Knocking Boots

by Willow Winters

  “Let me think about what I want,” she answers in a soft voice.

  She grabs the second to last fry and watches as I slowly reach the last one.

  “What is it that you get again? You’re willing to do something for just a date?” she asks, forcing my eyes to reach hers.

  “Nope. It’s more than just a date. It’s my family off my back.”

  I nod to the phone and bite the fry as I wait for her response. Tell me what you want, sweetheart. I’ll give it to you.

  “Okay then... you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  “What’s my end of the bargain?” I ask her with a smirk on my face.

  She bites down on her bottom lip and I know what she wants is right there, on the tip of her tongue, but she won’t say it. I know what she wants. She wants to go slumming, get all tangled up in the sheets with the man she thinks I am. All she has to do is ask. Hell, she can have me every night for these two weeks and then some.

  “I’ll figure something out,” she says, shifting on her barstool.

  I’m playing with fire, knowing damn well this girl wants to settle down. She doesn’t want to wind up with me, I know that much. But I’ll play along.

  This is all for fun. I just need to remember that. It’s just a drunken deal; it probably won’t even happen.

  Grace

  I want you to knock me up.

  I could feel the words on the tip of my tongue when I was making a deal with Charlie, even though I know that’s not realistic and sounds absolutely insane.

  It’s not an even trade.

  A baby isn’t a decision to make in a bar with a kind-of-friend.

  I have officially lost my mind.

  I’ll figure out how I’m going to deal with my… issues. But for now, I’m focusing on the positive. I have a date… sort of. It’s just pretend but… yeah, I’m going to treat it like a date because dammit I want a nice date and a refresher on exactly how to date.

  As I drive home from Mac's, I can’t help the smile that lights up my face. It’s silly, I know. The very idea of Charlie going on a date with me is laughable. I get that.

  But I still let my imagination run wild as I drive back into the city.

  Fantasies about Charlie picking me up for the wedding run through my head and I just laugh it off. I’d wear a pretty pale blue dress, lacy but not scandalous, and dark blue heels. A giddy squeal leaves me when I imagine opening the front door to my apartment, and he takes a moment to look at me. Really look at me, and drink me in.

  Standing there in his wedding tux, I assume… since he’s probably a groomsman, he looks fucking dashing. In the fantasy, I bite my lip and look downward, trying not to show him all the emotions just beneath the surface.

  He whistles, long and low. My eyes drift up, catching his.

  “Damn, you are the kind of girl I’d like to date,” he says. “As a matter of fact, I think you’d look even better if you were carrying my child…”

  I can’t help but laugh out loud in my car as I pull into my parking spot. My reverie fizzles away, gone like smoke. How ridiculous!

  Okay, so the real Charlie definitely wouldn’t say that and that’s not how this is going to go down, but I’d rather think of that than my nearly-forgotten, crap date from tonight. My cheeks hurt from smiling as I turn the car off and shake my head. I need to get my head on straight, because going to Charlie’s sister’s wedding isn’t even a real date. I’m probably not even on his radar, for God’s sake. It’s just meaningless flirting. For all I know, he’s not actually going to go through with this plan.

  Yeah it’s definitely not going to happen and that’s just fine. It’s fun to daydream though. So long as my silly little heart keeps itself in check. Charlie is a friend and nothing else.

  Sighing as I get out of my car, I lock up the idea at the same time as I lock up my car and then climb the two flights of stairs to my apartment. Only on the tenth stair do I feel the weight of the drinks I’ve had. I’m not too tipsy but I am more tired than I realized. I usually don’t stay out this long, but tonight, I didn’t want to leave.

  It’s quiet out tonight, the city lulled to sleep by a long day of constant rushing.

  The breeze feels nice tonight too. The keys jingle as I toss them in the bowl on the front entry table next to my purse.

