Getting Lucky

“Seventeen? She must have been some girl, the one you were with at seventeen, to be so hard to replace.”

“Oh, yes, Gail was some girl, all right,” Matt said, and although his voice was steady, the old sick rage he thought he was done with welled up in him.

Romy saw it, too. Or sensed it. He could tell. Ah shit. He braced for follow-on questions, holding his breath as she did the open-shut mouth routine...

But she must have decided that was one story too many, because with a slight shake of her head, she changed tack. “So when you are monogamous,” she said, “they fall in love...when? Are we talking days? Weeks? Months?”

He managed an almost-natural laugh. “You think I keep track?”

“Too many to keep track of? Maybe you and Artie could invent a track-keeping app.”

“Smart-ass.”

Pause. “So...how long does it take you to fall in love, Matt?”

“What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?” He tried out another laugh, but this one missed natural by a mile.

“Just a simple question.”

“Then here’s a simple answer—I don’t.”

“Not since you were seventeen, I suppose.”

Back to that. He pushed his chair back from the desk, then pulled it straight back in. Restless. Agitated. “It’s like this: both people in a...a...”

“Relationship?”

“...situation need to want the same thing or someone’s going to get hurt.”

“Are you saying you never want the same thing they do?”

“No, sometimes we want exactly the same thing, and that’s great.”

“But it’s never love?”

“Search your memory for a contradictory example, Romy. You won’t find one.”

“Well, that’s a shame, because you’ve gone out with a lot of wonderful women.” She sighed. “I hope you at least warn them up front what to expect.”

“Oh, I make it clear, what’s in it for both of us.”

“Sex.”

“Good sex. And fun. And respect. I’m not jealous or possessive, which means they can leave whenever they like, no questions asked. No stalking or bad-mouthing or revenge porn when it’s over. Friendship if they’re up for that at the end, although very few are and that’s okay, too. I just...don’t want them to love me.”

“And yet they do love you, Matt. I’ve talked enough of them off the ledge at the end to know it.”

He shook his head, dismissive. “They don’t stay on the ledge for long. And that’s because although they say they love me, they really don’t.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I know they almost invariably speak those magic words at the peak of an orgasm, which tells me it’s about sex. And if they think sex is the way to my heart, they sure as fuck don’t know me well enough to love me. In fact, I’ll let you in on a deep dark secret about the way to my heart, Romy.” He leaned across the desk, confidante-style, and lowered his voice. “There is no way, because I don’t have a heart.”

“If that were true I wouldn’t have trusted you all these years and I wouldn’t be here now. I trust you, Matt. I trust you absolutely.”

“Trust in anything you like except my heart. Or my soul, come to think of it. I definitely don’t have one of those. It’s the Carter curse, inherited along with the hair. So don’t look into my eyes for too long or I’ll steal yours.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled mockingly. “Have you thought what’ll happen if you have a red-haired, soul-stealing kid? Will you reject the baby?”

She looked directly into his eyes. “I like your red hair. I want the baby to have it.”

That look, so serious and compelling, was like a blow to the chest, and it took Matt a moment to absorb the impact. Trust, she’d said she trusted him. And it was in her eyes. Even after everything he’d just told her. She was a babe in the woods, wandering through the forest in her red dress with no idea wolves were lurking behind the trees. She needed to be protected from the likes of him.

“Yeah well, I suggest you look past the red hair,” he said, “and understand that the only thing I have to offer is a very big cock.”

She surprised him by not flinching, by looking at him just as steadily, as seriously, as trustingly. “And if I were to say that I love your red hair? That I love everything about you? What would you do, Matthew? Would you dump me? And...and Veronica and Rafael and Artie and Teague? Would you dump them, too? Because I—they—we—all love you! How could we not, when you push and pull us to do things we never would otherwise? The baby you’re giving me, for starters.”

“I told you—that’s for me.”

“Then what about the time I couldn’t afford the airfare to Sydney for Frankie’s wedding, and lo and behold, a ticket materialized.”

“Air miles—it cost me nothing!”

