even conceive The Baby? I sipped my tea, drowning in thoughts.
It’s how I’d started referring to our hypothetical child. The Baby. Like he or she or it (what did one call babies that hadn’t been conceived, anyway?) already existed. The Baby. I was only a couple of days away from actually naming The Baby, I figured. And yet, I hadn’t said anything to Caleb about The Baby.
I was thirty-five years and one month old. Was I running out of time?
Chapter 6
“ D id I ever tell you how sexy you look when you’re writing? You get this little furrow between your eyebrows.”
Caleb stepped off the elevator and into the penthouse, but I barely looked up.
It was a Friday, my day off from the bookstore, and I sat on Caleb’s sofa with my laptop. Higgins, my gray, uber-fluffy kitty, lazed nearby on the polished cement floor in a patch of sun and raised his head at Caleb’s entrance then flopped back into slumber.
“Hey, baby,” I murmured, deleting a sentence that annoyed me by tapping hard on the keyboard.
Shifting in my seat, I tugged at the hem of my shirt. It was one of Caleb’s old, white button-downs. The only other thing I had on was black lace panties. My hair was in a messy ponytail and my black glasses were perched on the tip of my nose. No makeup, no glamor. I’d intended to shower and change before Caleb got home but had gotten immersed in writing. I wondered if I smelled funky. Crap.
He leaned down to kiss me, and I let out a little hum of happiness. I hadn’t written in weeks, and after Sarah had mentioned I’d neglected it, I’d jumped back in as a way to ignore having a conversation with Caleb about our future. About The Baby.
I had no rational reason for going into denial mode. All I knew was the intense humidity of the Florida springtime, combined with the heady smell of midnight jasmine, made me feel like every moment was bigger than the previous moments and everything that would come after would alter the course of my life.
And so I wrote, to try to prevent change.
Mercifully this afternoon, I’d become totally absorbed in my story. I blinked rapidly at Caleb, who sank onto the sofa next to me, and I realized I hadn’t spoken aloud all day.
“God, is it six o’clock already? I’ve been sitting here for hours, working on this one scene.”
“Is this the new erotica? The one we talked about and plotted last weekend? You were off to an excellent start with your idea about a professor and a grad student.”
I smiled and nodded, appreciative he took my writing seriously. “I’m having a difficult time with it. I think the couple should visit a BDSM club, but I can’t get the color and details right.” I snapped my laptop shut. “I can’t visualize what such a place looks like. And if I can’t see it in my mind, I can’t write about it.”
Caleb took my laptop and put it on the coffee table, then kissed me again. He pressed my body down onto the sofa, and I wrapped my arms around him.
“Sorry, I smell awful. You smell good. I want to bite you.”
He grinned. “You always notice my smell. You’re like a bloodhound. Hey, are there any clubs in Orlando?”
“Any what? BDSM clubs?”
He nodded.
“Yeah. I was searching for videos and websites and found two in the area.”
“We should go.”
I tilted my head and smiled. “You’d do that for me? Aren’t you worried about being seen? Top developer-rich guy at BDSM club?”
“Emma, half of the state’s politicians will probably be there.”
I chuckled and undid his tie.
“And everyone who matters knows you’re my girlfriend and you write sex fiction. I’ll say it’s research. I don’t care what people think.”
I giggled. “It is research.”
“Maybe it doesn’t need to be only that.” His grin was wicked.
“What do you mean?” I asked, warming to whatever idea he was about to reveal.
“I guess I haven’t told you my latest fantasy.” Caleb stretched out next to me and slid a hand around my hip and
It’s how I’d started referring to our hypothetical child. The Baby. Like he or she or it (what did one call babies that hadn’t been conceived, anyway?) already existed. The Baby. I was only a couple of days away from actually naming The Baby, I figured. And yet, I hadn’t said anything to Caleb about The Baby.
I was thirty-five years and one month old. Was I running out of time?
Chapter 6
“ D id I ever tell you how sexy you look when you’re writing? You get this little furrow between your eyebrows.”
Caleb stepped off the elevator and into the penthouse, but I barely looked up.
It was a Friday, my day off from the bookstore, and I sat on Caleb’s sofa with my laptop. Higgins, my gray, uber-fluffy kitty, lazed nearby on the polished cement floor in a patch of sun and raised his head at Caleb’s entrance then flopped back into slumber.
“Hey, baby,” I murmured, deleting a sentence that annoyed me by tapping hard on the keyboard.
Shifting in my seat, I tugged at the hem of my shirt. It was one of Caleb’s old, white button-downs. The only other thing I had on was black lace panties. My hair was in a messy ponytail and my black glasses were perched on the tip of my nose. No makeup, no glamor. I’d intended to shower and change before Caleb got home but had gotten immersed in writing. I wondered if I smelled funky. Crap.
He leaned down to kiss me, and I let out a little hum of happiness. I hadn’t written in weeks, and after Sarah had mentioned I’d neglected it, I’d jumped back in as a way to ignore having a conversation with Caleb about our future. About The Baby.
I had no rational reason for going into denial mode. All I knew was the intense humidity of the Florida springtime, combined with the heady smell of midnight jasmine, made me feel like every moment was bigger than the previous moments and everything that would come after would alter the course of my life.
And so I wrote, to try to prevent change.
Mercifully this afternoon, I’d become totally absorbed in my story. I blinked rapidly at Caleb, who sank onto the sofa next to me, and I realized I hadn’t spoken aloud all day.
“God, is it six o’clock already? I’ve been sitting here for hours, working on this one scene.”
“Is this the new erotica? The one we talked about and plotted last weekend? You were off to an excellent start with your idea about a professor and a grad student.”
I smiled and nodded, appreciative he took my writing seriously. “I’m having a difficult time with it. I think the couple should visit a BDSM club, but I can’t get the color and details right.” I snapped my laptop shut. “I can’t visualize what such a place looks like. And if I can’t see it in my mind, I can’t write about it.”
Caleb took my laptop and put it on the coffee table, then kissed me again. He pressed my body down onto the sofa, and I wrapped my arms around him.
“Sorry, I smell awful. You smell good. I want to bite you.”
He grinned. “You always notice my smell. You’re like a bloodhound. Hey, are there any clubs in Orlando?”
“Any what? BDSM clubs?”
He nodded.
“Yeah. I was searching for videos and websites and found two in the area.”
“We should go.”
I tilted my head and smiled. “You’d do that for me? Aren’t you worried about being seen? Top developer-rich guy at BDSM club?”
“Emma, half of the state’s politicians will probably be there.”
I chuckled and undid his tie.
“And everyone who matters knows you’re my girlfriend and you write sex fiction. I’ll say it’s research. I don’t care what people think.”
I giggled. “It is research.”
“Maybe it doesn’t need to be only that.” His grin was wicked.
“What do you mean?” I asked, warming to whatever idea he was about to reveal.
“I guess I haven’t told you my latest fantasy.” Caleb stretched out next to me and slid a hand around my hip and
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