  Illuminating my tiny studio with a flick of the switch, I take it all in with new eyes, as Charlie would see it for the first time. Once upon a time, I found the fact that my bed overlooks the fire escape romantic. I used to like the way that my kitchen is just a small bar, with a mini fridge and stove.

  I used to be charmed by the tiny bathroom, painted in a soft shade of purple with retro white tile. Back when I found this place, I was glad that I had something in the big city that I could call my own.

  The mattress groans as I sit down on the frilly white bed and take my shoes off. I kick them over to the wall where I have my ‘closet,’ i.e. a hanging rack jammed full and ready to tip over. I rub the sleep from my eyes and then take a good look around at the space I spent so much time making mine.

  I know I have to move soon. I’ve lived here for almost four years, and it was great in college and the couple of years after. But now I have a real job and I’m doing well, so…

  I need to seriously think about moving.

  The weight of the day hits me as I undress and then crawl into bed, wondering where I should move to. Climbing under the comforter the answer is obvious to me and the neighborhood around Mac's flashes in my mind. There are plenty of cute houses for rent in Vinings.

  A blush flames my cheeks when I realize that I’m actually fantasizing about living near Charlie, but it’s not like I didn’t think about living there before I ever set eyes on the man. I settle on my side, staring out the window to the fire escape.

  I imagine living close enough to Charlie that he just stops by late at night, his broad shoulders and quiet grin filling my doorway. I groan aloud, turning onto my back.

  Charlie, Charlie, Charlie… I have a one-track mind today.

  His sister’s wedding is not a date! I need to remember that, to get it through my thick skull.

  He just asked me to pacify his family and not get set up on a blind date. As I stare at the ceiling, I honestly can’t believe that he asked me, or that I said yes. But after he sent the picture of us together to his mom, it was kinda hard to say no. I definitely blame it on the alcohol, and on the smile that Charlie pinned me with.

  The combination of those two things is enough to get any girl to drop her guard.

  I’ve been a regular at Mac’s for long enough that if he was into me, he would have already asked me out before now. And it wouldn’t be some stupid deal to keep his family off his back.

  The worries and anxiety attached to IVF and knowing I should freeze my eggs come back and hit me like a ton of bricks… or maybe like walking straight into a cold shower. I haven’t even considered that I'll need a bigger place to live if I do get pregnant. A new house with separate rooms, that could accommodate a nursery, unlike my studio.

  I’m so ready to be a parent in my heart of hearts, but so not ready on a practical level. There’s so much that will have to change before I can have a child.

  A strangled noise of frustration climbs up my throat, and I jump up to get my cell phone from my purse. How did I forget to charge it? Getting back in bed, I open the Tinder dating app, the long cord from the charger reaching to the middle of the bed just fine.

  I purse my lips as I swipe through several guys. I swipe left for pass, right for potential. I swipe left several times, stopping on a hot guy. Dark hair, tan, tallish from his pictures…

  But I see that he’s just visiting Atlanta from Texas this weekend. I swipe left regretfully, turning him down. There are half a dozen of the same kind of men, a hot guy just looking for a girl to show him the city for the weekend.

  Not for me, unfortunately. I swipe for a couple more minutes, then Tinder lets me know I’m out of matches.
I surrender and pretend I didn’t just do that to convince myself I’m not hung up on Charlie and any potential there. Heck, I don’t even have his phone number.

  Maybe it’s crazy to think that I can get a baby and the man of my dreams from one person. Maybe I get the hottie later — after I have a baby on my own.

  I picture myself with a grinning baby in my arms, both of us beyond happy. I don’t really need a guy to give me that, do I? Maybe freezing my eggs waiting for the man isn’t the way to go.

  Of course, getting a donor from a sperm bank is pricey and clinical. I’ve never even considered it an option, but the more I think about it…

  My eyes wander back to my phone. I could get a donor myself, the old-fashioned way. Hook up with some super hot, super smart guy without protection. A guy like Charlie.

