by Amelia Hart
It was different if one had an affair and ended up pregnant. That was easy to understand. Fallible human nature. Carried away by passion. A common enough occurrence happening right now in high schools and parked cars, motel rooms and bedrooms across the country. A little juvenile but hardly something to make a big fuss about. Eyebrows would raise and there would be some gossip but everyone would understand and probably no one would want to talk it over with her apart from her closest friends. If there was not a father immediately obvious on the scene it was rude to ask the obvious question: 'So who's the dad?'
Mom would be horrified of course. Either way, Mom would be horrified, but she would understand 'accidental' single parenthood better than 'planned' artificial insemination. Though Felicity could lie and conceal the artificial insemination. It made her squirm to think of lying about the start of her precious child. Would Mom consider it any comfort she would finally have a grandchild? Possibly. Dad would be distraught, in his restrained, stiff-upper-lip way. That his daughter could be so basely flawed, common, so imperfect- It was no part of his grand plan for his life, his family.
He had always liked Dan, verbally anticipated the children he would produce, which made Felicity feel like some brood mare. An incapable failure of a broodmare, as the years had proved. At least she could set that history into alignment.
Natural Pros:
Process known
Natural
More info about the father
Better character assessment
She went back up the page and added 'Good Character' to her list of desirable characteristics for a child to have. She had a feeling most of that was about how one raised the child rather than their genes, but maybe she was naïve. It could not hurt to throw that into the mix.
Actually, if she was using the natural process, it was crucial. She could not expose her child to a parent who was of poor character. Just think how they might be influenced by that. Nor could she be intimate with such a person. It was hard enough to imagine anyway, given her lack of experience. But then her 'wild nights' were going to fix that. She snorted. Pretty wild the first one had turned out to be.
Quickly she completed the table of comparison.
Natural Pros:
Process known
Natural
More info about the father
Better character assessment
Possibility the father involved in child's life: good for child, extra support for me?
Introduce the father around?
More conventional path
Natural Cons:
Potential STDs
Possibility the father involved in child's life: bad for child, unknown dynamics?
She was leaning towards natural conception already, but she could give herself a week or two to decide. To start to make firm plans.
CHAPTER SEVEN
On Tuesday morning she was trotting around the house looking for her favorite lipstick when the doorbell rang. She pressed her lips together and glared at the door. Bad timing. Ten more minutes and she had to be out of the house and on her way to an appointment with Mr and Mrs Ramirez.
She considered ignoring the bell and exiting through the garage. She was not expecting anyone and it was beyond her to imagine who it might be she would actually be glad to see. Unless it was one of the neighbors. She abandoned her search for the moment, double-checked her watch – yes, ten minutes – and went to the door. Peering through the peephole she winced, closed her eyes and drew a deep breath.
Then she opened the door.
"Mr Barrett," she said with a cool little smile. "Can I help you?"
He had his hands shoved deep in his back pockets and he looked uncomfortable to be standing on the flagstones in front of her door. The expression on his face was of someone preparing himself for an unpleasant task. Her heart sank with dread of the embarrassment to come. She kept smiling fixedly, her eyebrows raised in polite enquiry.
"I came to apologize," he said. "I didn't realize-"
"Please think no more about it, Mr Barrett. Have a lovely day." As she moved to close the door she saw his eyes widen. He stepped forward and stuck one shoe into her doorway so the door jammed open. She looked down at that big shoe in amazement, then back up at him.
"Sorry, Ma'am. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to hear me out?"
"Perhaps you'd be kind enough to take your foot away."
"Will you close the door?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. He grinned. It softened her a little to see that expression. It was the awkwardness she hated. The reminder she had misjudged the situation at the club, got something wrong and embarrassed them both. She hated to get things wrong. If he would just pretend nothing had happened it would be much better. That or go away.
She preferred the second option. "I'm afraid I don't really have long enough for a chat. I have to be out of here in a few minutes."
"An appointment?"
"Yes. Work." She could almost hear the slow clank of thoughts moving through his head. Definitely not the brightest bulb in the pack. Poor boy. It did make him seem less a threat to her peace of mind. She shrugged internally. They were both making too much of this. "Oh come on in then. But I'll be leaving in five minutes and I'm kicking you out. Don't give me any trouble." She said it lightly like it was a joke, but she meant it all the same. She stepped away from the door, leaving it open, and he came in slowly and looked around him.
She began to unpack her purse on the hallway table, searching for that lipstick, deliberately ignoring him. He made it more difficult by coming to stand at right angles to her, at the end of the table, leaning against the wall. Through the fall of her own hair she could see his abdomen covered by the fabric of his button-up shirt. Her eye wandered downward to the denim of his jeans. His big thigh muscles strained the material a little, and there was the bulge of his . . .