“And Artie—the software that would have stayed in your heads if not for you. You made him rich.”

“Made me rich, too, and it wouldn’t have happened without his brain.”

“Then what about the Silicon Valley tech hub you set up and dragged him into.”

“That’s a partnership, benefiting me, too.”

“You pushed Rafael into entering that international writing competition, which he won.”

“He didn’t take much pushing.”

“You got Veronica the gig with the university’s Student Healthcare Outreach program because she needed a good deed on her CV.”

“Stop!”

“And Teague only snagged a spot crewing in the Sydney Hobart Yacht Race because of you.”

“Teague almost drowned!”

“He loved every minute of it! And he loves you. Like a brother. He’s told me so.”

“Goddammit, Romy.” He looked away from her, because that shook him. Teague. Teague, who’d seen more than the others, who’d guessed it all, who fucking knew. Teague might be the closest anyone had come to sainthood, but he wasn’t stupid enough to want a brother like Matt. Romy was deluding herself. He brought his eyes back to her. “You’re wrong. All those things...they’re nothing. I’ve done other stuff you wouldn’t congratulate me for, believe me.”

“What stuff?”

He had to force himself not to look away again; to do so once was barely acceptable; twice would give too much away. “Stuff you don’t need to know.”

“Why can’t I know?”

“Because you’d back out of this deal if you did.”

For a long moment she just looked at him. And then she sighed. “How am I supposed to understand why it’s so hard to accept that people love you if you won’t tell me?”

“You don’t have to understand, you only have to accept that to me, love is nothing but an overused word,” he said. “I love ice cream, oysters, pizza. I love cooking, sailing, camping. How’s anyone supposed to take that word seriously when it’s thrown out about anything and everything? So I’m asking you not to say it, the way you haven’t said it for ten years.”

“I must have said it before.”

“Not to me. And I figure if you were ever going to say it, you’d have said it by now. I don’t want to hear it, Romy, so don’t say it now.” He stopped to take a calming breath. “There are other words for what we have. More meaningful words. Words that can’t be desecrated. Words like friendship, camaraderie, affection. Be as creative as you want. Just don’t call it love.”

“Okay.” She held up her hands, palms out, surrender. “This is me not calling it love.”

“Good.”

“I hereby promise not to love you.”

“Great.”

“I refuse to love you.”

“Okay, I get it, Romy, give it a rest.”

“It’s not like I was going to propose marriage.”

“Fucking fantastic. Go you. Now, moving on!”

She snatched up the page on top of her pile. “Visitation,” she announced. “My lawyer thinks—”

“Not interested in anything your lawyer says,” Matt interrupted irritably. “I’ll just tell you what I want—access without restrictions when I’m in London.”

“I’m sure we can come up with a form of words to that effect,” she said, all business now. “You’re only in London for one week a year, so give me advance notice and I’ll make sure I’m not out of town.”

“It’ll be more than once a year. I’ll be over in four months’ time to look at premises, and then again two months after that to sort out tenancy agreements.”

“Premises? What have I missed?”

“Artie and I are opening a tech start-up hub in London similar to the Silicon Valley one. He’s taking the lead so he’s already over there, but once it’s up and running, I’ll be there on and off for the first year at least.”

“Okay. No problem. Like I said, advance notice, and I’ll make it easy for you to see the baby.” She shot him a curious look. “If that’s really what you want.”

“Why wouldn’t I want it?”

“You indicated on the phone you were looking for a no-strings godfather role. It’s a little...confusing, I guess, to hear you talk about unrestricted access. And I...I just think it’s a good idea to start as you mean to go on.”

“What does that mean?”

“That you don’t keep changing your mind—like, one year you decide to come every month, the next year you come once in the whole year. Children need certainty.”

“Okay then, how about we leave it at once a year, scheduled, and you decide whether or not to allow other visits on a rolling basis.”

“Fine. Then let’s move on to—”

“I’m not finished.”

She waited, watching him warily.

“The kid’s going to be half-American,” he went on, “so if I’m only going to be guaranteed one visit a year, you need to bring it out here once a year. For...I don’t know...heritage purposes.”

