Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
When he stops coughing, I hand over the bag and grab a soda from the fridge. I haven’t fully committed to the getting pregnant thing, but I’ve done lots of research in order to help me make that decision. I know if I go through with it, there are certain lifestyle changes I’ll have to make in order to increase my chances as well as to make my body safer for the child I want to have.
Cash follows me out of the room and sits down beside me on the sofa.
“What show are we watching tonight?” he asks. “Another episode of The Walking Dead?”
I shake my head as I reach over to the side table and grab my tablet. “I want you to help me pick out a sperm donor.”
He blinks at me as if I’m talking in cursive and wasn’t taught how to write it in school.
“What?” he finally manages.
“I’ve done a little more research, and although IVF requires sperm too, I figured I could try IUI first. It’s literally a fraction of the cost.”
“IUI?” he says in a questioning tone, but he continues before I can explain. “Instead of having an inseminated egg implanted, you’re going to have sperm directly squirted into your uterus?”
“First of all,” I say, holding up my finger. “Don’t ever say squirted to me again. Secondly, how in the world do you know the difference between in vitro fertilization and intrauterine insemination?”
His eyes dart away from me, and I know when he speaks, he’s lying. “I watched a show on it once.”
“Cash,” I say, giving him a knowing look.
He shrugs. “I did a little research in my downtime today. So sue me.”
“Will you just go through these profiles with me?”
He scoots closer so he can read the screen of my tablet, and I do my best to ignore the jolt of electric current I feel when his hip presses against mine.
“Houston?” he asks as he reads the website. “Wouldn’t Austin be better since it’s closer?”
“This clinic has better reviews,” I tell him. “I started looking earlier, but I wanted your opinion on the ones I picked out already.”
He makes a weird noise in his throat as I click on the first profile.
“No pictures?” he asks.
“They only have descriptions. I think it’s a confidentiality thing or something.”
“It says he’s a construction worker.”
His tone tells me he thinks the guy is a bad choice right off the bat.
“I figured a strong man would make strong babies,” I explain.
“Maybe go for a doctor or lawyer or something?”
I look over at him, his proximity making him so close I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face when he exhales.
I look away immediately before I get caught staring at his mouth.
“I thought about that, but I worry about them growing up and wanting to leave Lindell.”
“The horror,” he says, and I can tell he’s mocking me.
I smack at his chest, but he catches my hand before I can pull it away, pressing his lips to my palm as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Let me be clear. The man has never kissed my palm before. It leaves me a little stupid and confused.
“You never left town either,” I remind him, my throat thick and dry, making it difficult to get the words out as smoothly as I’d like.
Did he just drop his eyes to my mouth?
I pull my hand away so I can click to the next profile, unable to resist the urge to shift my weight.
“I have everything I ever wanted right here,” he says, and in my fantasies, his declaration would include me. “In town.”
The clarification hurts my feelings, and it’s just one more thing I don’t have the right to feel.
“What about this one?” I ask, trying to divert our attention back to the task at hand before I say things or do things that would put a crack right down between the two of us.
Relief washes over me when he looks at the screen, and the burden of acting the way he expects lifts a little.
“Dark hair and dark eyes?” he reads. “I took you for the type of woman to like blue eyes and blond hair.”
I scoff.
“Donor number sixty-four ninety-two,” he mumbles.
“Do you think that many men actually donated or do you think they started at like five thousand?”
I feel him shrug, but I still can’t look in his direction. The warmth of his body right up against mine threatens to make me sweat, but I wouldn’t want to be any other place.
“I have no idea how it works,” he says. “What’s so special about this guy?”
I point to the bio. “It says he’s a small-town guy.”
“That’s it? That’s enough to pick him? It says he’s a student.”
“It doesn’t say how old the donation is, but I read an article that says if sperm is stored right, it can be done indefinitely without issue. So he could have donated fifty years ago or something.”