She realized she had completely wandered off task, her hands stilled inside the bag. Mechanically she continued laying items out, only just catching herself before she brought out the packet of condoms she had transferred there from her evening bag. Instead she patted down the almost empty inside pockets, not finding the lipstick. She gave a huff of frustration and spun around to locate her laptop bag. It was on the dining table. Her high heels clicked across the stone floor, the slim fit of her skirt making her mince rather than stride. He trailed after her, stopped again a few feet away.
"Looking for something?" he said.
"Yes. My lipstick." She glanced up from another futile rummage as she said it, and watched his gaze move to her mouth. His eyelids lowered and his own lips dropped open a little over his straight white teeth. He took a deep breath.
She felt heat rise under her skin and knew she would be going pink.
"You wanted to say something?" she reminded him sharply. Let him say it and go away. She did not need this right now. Or at all. She gave up on the lipstick and walked towards the bathroom to brush her teeth. Again he followed, and rather than have him watch her brush she pointed at a spot on the floor, several yards back from the door. "Stand there please," she commanded.
He gave her a slow blink and a dimple appeared in his cheek, but he said, "Yes, ma'am," and stepped forward to the spot she had chosen, glanced down at his feet to get it just right, and then back up at her under his brows with a look of mischief that invited her to laugh at him.
She did smile faintly, then went into the bathroom, squeezed paste onto her toothbrush and started to brush her teeth. After a moment she realized she could see a little of his face in the mirror so she pushed the door further closed.
After she was done she rinsed, spat and dried her mouth on a towel with a gentle pat.
"Mr Barrett?" she said, emerging. He was still where she had left him. "You're about to lose your chance." She went back to the table, got the laptop bag, went to her purse to repack it, then started for the garage.
"To be honest I don't know what to say, exactly. It was just wrong to think I'd n
ever see you after Friday night. I didn't know it then but I've learned it since."
She stopped to frown at him, not certain what he meant.
After a moment he went on, "You won't be coming by the stadium, I'm guessing, now you and Mr King . . ."
"Ah. My changed marital status. Of course." Then she paused anew as a fresh thought occurred to her. Last Friday night she had not even considered what had gone through his head, she had been so wrapped up in herself, her own adventure. "Mr Barrett," she said, narrowing her eyes at him, "what exactly did you think was going on when we met on Friday?"
He looked at her warily, reared back a little, his mouth formed a small, silent 'oh'. "I . . . uh . . . I was a bit confused, actually."
"Please explain your confusion to me." Her tone said quite clearly there was going to be trouble. A wise man would have run. This brave one foolishly stayed.
"I felt it . . . ah . . . uncharacteristic?" he said, his hands sketching a vague gesture at waist level. "Given what I thought I knew of the situation, which turns out to be wrong, in fact. As I now know. Um." He added with a firm nod and a smile, "Appealing," and his eyebrows rose as he tried to convey how much. "Very appealing and . . . ah . . . tempting. Just confusing."
"So may I assume you considered me inviting you to assist in cheating on my husband? Your manager? Is that the gist of the situation?"
He stopped nodding and smiling. "It seemed unlikely."
"But that's what you thought."
"I came to apologize-"
"For thinking that of me. So when you . . . evaded . . . what you perceived to be my invitation to adultery, it was because you thought it imprudent? Immoral, perhaps?" She took a step towards him, he backed up, his hands came up in front of him in a calming gesture and patted at the air.
She felt rage start to build in her. She took another step, and again he backed away.
He opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off. "Imprudent. Immoral, and not so sufficiently tempting as to overcome your scruples. Yet tempting enough that when you realized the actual situation you thought you'd run down here and see if I'd give you another go. Does that about sum it up?"
Now his eyes were wide in mild horror and panic.
"Ah . . . not exactly?" he said.
"Close enough. Thanks for explaining things to me. You really are too kind. I hope you have a lovely day and an even lovelier life." She opened the door with her free hand and swung it wide. "If you please," she said, cutting off each word sharply.
"Mrs . . . Felicity. It was a total misjudgment on my part from start to finish. I'm really sorry I misunderstood what was going on and I-"
"Enough, Mr Barrett. We are done here. I have my appointment to go to and you need to go away. Now."
She glared at him, willing him to take his big self – the weight of him far more that she could hope to shove outside physically – and remove it somewhere far enough away she would never have to look at it again.
"Felicity," he said softly.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Get out," she said with tired contempt at him, at herself, at the whole wretched situation.
When she opened her eyes he stood outside the door, his eyes stormy, his nostrils flared and lips pressed together tight. He opened his mouth to say something else and she shut the door in his face, locked it, and went to the garage to drive to her appointment.
CHAPTER EIGHT
He heard it from Carlos the following Saturday.
"I saw Mrs K at a club last night."
At the words he froze, then tried to act casual, raised a single eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. With a friend, dancing and laughing. It was good. Nice to see her cutting loose like that."
"Cutting loose?"
"Well you know. Mr K has his girlfriend, it would just be sad if Mrs K was all alone at home."