“Easy! I’m already here once a year—and I’ll be over more often if I land Suzanne Plieu as a client. She’s keen to open a fine dining restaurant in New York and we’ve had a preliminary chat about what I can do to help her find a partner.”

“New York is Teague’s territory, not mine.”

“Well, yeees.” That same curious look, as though she were trying to work him out. “And if Suzanne needs a lawyer, he’d be—”

“I’m not talking about Suzanne’s restaurants or legal needs. I’m talking about you being needed in San Francisco with me, the kid’s father, not in New York with Teague.”

“It’s going to depend on whether I can afford it.”

“I can afford it.”

“My clients pay for my travel here and you’re not my client.”

“Then start working on your aversion to staying with me. No accommodation costs, and I won’t feel like your client when you sashay in with your briefcase.”

“I can’t stay with you, Matt.”

“Why not? You stay with Teague when you’re in New York.”

“Only when my work is finished.”

“Should I point out that you’re not working tonight?”

Pause. He knew that slight twist to her mouth. She was working out what to say. “Teague’s apartment is...spacious. It’s easier there.”

“And I now have a large house. So when you come with the kid, you stay. As long as your ‘form of words’ contains that, we’re good.”

“We’re not good in that case.”

“Why not?”

And she was up, out of her chair, walking over to the fireplace, dragging her hands through her hair—which she never, ever did.

“Why not?” he asked again, when she just stood there looking into the flames.

“It won’t work.”

“Asking again—why not?”

Shake of her head.

“Romy, what’s going on? Why did I buy a house with a million rooms if you and the kid are going to stay in a hotel?”

She turned to face him then. “But th-that’s not why you bought the house!”

“Isn’t it?”

He saw the breath she took, and prepared himself for an argument.

“Okay then, Matthew,” she said, “in the spirit of negotiation—”

“It’s not negotiable.”

“—I’ll agree to stay here, on the condition that I know in advance who else will be here and I can opt out if I’m uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?”

“I don’t want to impinge on your lifestyle.”

“My ‘lifestyle’?”

“There’ll be times it won’t be appropriate for me to stay, depending on...on who...”

He shot to his feet. “Who I’m fucking? Is that what you mean?” He realized he’d yelled that, but couldn’t get the anger under control enough to care.

“If you’d let me expl—”

“You think I’m going to have someone stashed in my bedroom for after I’ve finished reading my kid a bedtime story?” Yelled again.

“I wouldn’t put it quite like—”

“Will I have to fill out a form? Name, age, occupation, social security number? Nominate what nights of the week I intend to fuck them?”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” she said, firing up at last and yelling back at him. “I already know what nights of the week! Every damn night of every damn week! That’s the problem!”

“I’m glad you appreciate my stamina!”

“That place we shared back in the day had paper-thin walls! We all appreciated your stamina! Veronica and I used to joke about buying shares in Durex, you went through so many jumbo boxes of condoms!”

“So you counted my condoms and listened in? Interesting.”

“Sadly, the pillow I jammed over my head to filter out the moans, grunts and squeals didn’t quite block everything.”

“What can I say? I do a good job. A better job than Teague, now I think of it, since he didn’t ever stay with you overnight.”

“This isn’t about Teague.”

“No, it isn’t, is it, or maybe I would have heard something.”

“Not over the racket going on in your room!”

“Jealous?”

She raised her chin. “Just over it! Okay? I’m over it! I don’t want to hear you anymore! I’ve had enough of hearing you!” And she was on the move again, storming over to the drapes, trying to drag them open as though their very existence was cutting off her oxygen supply.

He stalked across the room, reached her, spun her. “Then how about you stay tonight and test the soundproofing? In the absence of my usual fuck noises you can listen for the loud howl of sexual frustration that’ll be coming out of my room because I haven’t had sex for two fucking weeks! Does that scare you, Romy?”

“Why should it scare me?”

“Because you’re here alone with me and I...I... Arrrggh! It’s dangerous, can’t you see that?”

“Dangerous how?”

