Page 27 of Mile High Coach

When I first told my therapist that I wanted to get pregnant, she had cautioned me against acting rashly. Said that anyone without a family would have this reaction to the passing of a loved one. But she also understood the issue of the biological clock, the fact that I didn’t have a lot of time to think it through.

Besides, it’s not like I’ve ever been someone who didn’t want to have kids. I’d always assumed they were on the horizon for me. I guess I also assumed that it would just happen—I’d fall in love at chance and end up making a family with someone I was head over heels for.

But that’s not how things turned out.

Instead, I got so caught up in work that I let the question of kids go on the backburner until it boiled over into a charred, sticky mess.

Now I have to clean up that mess.

Downing the glass of wine—which will be my last for a long, long time, if I’m lucky—I turn and sit at the table, pulling out my laptop and typing the title line of a document that’s goingto be very specific and detailed, leaving no room for errors:Insemination Engagement Agreement and Provisions.

Chapter 12

Harrison

With the way Lovie’s been avoiding me the past few weeks, the last thing I expect is for her to find me in my office, step in, and close the door behind her.

I can’t help it—my cock jumps immediately.

Every night, I dream about her on that fucking air plane. I dream about getting my mouth on her again, tasting her, feeling her come around me.

And now here she is.

But she deviates from my imagination by not immediately unbuttoning her top, and instead stalking up to me and slapping a manila folder down on my desk.

“What’s this?” I glance up at her, eyebrows rising, as I reach across the desk and slide the folder toward me. It’s pretty thick, and when I flip it open, the title page stares at me.

Insemination Engagement Agreement and Provisions.

A laugh bubbles out of me, but when I look up at Lovie sitting across from me, she’s deathly serious, her jaw set. “Are you serious?” I ask, picking it up. “A contract?”

It’s early in the morning—early enough that not even the most serious players are here yet. Bright yellow sunshine travelsin through the blinds behind me, sending stripes of color over the wall and closed door behind Lovie.

Once again, we’re alone.

“I think it’s pertinent,” she says, tilting her head slightly, clearing her throat. There’s that string inside her again, going taut. I want to pluck it, pull it out, get her to melt for me again.

“Pertinent?”

“You would have no parental rights,” she says, clearing her throat again, uncrossing her legs, scooting forward, and flipping through the contract in front of me, then pointing at section 1B. She’s written a contract, and there are sections in it.

It’s intimidating. It’s sexy as hell.

“Works for me,” I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms, even as something twinges in my chest. “Little late for kids.”

It comes out tight, but it’s the truth. It’s too late for me. Eliza’s face flickers into my head, her expression when she talked about getting pregnant, but I push it away. I’m too old for kids now. Besides, I have my coaching career to focus on.

Her eyes catch mine and hold them for a second, and something hangs in the air between us. Running my tongue over my teeth, I lean forward again, pushing through the moment. “What else is in this contract?”

“Well,” she says, flipping through it and never breaking eye contact with me. “I think you should read through it, but the most important parts are highlighted.” She flips a few pages, “Section one is about parental rights and expectations following pregnancy. When and if I get pregnant, our agreement is over.”

“Alright,” I agree, shrugging. “What else?”

She licks her thumb, and my eyes lock on the movement. I’d sign the fucking thing right now, but she clearly wants to go through it together, so I force the lust down my throat and watch her as she tabs through another page.

“Article two focuses on the details of the arrangement. My fertility schedule is in here. No sex during menstruation, two sessions outside of ovulation, and at least four sessions during ovulation.”

I eye the color-coded calendar in front of me, then glance up at her, eyes skimming over the flush on her cheeks, the gentle slope of her blouse, just covering her chest.

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