chopping motion with his hand. “I know what endometriosis is. What I’m asking is, is, you’re telling me you aren’t dying?”
“Dying!” Junior couldn’t help it. She started to laugh, a weird choked laugh that didn’t even sound like her own. “Now come on, I know I tied one on last night, but I really think I’ll pull through.”
“What I heard Rosie say,” Griff said slowly, enunciating each word as though he was speaking to someone with a limited command of English, “was that you had only a few months left, and that you wanted to make love before your, uh, time came.”
Junior giggled some more, even as his shocking words sunk in. “Oh, no. I’m sorry. I don’t know why this is so funny. It’s just, oh, I can’t believe…”
“And…I guess that means you’re not…”
“Not what?”
“A virgin.”
Now Junior quaked, unable to get a sound out. It wasn’t funny at all. This had to be some kind of hysteria, but what was she supposed to say—nope, not since the prom?
“No, sorry,” she managed.
She didn’t sound sorry. Griff seized the arms of his chair and launched himself out of it, lurching a few steps before he caught his balance. Yeah, maybe the news had knocked him a little flat—but that was her fault, and at least she could have the decency to keep her mouth shut while he sorted it out.
“Sorry you got me in the sack under false pretenses? Or sorry you’re not a virgin?” he demanded sourly. “Let’s get something straight here. This conversation is no longer about you. I’ve made a major, major mistake here and I need a few minutes to think.”
There was a pause, and then Junior, in a much smaller voice, said “I said I was sorry. I am sorry. But you don’t have to yell.”
“I wasn’t yelling.”
Griff glared at her, then stood up. He paced the length of the kitchen a few times before noticing that the coffee was finished. Unfortunately it was in the saucepan. Griff started searching for a ladle, anything to get the stuff from the pan to a cup so it could begin to do its job and clear his head.
He yanked a drawer open. Sure enough, there was a jumble of kitchen tools in it, along with dozens of pens, batteries, lipsticks, paper clips, takeout menus, rubber bands and a pizza coupon dated 2007. He managed to spoon some coffee into his cup, trying hard not to glance at Junior, who was now pouting with her arms crossed.
“I wasn’t yelling,” he repeated, this time carefully lowering his voice to a mere growl. “However, I don’t, whatever you may think, take this sort of thing, that is take sex , lightly.”
“Neither do I,” Junior piped up, but Griff held up a hand.
“Let me finish. I’m sorry about your, you know, situation, but I never, ever would have signed on to be a, a stud service—”
Seeing the look of hurt flood her blue eyes, Griff paused. Tried to back up.
“I mean, I can see where you would want to find a guy to help you have…”
A baby. Make a baby, that’s what she wanted to do—with him!—but Griff couldn’t quite get the words out.
“…to get you pregnant,” he finished up hastily. “I’m not that guy. Not father material. Not in the cards. So I’m sorry if I seemed a little shocked.”
“Nobody asked you to be a father,” Junior spat out, and then, to Griff’s horror, her eyes began to well up with fat tears, which she ignored. “I just wanted your sperm. You got plenty, right? And I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you or—or—if it was really an awful experience for you but last night you seemed—”
He knew he should do something. You don’t just watch a woman cry and not do something about it. But he was paralyzed, watching the tears streak down her freckled cheeks and splash on her crazy shirt, while she looped a finger through her hair and twirled it around and around in a dizzy arc.
“It was fine,” he said hurriedly. “I mean great, or whatever. Though maybe if you’d been, you know, getting
“Dying!” Junior couldn’t help it. She started to laugh, a weird choked laugh that didn’t even sound like her own. “Now come on, I know I tied one on last night, but I really think I’ll pull through.”
“What I heard Rosie say,” Griff said slowly, enunciating each word as though he was speaking to someone with a limited command of English, “was that you had only a few months left, and that you wanted to make love before your, uh, time came.”
Junior giggled some more, even as his shocking words sunk in. “Oh, no. I’m sorry. I don’t know why this is so funny. It’s just, oh, I can’t believe…”
“And…I guess that means you’re not…”
“Not what?”
“A virgin.”
Now Junior quaked, unable to get a sound out. It wasn’t funny at all. This had to be some kind of hysteria, but what was she supposed to say—nope, not since the prom?
“No, sorry,” she managed.
She didn’t sound sorry. Griff seized the arms of his chair and launched himself out of it, lurching a few steps before he caught his balance. Yeah, maybe the news had knocked him a little flat—but that was her fault, and at least she could have the decency to keep her mouth shut while he sorted it out.
“Sorry you got me in the sack under false pretenses? Or sorry you’re not a virgin?” he demanded sourly. “Let’s get something straight here. This conversation is no longer about you. I’ve made a major, major mistake here and I need a few minutes to think.”
There was a pause, and then Junior, in a much smaller voice, said “I said I was sorry. I am sorry. But you don’t have to yell.”
“I wasn’t yelling.”
Griff glared at her, then stood up. He paced the length of the kitchen a few times before noticing that the coffee was finished. Unfortunately it was in the saucepan. Griff started searching for a ladle, anything to get the stuff from the pan to a cup so it could begin to do its job and clear his head.
He yanked a drawer open. Sure enough, there was a jumble of kitchen tools in it, along with dozens of pens, batteries, lipsticks, paper clips, takeout menus, rubber bands and a pizza coupon dated 2007. He managed to spoon some coffee into his cup, trying hard not to glance at Junior, who was now pouting with her arms crossed.
“I wasn’t yelling,” he repeated, this time carefully lowering his voice to a mere growl. “However, I don’t, whatever you may think, take this sort of thing, that is take sex , lightly.”
“Neither do I,” Junior piped up, but Griff held up a hand.
“Let me finish. I’m sorry about your, you know, situation, but I never, ever would have signed on to be a, a stud service—”
Seeing the look of hurt flood her blue eyes, Griff paused. Tried to back up.
“I mean, I can see where you would want to find a guy to help you have…”
A baby. Make a baby, that’s what she wanted to do—with him!—but Griff couldn’t quite get the words out.
“…to get you pregnant,” he finished up hastily. “I’m not that guy. Not father material. Not in the cards. So I’m sorry if I seemed a little shocked.”
“Nobody asked you to be a father,” Junior spat out, and then, to Griff’s horror, her eyes began to well up with fat tears, which she ignored. “I just wanted your sperm. You got plenty, right? And I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you or—or—if it was really an awful experience for you but last night you seemed—”
He knew he should do something. You don’t just watch a woman cry and not do something about it. But he was paralyzed, watching the tears streak down her freckled cheeks and splash on her crazy shirt, while she looped a finger through her hair and twirled it around and around in a dizzy arc.
“It was fine,” he said hurriedly. “I mean great, or whatever. Though maybe if you’d been, you know, getting
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