept shaking his head as though this was the worst idea in the world and maybe he was right, but she couldn’t wake up in five years and wonder what might’ve happened if she hadn’t asked.

  “The only wrong part is she didn’t think of it earlier,” Reid accused with a wagged finger as though she’d been naughty. “Why didn’t you?”

  Because it was all too difficult, because there was no choice involved. “Because you were a fumbling virgin, Reid.” She pointed at Owen, “And he was impotent.”

  Over Reid’s shout of laughter, Owen said, “I’m not now. How did you know that?” He glared at Dev. “That was secret men’s business. And what about him?”