Page 57

Something in his voice had me reaching for his hand. I laced my fingers through his.
He smiled over at me, lifted my hand to his lips, and kissed my knuckles. The gesture spread warmth through my chest.
“I should have a vasectomy,” he said.
“Why haven’t you?”
His cheeks tinged pink. “It sounds stupid.”
“What?” I prompted.
“I’m afraid of needles.”
That made me laugh. “You can handle two-hundred-pound guys rushing at you in a game famous for giving its players head injuries, and a little needle scares you?”
“Hey!” he laughed bashfully. “I told you it was stupid.”
I had to laugh with him. But when our chuckles died down, he said, “What about you? Was it a hard decision?”
I bit my lip. “I know what I want, and I’m not the kind to settle... I think it’s harder knowing what people think about childless, career-oriented women. They call us selfish. Say we’re missing out on life’s biggest calling. And there’s a part of me that knows I’ll never fully relate to people like my best friend because I won’t experience motherhood like her. And I’ve had men call off relationships because of it.”
“You have?” he said.
I nodded. “I was engaged... about six years ago. He broke it off when I got the procedure done. I didn’t want him to try and convince me of something I knew I didn’t want.”
His gaze was downcast. “What a loser.”
My lips quirked as I nodded. Because at one point, Christian had been the love of my life. But a piece of me was relieved it hadn’t worked out because I got to share this paradise of a moment with Ford, someone who seemed to understand me better than most people did.
Then he confessed, “I think I worry most about being alone when I’m older. Sitting in the nursing home with no one to visit me.”
“You’re rich,” I countered. “You can pay people to visit you.”
The laugh that fell through his lips was so warm it touched my heart. “Guess I never thought of it that way.”
I smiled. “I already know all the shit I’m going to spend money on when I’m in the nursing home.” I held up my fingers, counting off. “Diamond-encrusted wheelchair. Swarovski crystalwalking cane. Personal stylist to do my pretty blue hair every day. Personal chef. Man candy to deliver cocktails?—”
“Man what?”
“You know, everyone who works for me will be required to have a six-pack and wear leopard print speedos, that kind of thing.”
Ford laughed harder, clutching his waist. “Can I be you when I grow up?”
“I have a better idea.” I winked. “You can be the man candy.”
He grinned back at me. “As long as it’s with you, I know it will be a good time.”
Feeling light as a cloud, I snuggled next to him, resting on his shoulder. And for a moment, I just enjoyed his presence. Enjoyed him.
Because deep down, I knew this wasn’t fake, and it wasn’t just sex. This had to be something more.
32
FORD
Once we were done brushingour teeth and doing our skincare routines, we put on our pajamas and slid under the covers in the king bed. It was what I imagined growing old with someone would be like.
Both of us lay under the blankets, on our backs, and met each other’s gaze, bursting out laughing.