Page 11 of What if It's Us

Hmm, though now I think about it…there’s no way he doesn’t fuck like a stallion.

But that’s not what I should be thinking about right now.

Tapping his name into my phone, I search the internet and scroll through hundreds of pictures of him, studying each one. For what, I have no idea.

I don’t know what I’m looking for.

Daddy traits maybe?

But why would he need daddy traits when he wouldn’t really be the dad?

It’s not like I’m asking Ledger to parent this child with me.

I’m not asking for his money.

I just need a few of his best swimmers.

It’s not like he doesn’t deposit millions of them every single day, anyway.

Some days probably more than once.

What’s so wrong about asking him to put some in a to-go container for me?

Scroll.

Scroll.

Scroll.

Maybe if I just continue to look, to scroll, to study, the right decision will smack me in the head.

Ledger’s fucking hot and you’re gorgeous. You two would make cute babies.

Maybe Blakely is right. Her c’est-la-vie attitude about this whole thing sort of boosts my confidence. She makes me feel like having a child on my own isn’t as a big a deal as I fear the world around me will think it is.

And maybe it’s not that big of a deal for me to see what Ledger thinks about being my sperm donor.

Maybe he’d be more than willing to do it.

Either that or I’ll become the laughingstock of the locker room for even asking.

Blakely is right about one thing though.

I won’t know if I don’t ask.

“Just fucking do it, Marlee,” I murmur to myself. Tapping out of my internet deep dive, I open my text app and try to think of something witty to say that Ledger might appreciate.

A limerick?

A haiku?

Okay let me think.

I have a question.

I’d like to make a baby.

Can I have your sperm?

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