“Jesus, Romy, how naive are you?” Matt said. The room was hot, stifling, claustrophobic. He needed air, needed...something! “Fuck this!” He reached past her, grabbed a handful of velvet, yanked on it, heard a satisfying rip, and then the drapes dropped to the floor. He kicked them for good measure. “When are you going to accept that I’m not your damn hero, Romy? I’m not like Teague. I don’t do chastity, and yet I’ve just told you I have done it, for two weeks.”

“So what?”

“So I’m a sex addict. And you’re here.”

“A sex addict would have made a move on me the night we met! God knows I gave you the chance! So don’t talk to me about not ‘doing’ chastity when you’ve been nothing but chaste with me for ten years!”

“You’re not like the others!”

“Well, that just goes to show that you’re an idiot! Because I am like the others. I’m exactly like the others. I want what they want, damn you!”

Sudden, charged silence.

Matt’s skin prickled, his senses going on high alert. “Tell me what you mean,” he said, breathing the words. “What you want.”

She closed her eyes. Heartbeat. Opened them. “You know what I mean. You of all men know what women mean!” And it was as though the angry energy drained out of her, even though her hands had clenched into fists by her sides. “What I want is you. I want...you.”

CHAPTER THREE

TEN YEARS OF not saying the words, and now they were out, hanging between them.

Romy’s heart was beating hard enough to leap out of her body. And Matt looked rigid enough to bounce the poor thing off his chest. Like a stone column. Or...or petrified wood.

Petrified being the operative word.

She choked down a rising bubble of hysterical laughter at the notion that big, bad Matt could be scared of her. She was the one who should be scared. Scared he’d tell her no and leave her with nothing: friendship in tatters, no baby and still no clue about what it was like to...to be with him like all those other women.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Matt said.

And on the spot, she consigned any last vestige of caution to hell. For ten long years she’d been subjugating her lust for him. That was long enough! “Yes, Matt, I do,” she said. “Exactly what I did say. I want you. But you can call it Plan B if that’s easier for you to deal with.”

“Plan B?”

“I need to get pregnant. You offered to provide the sperm. We’ve discussed the turkey baster method—Plan A—but there’s no reason it can’t be done the old-fashioned way—Plan B.”

“Old-fashioned way.”

“We have a window of opportunity here. It’s almost like fate stepped in.”

“Window of opportunity,” he said, like he was having trouble keeping up.

“Neither of us has someone in our lives—a minor miracle in your case. You said you were sexually frustrated, so you need a release valve, and here I am offering to be it.”

“Release valve.”

“From my perspective, it’s cheaper than IVF. It’s certainly more efficient. Like a direct deposit, cutting out the middleman.”

“Direct deposit.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, stop repeating everything I say,” she semiexploded as her resolve frayed around the edges. “It’s easy to understand, isn’t it? It’s just a one-night stand! We’ve already been through your ground rules about not mistaking sex for anything more, so don’t worry that I’ll be expecting a bourgeois romance. And you’re not the only one who knows what it is to be sexually frustrated, because it’s been a while for me, let me tell you, and I daresay it’ll be a much longer while once I’m pregnant.”

“One-night stand.”

“Yes, one night. No encore required. If it doesn’t work, we simply revert to the turkey baster/courier option and...and...and aren’t you going to say something?”

“No encore.”

“Something that’s not a stupid repeat of what I’ve already said.”

She waited; he stared.

Romy couldn’t recall an instance in which Matt had taken this long to make a decision. She wondered if she should shorthand the argument by taking off her dress.

“Matt...” she said, reaching for the zipper at her left side—but before she could touch it, a log fell in the fireplace, jolting the momentum out of her so that she lost her nerve. “Forget it. It was just a suggestion. If you can’t bring yourself to do it, there’s nothing more to be said. Plan A it is.”

“I’m pretty sure I can bring myself to do it,” he said, and then he started laughing as though she’d told the funniest joke on the world.

She drew herself up, glaring at him. “I’m glad I’ve managed to amuse you.”

She tried to push past him, but he blocked her. “Wait!” he said.