  Biting my lip, I know that’s sooooo wrong.

  I’d have to tell him.

  I definitely wouldn’t be his pretend date then because… yeah, no way. No way would that work.

  A small piece of me wonders, if I just asked him, would he say yes?

  He's hotter than fire, smart and runs his own business. Plus, Charlie wouldn’t ask that many questions about a baby, right? Maybe he’d do it in exchange for me helping him out? It’s crazy. I’m sure he’d think I was a fucking lunatic.

  I’m sure there’s a consent form or legal... thing.

  Oh my God, I’m literally losing it. Pulling my covers around myself I huff out, “I have officially gone off the deep end,” to no one. Further validating the fact that I have lost my mind.

  Charlie

  “Don’t you ever sleep?” Maggie’s voice rings out from the back room.

  Looking over my shoulder to spot her and her bright yellow tee sporting a beer company on the front, I set the box of craft beers, same brand, on the floor in the stockroom. It’s a local company a friend of Mags started a couple of years ago. Damn good, too. The bottles rattle slightly as I stand up, stretching my back.

  “Morning,” I tell her, stifling my yawn. My shift last night ended around three in the morning, but the food trucks will be here first thing. Going through inventory was more important than sleep apparently.

  Maggie sets her purse down on the long bench just outside my office door. The kitchen and storage are in one area, and my office is all the way in the back. It’s not the best setup, but it works.

  There are so many things I’d change if I could. One day. Little by little I get it all done. A grateful sigh leaves me as I crack my neck and I walk past her to grab my coffee. I can’t believe it’s eight already. I need to get home, get into my bed and actually sleep. But first, coffee. Black with a hell of a lot of sugar.

  The thought of sleeping, and burying my head in a pillow forces another yawn to creep up on me, and I cover my mouth, looking at the back door that leads to the parking lot and therefore my car before bringing the mug of coffee to my lips. It’s lukewarm now, a little cold even. I drink it anyway. I’m used to having caffeine however I can get it at this point.

  “Good morning to you, too,” Maggie says with a tone that matches the worried look on her face. I ignore it. Maggie’s always worried about something. If it’s not me, it’s someone else.

  “You good to get the food prepped when the trucks come?” I ask as I walk across the kitchen to the sink. “James should be here for the heavy lifting and I’ll wait for him to come in before leaving it all to you.” She’s done this before and I trust her more than anyone to do it right.

  I rinse the mug out before setting it into the dishwasher and when she doesn’t respond I know she’s waiting for me to turn off the faucet and face her. Which is just what I do. Leaning against the sink makes me feel that much more tired.

  “I am. And you didn’t have to do this,” she says as she gestures outward.

  I shrug. Throwing the dish towel back down, I push off the sink. There are a number of issues I have, I know as much because my sister and Mags are real good at pointing them out. One of them is that I don’t like handing off responsibility. It matters too much. This bar is what I have. It’s all I have.

  “You have control issues,” Maggie tells me. Okay, so I have the bar and control issues. I’m fine with those two. She checks one of the boxes closer to her, peeking in and nodding before she crosses her arms across her chest.

  “What else am I gonna do other than keep my baby in shape?” I ask. I’m trying to be lighthearted, but the question makes my stomach sink.

  I’ve got no one waiting for me at home and nothing to do besides run the bar. It never used to get to me, but the thought is making me second-guess everything as I close up the box she just opened.

  This feeling inside of me reminds me of Grace of all people. The ache in my chest that creeps up out of nowhere. It’s been two days since we had our moment and took that picture and all. Last night she came in for a moment, but didn’t stay long. We were packed too. I barely had a chance to talk to her.

  “You need a hobby, Charlie... a girlfriend.” She adds the last part beneath her breath, but I heard it and the subtle dig in her tone. Giving her a side eye, I watch her as she grabs the aprons off the hooks and bundles them in her arms. Laundry.