"Did she take someone home with her?"
"I don't know. I didn't stay that late. Have to be fresh for this morning."
"Which club was it?"
"That one on Lowe Street. You know it? Down at the end next to Cruisers. I only had one drink though."
"Yeah, I know."
"Ryan says he doesn't drink all season, but I think that's too much to ask, don't you think?"
"Ryan's older. The older you get the more it affects you."
That was all they said about her, but he couldn't help himself chewing over it endlessly. So she was still going out, just not to Vibe. Of course she was. Why wouldn't she? She was single now. She could do what she liked.
He didn't have the right to even show an interest. He'd blown it more thoroughly than he'd imagined possible. He still couldn't believe his own idiocy. It was no excuse that being around her made it hard to think straight.
Man, he had it bad. He'd gone into a warm daze just standing watching her brush her teeth, imagining he had the right to those sorts of casual intimacies. Seeing her in her own space, twitching from one spot to the next with authority – a sense of possession she'd never shown in Mr King's domain – was a revelation. She'd bossed him around, too, and made him smile to be told to come here, to stay, like he was a dog.
Yeah, she could order him around as much as she liked. He'd be happy just to stay wrapped around her little finger, if she'd only have him there.
But to watch her take charge, gear herself up for work, the efficient snap she had, made him realize he'd really only seen one side of her, and a small one at that: only how she was at her husband's place of work; and him not a very good husband. The sort of man who'd tell his wife off for a kindness, boss her around, cheat on her then leave her.
It would hardly surprise him to know a woman was softer, more tentative under those circumstances.
She hadn't hesitated to tear a strip off Luke, either. She was glib. She'd made him feel low as dirt. He still hadn't recovered from it, to tell the truth, but then that was her right. Everything she'd said was true. He had thought those things of her, and acted without asking for the truth. He'd made assumptions and done her wrong.
Damned if he knew what to do about it now, either. He'd been stewing about it for days now. No chance of running into her by accident. If he went back to her house he'd move into the category of either major annoyance or stalker. That wasn't his aim.
Now, showing up at the club where she was . . . was that stalking? He rather suspected so. If he was going to do something dodgy like that he'd have to be on his very best behavior. Do absolutely nothing to annoy her.
What was the game plan here? What did he want to achieve when it came to Felicity King?
He wanted her in bed, that was for sure. He wanted to please her there, so much she wouldn't want to leave. He'd had her on his mind for a long, long time. He reckoned it would take a real while to be done with her. Truth be told, the way he felt, the het up and bothered, can't think straight, wide-eyed adoring way he felt just to look at her, be near her, gave him an uncomfortable suspicion being 'done with her' wasn't something he'd ever achieve.
Which considering how things were right now, made him feel the next thing to despair.
Still, he wasn't a man who gave up easily. Unless and until she told him there was no chance she would ever want him – and he prayed to a merciful heaven he could keep his foot out of his mouth long enough to convince her otherwise –– he would play a long game, and a cautious one.
He ought to remember as little as a fortnight ago she'd been married and inaccessible. Just because he'd so nearly had her and then lost her was no reason to lose his strategic abilities.
Now how could a man woo a woman from afar, when she had made up her mind not to like him?
CHAPTER NINE
Two Friday nights in a row he came to her new favorite club.
Now, a third time, he was here again. Wretched man.
She turned away with a scowl on her face, determined to act like she did not see him, just like she had last Friday night, and the Friday night before.
&nbs
p; He would be studiously ignoring her right now. Mostly that was what he did. She knew because she looked at him over and over again through the evening, covertly. Pretended her eyes were closed, that she was lost in the music, the rhythm, the dance, but watched him under her lashes to see if she could catch him watching her, sometimes with that dreamy smile of his, sometimes brooding. He danced too, with other women, if he was invited. It happened. Women approached him, the tall, attractive guy at the bar, quietly holding on to his one drink through the evening.
Yes, he seemed quiet, until he got on the dance floor. Then he moved like the beat incarnate, unself-conscious and fluid. He made them look good, the women who took the trouble to ask him, making the dance about the two of them, reflecting her moves, his own easy to follow. He had some skills. It was hard not to watch. Hard to remember she was pretending to be oblivious.
Then when he had had enough, or the woman had, he would chat to her for a while, smiling and nodding. Maybe she would join him for a drink. They might sit there, talking and laughing. Three times now she had caught that final moment when an offer was made, an invitation, a phone number written down. Each time the woman issued it. Each time he had put his hand on his heart and said thank you but shaken his head no.
Other times Felicity turned around and saw the woman had gone and he sat there alone.
Honestly the first Friday night he showed up she found it kind of creepy. She wondered what he would do next. Would he make a nuisance of himself? Would he . . . follow her home?
It was not as if she had ever had that vibe from him before, but never had a guy shown up somewhere in search of her before either, and he was very big and she was a small woman living alone . . .