“We’ve wasted enough time. We need to go back to the paperwork.”

Again he blocked her. “I said wait. Let’s at least talk about Plan B.”

“I’m no longer interested in Plan B.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve just reminded me how it ends.”

“How can that be when it hasn’t happened yet?”

“It’ll be a carbon copy of the time I told you Jeff Blewett kissed like his mouth was an octopus suction cup and you dared me to let you demonstrate the way you imagined that to be. I was stupid enough to say yes because I thought...I thought...never mind what I thought, it doesn’t matter what I thought, because at the last minute you changed direction and gave me a hickey right here...” jabbing at the center of her forehead “...and no amount of makeup would cover it up so I went around for two days looking like I’d been hit by a cricket ball and you thought it was all hilarious.”

“So how about I try it now?”

“I don’t need another forehead hickey, thank you.”

“I mean I could kiss you for real. And then...well, then you could decide if we go ahead with Plan B.”

“It’d serve you right if I said yes.”

“So say it.”

Romy licked her lips nervously. “Be careful, Matt, or I really will call your bluff.”

“Call it. I dare you to.”

“After the forehead hickey, you’re going to have to convince me you’ll be able to get it up at the crucial moment before I go any further,” she said.

He took a step back from her, which she didn’t consider promising. “One look at me will tell you that’s not going to be a problem. So go on and look.”

She examined his face, trying to gauge his seriousness. She was so keyed up, she’d rip his throat out if she saw so much as a glint of humor in his eye.

“Lower,” he instructed.

Her eyes dropped to his chest.

“Jesus, Romy, are you doing this on purpose? Lower!”

To his jeans. “Oh.”

“Bingo,” he said.

She raised her eyes to his face again. “I’ve heard that’s always there.”

“Are you fucking nuts? I’d never function as a human being if that were the case.” He reached for her then. “But it’s been there since you walked in tonight.” Folded her into his arms. “So if you’re telling me you didn’t feel it in the entrance hall, I’m going to think I’ve shrunk. And I know I’m ten years past my sexual peak, but it seemed to work very...sizably, shall we say, two weeks ago.”

She choked on a laugh. “Your ego is gargantuan.”

“My ego isn’t the thing that’s gargantuan. Although if you really didn’t notice the size of my cock when you first arrived, it’s going to need some stroking.”

“I hope you mean your ego.”

“Actually, I really do mean my cock. So stay riiight...theeere, ahhhhh, that feels good.” Nudging his cock against her. “Think about what it means vis-à-vis your question about whether or not I can bring myself to do it.”

“What it means...” she breathed out, fairly sure she could orgasm just from what he was doing here and now.

“It means yes I can, and when I do it’s going to be amazing. I’ll make it amazing for you, Romy. The moment you say yes.”

Same man she’d been friends with for ten years, same man who’d hugged her, tousled her hair, dragged her onto his lap, forced her earrings through her ill-pierced left earlobe. But this was different. He was different. And she had a premonition that he would always be different, from this moment.

The fear of losing him if she said the “yes” he was asking for was real, because women in whom Matt had a sexual interest were never around for long. The only women who lasted in his life were those who dated his friends—like Veronica, whom he treated like a sister even after her split from Rafael. And wasn’t that at least one reason Romy had transferred her starry eyes from Matt to Teague in their freshman year? Not only because Teague really was perfect but because Matt had brought him to her, thereby marking her place in Matt’s life while she got her head around consigning Matt to the friend zone?

How long would she last if she stepped out of that zone? Matt had said friendship at the end was possible with women he’d had sex with but that most didn’t want it. Why would she be any different from all those other women?

The baby, of course. The baby made her different. But the baby made her vulnerable, too, because it was precious not only for its own sake but because it would be a part of Matt that would always belong to her, a part she was allowed to love. She so wanted to believe Matt would come to love the baby, which would be like loving a part of her, even if he didn’t call it love.

Impossible to risk all that for one night...and yet just as impossible not to after wanting him for so long. Oh, how she wished she could blur the line between sex and friendship instead of stepping over it, keeping everything in its proper place.