  Irritation settles deep in my chest. I don’t need another woman telling me to settle down. God forbid I do get a girlfriend and she’s just one more woman to point out all of my errors. I stare at the stacked boxes for a second and then realize I need the clipboard. It’s been a long damn night, but it’s best I get this taken care of before I place the next order.

  I have to walk around Maggie to get to where I’m going at the side of the back room, farthest from the dining area.

  “You know,” Maggie calls out to me. I snatch up the board and pen from where I left them on my desk. “I really think you should hire a manager.”

  Her arms are still full of the aprons as I come out of my office. She blinks once and waits for a response.

  It takes me a moment for her words to sink in. I don’t have fucking time to find someone to help me, let alone actually train them and show them how all this works.

  “I don’t think so, Maggie,” I answer her easily.

  “I could find one. I could do the interviews and training,” she offers as I look down the checklist, trying to focus. I read the same line three times as her offer hovers in the air.

  No answer comes from me, not right now when I need to get this right. Three more items for the local beer truck and I rub my eyes and slap the clipboard down. It’s a normal delivery, but a few brands just aren’t selling. I’m not ordering them anymore. They’re seasonal, and not many customers seem to be going for them.

  Mags steps closer to me, crossing her arms and waiting for me to look up before she says, “You can’t do this on your own.”

  “It’s been working out so far.” The words slip out, but my lighthearted playfulness is absent. Exhaustion weighing it all down. I know she’s right and in the long run it would help. It’s just that it’s going to set me back right now to take someone on and spend time training him or her, moving slower than if I just did it all myself. Mags would probably hire a friend or family member. She’s got a big heart and I love that about her. But hiring friends and family doesn’t always work out. It causes even more problems. James comes to mind at that thought.

  “You know you can’t keep this up.” Genuine concern laces her voice.

  My mouth opens to respond with some kind of joke, something to put her at ease, but Maggie leaves before I get a word out. Practically storming out. I watch her back as she heads out to the front, the double doors swaying and creaking. I’ve been doing this for years and it’s worked out just fine. That’s what I want her to get. But a piece of me knows she’s right. All the long hours are getting to me. I suppose that happens as you get older.

  The doors hold my attention as they slowly stop swinging. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes with my pointer and thumb and my hand across my face, I think again about how she’s
right. Just before I toss the pen down on the desk, I see the notification on my phone. Someone messaged me.

  My brows pinch as I look at the number. I don’t know it, and it’s not programmed into my phone.

  What should I wear to the wedding?

  A smile curls my lips up. Grace. That’s right. Now I remember.

  Last night before my sweetheart left, I put my number in her phone. I wasn’t sure if she’d use it or not, but I told her to.

  I huff a small laugh at the text, remembering the night before. She was sweet after a couple more drinks, leaning on me a little more than usual. Asking if I was just messing with her.

  If it was a few years ago, I may have thought of her as the clingy type.

  Intending on grabbing my keys from my office to get the hell out of here, I lean against my desk and then decide to just fall into the chair as I look at her message again.

  Two nights ago, I didn’t have a single problem with her clinging onto me while the guys in the back shooting pool were looking at her. She didn’t even notice them, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to point them out to her. If I’m honest with myself, I would have rather spent last night with her the same as the night before, rather than working.

  I’m too tired to think, but I text her back with the first thoughts on my mind.

  It’s a small wedding. Nothing too fancy or formal is fine.

  It’s been nearly an hour since she messaged me. I sit the phone down, thinking she won’t get back to me for a while, but the phone goes off rapid fire.

  Okay, so not a ballgown, got it.

  I’ll do something simple...

  But classy.

  What are you wearing?

  The laugh comes up easy, vibrating in my chest. I lean back, and get comfortable in the chair. I’m so damn tired I could lay my head down right here on this hardwood or stack of paper and take a nap.

  I text her back: I’m in the wedding, so I have a suit. The groom is the only one in a tux.