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His eyes dart away from me, and I know when he speaks, he’s lying. “I watched a show on it once.”
“Cash,” I say, giving him a knowing look.
He shrugs. “I did a little research in my downtime today. So sue me.”
“Will you just go through these profiles with me?”
He scoots closer so he can read the screen of my tablet, and I do my best to ignore the jolt of electric current I feel when his hip presses against mine.
“Houston?” he asks as he reads the website. “Wouldn’t Austin be better since it’s closer?”
“This clinic has better reviews,” I tell him. “I started looking earlier, but I wanted your opinion on the ones I picked out already.”
He makes a weird noise in his throat as I click on the first profile.
“No pictures?” he asks.
“They only have descriptions. I think it’s a confidentiality thing or something.”
“It says he’s a construction worker.”
His tone tells me he thinks the guy is a bad choice right off the bat.
“I figured a strong man would make strong babies,” I explain.
“Maybe go for a doctor or lawyer or something?”
I look over at him, his proximity making him so close I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face when he exhales.
I look away immediately before I get caught staring at his mouth.
“I thought about that, but I worry about them growing up and wanting to leave Lindell.”
“The horror,” he says, and I can tell he’s mocking me.
I smack at his chest, but he catches my hand before I can pull it away, pressing his lips to my palm as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Let me be clear. The man has never kissed my palm before. It leaves me a little stupid and confused.
“You never left town either,” I remind him, my throat thick and dry, making it difficult to get the words out as smoothly as I’d like.
Did he just drop his eyes to my mouth?
I pull my hand away so I can click to the next profile, unable to resist the urge to shift my weight.
“I have everything I ever wanted right here,” he says, and in my fantasies, his declaration would include me. “In town.”
The clarification hurts my feelings, and it’s just one more thing I don’t have the right to feel.
“What about this one?” I ask, trying to divert our attention back to the task at hand before I say things or do things that would put a crack right down between the two of us.
Relief washes over me when he looks at the screen, and the burden of acting the way he expects lifts a little.
“Dark hair and dark eyes?” he reads. “I took you for the type of woman to like blue eyes and blond hair.”
I scoff.
“Donor number sixty-four ninety-two,” he mumbles.
