“Then come sit on my lap and remember slowly.”
I grab a towel, swipe the back of my neck, and pat the bench beside me.
She doesn’t sit beside me. She straddles me instead—knees bracketing my thighs, arms sliding around my neck.
My hands find her waist on instinct, fingers curling into her T-shirt like they’ve missed her—which is insane, considering it’s only been a few hours since I saw her.
“What’s going on?” I ask, heart already thudding.
She leans in close, mouth brushing my ear. “I saw my OB-GYN today.”
Everything stills.
The sweat, the soreness, the music humming low behind us—it all fades.
“And?” My voice is rougher than I mean it to be.
She pulls back, eyes glittering. “No more IUD.”
The words hit like a flare straight to the chest. My grip tightens. My brain short-circuits.
“Wait… really?”
She nods. “Really really.”
I stare at her, stunned stupid. We’d talked about this—late-night whispers, a hopefully someday, a dreamy sort of what-if. But now she’s here in my arms, saying it for real. We’re not daydreaming about it anymore.
It undoes something in me, quietly and completely. And all I can think is—this is it. This is the start.
I cup the back of her neck and kiss her—slow, deep, reverent.
When I pull back, my voice is rough. “So we’re doing this?”
“We are definitely doing this,” she says. “But there’s a catch.”
“Of course there is,” I say, grinning. “What is it?”
“Math,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “If we get pregnant now, the baby comes before the season ends. And I want the birth to land at the start of the off-season.”
I nod, understanding. “Makes sense. But just so we’re clear—if that timeline shifts, you and the baby still get me. All of me. No matter what.”
She leans her forehead against mine, eyes soft. “There’s more.”
Her expression shifts, lips twitching like she’s trying not to smile. “Because we want the baby to come after the season, we need to practice abstinence for now.”
I blink. Abstinence?
I sit back, searching her face. “I’m sorry—what?”
“Full-on abstinence. No slipping up. No accidents. We’ll have to sleep in separate beds. Possibly even different rooms.”
I narrow my eyes. “No way in hell I’m doing that.”
She doesn’t crack. Not at first. Then one corner of her mouth curves, and the rest follows. “God, you’re so easy.”
I groan and let my head fall back against the wall. “You’re evil.”
“You love it.”
