Page 54 of One Last Shot

Lauren:OMG! They. Are. Mobile. God help me!

I make sure my sound is silenced, and tap play on the video she’s sent. Both twins are on their hands and knees, and in a few shaky movements, one of them crawls toward the other.

My inhale sounds like a gasp in the silence of the car, and I can feel Sasha’s eyes on me. I hit play again, and can’t help it when I choke up a bit. Less than a year ago, I was holding these babies in the NICU. Sierra and I would take turns showing up every other day to help Lauren and Josh however we could. Now these baby girls are freaking starting to crawl, and it feels like it’s all happening so quickly.

“Are you okay?” It’s a tender question asked in an unusually quiet voice. He’s not whispering exactly, it’s more like a verbal caress and it has heat pooling in my stomach and spreading through my chest.

I hold my phone so he can see it and hit play again. “These are my friend Lauren’s twins. They are ten months old, and I feel like they’re growing up way too fast.”

He’s silent for a beat, then says, “Kids have a way of doing that. I feel like Colette was just showing me how to change Stella’s diaper, and here she is in first grade.” I shift my eyes toward him in time to catch his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows down whatever thoughts or emotions he’s holding back.

“I don’t know how people do it.” The words are out of my mouth before I can think better of it, and even though that’s par for the course with me, I wish I somehow could take them back. I already know he’ll press me on my meaning, and it feels like too vulnerable an admission to someone I used to know, in a car with a driver who’s essentially a stranger to me.

“Have kids?” he clarifies.

“Yeah.” I shrug, hoping he’ll drop it.

“What do you mean?”

“It just seems so ...”

“Hard?” he prompts.

“No.” I’m no stranger to hard work. “Painful, I guess. Watching them grow up so quickly, knowing they’ll experience pain you can’t fix, knowing that there’ll be heartbreak and obstacles you can’t prevent.”

“But that’s life.” His voice isn’t dismissive or judgmental. Any time I’ve voiced something like this around my friends, they’ve basically dismissed it—not because they’re jerks, but because none of them grew up with the kind of loss I experienced, nor had every single person they loved disappoint them over and over again. “And it’s filled with joy and successes too,” Sasha continues. “And as a parent, you get to ... I don’t know ... help them learn to live through both, I guess.”

I love the way he sounds like he’s still figuring all this out, too. Like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, but he’s willing to make it work. So often I feel like everyone around me has their shit together, has built the life they want, and I’m over here still trying to figure out what that life even looks like for me. I very intentionally make it look like I love this life I’ve created for myself, but the truth is that even at thirty, I don’t know where I’m going or what I really want. I work hard and I’ve gotten lucky too. I’ve been able to essentially reinvent myself and my life and my career over and over. But the result is that instead of feeling successful, I feel like everything is temporary. That’s a scary feeling, one that I tamp down deep so I don’t spend too much time thinking about it.

“You’re doing a good job.” I reach over to pat his forearm in what’s meant to be a supportive gesture, but instead I’m blindsided by the rush of heat I feel when my hand connects with the strong muscles beneath his hoodie. Hoping to turn the conversation away from my admission and from the sudden feelings of longing, I add, “Irina aside.”

That earns me a small smile. “I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.”

“I’m sure every parent feels that way with their first kid. And you didn’t have the luxury of growing in your parenting skills as Stella grew up, since she’s only been yours for a few months. But you two are figuring it out together and it’ll all work out. You’re great with her, and she clearly loves you.”

His lips part like he’s going to say something, and I realize how close we are now that we were leaning toward each other to watch that video of Lauren’s kids together. He doesn’t say anything, though, just stares at me like he’s trying to memorize my face.

I can’t help the way that heat from my chest spreads. It’s like tiny pins and needles dancing over my skin. He licks his lips and my core muscles clench involuntarily, which has me pressing my thighs together to ease the pressure I feel between my legs. His eyes travel down my body, and mine follow his path. My taut nipples are visible through both my bra and the white satin camisole I’m wearing, and the fabric of my black pants is bunched together at my crotch where I’m squeezing my thighs together so tightly they could bend steel.

I’m not sure how he has this effect on me, but I am aware that I need to tamp it down like I do with everything else that doesn’t help me accomplish my goals. Because getting involved with Sasha in any capacity is a bad idea—a truth I learned long ago.

His eyes travel back up my body until they meet mine. He opens his mouth again, and again no words come out. It’s like we both have forgotten what we were talking about, and instead can only focus on these glances, the small touches—the sexual tension that’s filling the car.

Our eyes spring away from each other when Daniel clears his throat. “We’re here,” he says.

I glance out the window to find that we’re at a standstill in front of Sasha’s building, which we didn’t even notice because we couldn’t take our eyes off each other. Well, that’s embarrassing.

Sasha reaches for his door handle and scoots out, holding the door open for me to follow. He gives me his hand as I step out, and even though I certainly don’t need his help, I take it because it would be rude not to. I’m so unprepared for the feel of his fingers as they run along my palm and then grip my hand. He supports a little of my weight until I’m standing, then pulls his hand away like he’s touched something poisonous. I’m simultaneously relieved that he’s no longer touching me and looking for a reason for him to touch me again.

We walk through the lobby without speaking, and then the mechanical sound of the elevator moving swiftly upward drowns out the pregnant silence as we take turns casting glances at the other and looking away a second before being caught. When the elevator dings to announce our arrival at our floor, I almost jump out of my skin. I know this restless feeling of desire, and the only way to rid myself of it is to have sex. I could head to my room and try to take care of this problem myself, or I could go out and find someone to take care of this problem for me. The thought of my body sliding along someone else’s, those touches, that heat, the feeling of someone moving inside me has my underwear drenched and my nipples aching to be touched—probably because I’m picturing myself with Sasha.

When the doors open, I fly out of the elevator and down the hall to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me and resting my back against it. My hands want to roam over my body, do something to alleviate this need that’s grown so hot I’m burning up with it. But I know that won’t satiate me enough tonight. Tonight, I need real human contact.

I head into the closet where I strip off my clothes and pull on clean underwear and a white dress. The smocked top holds my breasts in so I don’t need a bra, but the way the fabric scrapes along my still-hard nipples with every movement has me so revved up I’m about to explode. I slip my feet into some wedges that lie on the floor, then head to the bathroom to freshen up. Five minutes later, I’m heading down the hall to let Sasha know I’m going out for the night.

I find him in the kitchen, guzzling a bottle of water like a man parched from days in the desert.Good, maybe he’s as hot and bothered as I am. I watch for a moment as his throat bobs with each swallow, his neatly trimmed bearded jaw moving rhythmically as he gulps the water.

I open my mouth, intending to tell him I’m headed out, but instead the real question I’ve been wanting to ask slips out.

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