Page 22 of Mile High Coach

What is going on with me?

“Ha,” I manage, clearing my throat and patting the bag. “They do. It’s the other stuff that’s pricey. Testing, the procedure, seeing if it takes. Plus, I just…well I don’t really like any of these donors. Not so far.”

The next thing Harrison says nearly makes me choke.

Easily, as though it’s the most casual thing in the world, like he’s offering me a ride or to borrow a book, he says, “Well, I’ll do it.”

Chapter 10

Harrison

Ibrace myself, preparing for her reaction to my suggestion.

The words just came out of me, without thinking, and logically, I know it’s asinine. Why would Lovie want me when she has an entire book full of donors to choose from?

But instead of a look of consternation, instead of the anger I was expecting, Lovie’s face holds something like…thoughtfulness.

Today she’s wearing a white blouse that crosses over her chest, the sleeves short around her biceps. Her skirt is a pinkish-clay color, with a ribbed material that I want to reach out and drag my finger across. Her bag—a functional black leather tote—is now situated in the crook of her elbow.

We’re in the hallway outside her office, the floor-to-ceiling windows letting in the setting Baltimore sun, the shining down with golden light that filters in through the windows. It’s a sight, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Lovie.

I’d made my way up here determined to talk her into signing off on the program, after I caught her watching me down on the ice. People happen upon me practicing all the time, and I usually never let it get me out of the flow.

But I’d felt her eyes on me, and known it was her up there before looking to confirm it.

It made me think about the other day in the supply closet. About the look on her face when she said no to my program. Like she just needed a good push to say yes.

So I finished up my practice early, showered, and took the elevator to her floor.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t also thinking about being alone with her in her office. That I’d be open to convincing her in some other way.

“I mean,” I hear myself saying now, as I reach out and rest a hand on the wall, leaning against it for support. “I’d be willing to do it. If you need someone.”

“Really?” she asks, then readjusts, shaking her head and pushing her hair behind her ears. “No, what am I saying? That would be completely unprofessional.”

“What’s unprofessional about a colleague helping you out?”

She pauses, considering, then to my surprise, she begins to actually consider the proposal. “I mean—you’d have to get tested. And I’d wanted to see the genetic markers, to make sure there’s nothing we might be passing on.”

“Of course,” I say, feeling a grin spreading over my face, “and I assume you’d want to see a baby picture of me, as well?”

The blush that spreads over her face is worth the joke, even when I told myself I wouldn’t be cracking a single one about this. Then her expression changes, taking on a serious edge.

“Not to be blunt but—you don’t want a baby, do you?”

“No.” The word comes out of me like an automatic response, and I don’t give myself more time to think about the answer. At this point in my life, the answer has to be no. What would that even look like? To have a kid at my age?

Maybe at one point it was an option for me. Not anymore.

So why did I say it? Because I like Lovie, or because I want to sway her, convince her to say yes to my program proposal?

“No,” Lovie repeats, studying me. “Are you sure about that?”

“I’m sure,” I keep my face level, letting out a little laugh for good measure. “That time in my life has passed.”

There’s the slightest sting in my chest when I think about Lovie wanting a baby—and how much it reminds me of Eliza wanting a baby.

Most of the time, I’m able to keep myself from thinking about it, but right now I see my ex-wife clearly.

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