A Really Bad Idea Read online

  He tightens his jaw, the muscle protruding through the skin. “If we’re gonna do this, everyone will know we have been more than friends—at least for a night.”

  “It’s just that this—what’s happening between us—is big. I don’t want the entire world to know. Not yet.”

  “You haven’t told anyone?” he asks with a raised brow.

  “No,” I answer.

  He nods in understanding.

  “You?”

  With a shake of his head, he replies, “Not yet.” He’s looking down at his hands. They’re intertwined with his thumbs running circles around the other. It’s an odd pose for the usual confident man.

  I lay my fingers against the back of his hand and rub gently. His hands turn toward mine. Sliding my palms against his, I feel the smooth skin of a man who saves people for a living. They’re strong hands, large and holding my tiny ones like I’m the most precious thing in the world. I massage lazy circles along the lifeline, my heart beating through the vein in my thumb, pulsating into his.

  He looks up at me, his golden skin looking ethereal in the candlelight. I bite my lip and inhale shakily. His smile is one of understanding, as are the soft features of his gaze.

  “You ready to go?” he asks.

  I look down at the uneaten dessert. “Yeah.”

  He pays the bill, and I wave to Frank and his date as we exit. We get into the SUV, and I’m surprised when it drives less than a mile away and pulls over onto the side of the road. The driver opens Christian’s door and hands him a bag as he steps out. He holds his hand out, and I take it, wondering why we are now standing at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge.

  “Care to go for a walk?” he asks.

  I look back at the bridge and the cars driving in and out of Manhattan. Then, I look down at my shoes. “I didn’t dress for a walk.”

  Christian reaches into the bag and pulls out a pair of sneakers, a perfect size nine.

  “How did you get those?”

  “I have my ways.” He kneels down on the ground and lifts my foot, gliding my shoe off, placing my toes into one sneaker, and lacing it up. He does the same with the second. My heels are placed in the bag and handed to the driver, who brings them back in the car. When Christian rises, he takes his gray sports coat and drapes it over my shoulders, as he did earlier.

  We walk.

  The pedestrian path is in the center of the bridge with the inbound and outbound traffic lanes on both sides of us. I’ve never walked the Brooklyn Bridge, and now that I’m doing it, I find it equally exhilarating and frightening.

  “Is it strange for me to say, this is not what I expected?” I say, looking down to the roadway beside us.

  “Are you scared?” he asks, not surprised by the reaction.

  “No. Yes. There’s just a lot going on. And I’m not a huge fan of heights.” I’m walking in the center of the wooden pathway. One plank squeaks when my foot puts weight on it. I react with my own squeak and a body jolt into Christian’s side. “Okay, I am terrified of heights.”

  It’s hard to relax up here. On television, the walk is peaceful, romantic even. In real life, it’s loud. Between the wind and the quick-moving cars below, I can barely hear myself think, let alone temper my erratic heart.

  He laughs and puts a hand around my shoulders, pulling me in. “You’re missing the whole experience.”

  “Well, we’re high. Really high. If I look down, I can see the traffic lanes, and the river is …” My hand clenches on to his sweater.

  “Don’t look down.”

  I look up at the top of the one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old bridge and instantly regret it. “Do you think those cables will snap and send us flying to our deaths?”

  He laughs and kisses my head. Not my forehead, but my actual head, like I’m a child. Releasing me, he walks over to a bench and steps up onto it. He holds out his hand, asking me to join him.

  I step back and curl my arms around my body. “Hell no.”

  The bench is propped up against the rail that looks down to the lanes of cars driving out of Manhattan.

  “Do you trust me?” he asks, his eyes wide and tempting.

  I feel my feet move slightly, and I wonder if the bridge actually swayed.

  He lets out an exasperated breath. “Meadow, get yourself up here.”

  Like an insolent child, I follow his order, taking his hand in mine as I climb up onto the bench. He wraps his hands on my waist as I wobble, getting my footing.

  Our bodies are facing one another as my hands grip on to his elbows. He places his forehead against mine, and my breathing comes out in shallow pants.

  “It’s all about focus. Look down, and you reveal your fears. Look up, and you overthink your obstacles. The trick is to look forward,” he says, spinning me in his arms so that my back is to his and I’m facing the city.

  I gasp at the sight. Downtown Manhattan is lit up in bright white lights against the black sky. The tall buildings look to be emerging out of the Hudson River, bold against its glass-like quality in the night. From this vantage point, so much closer than we were at the restaurant, the buildings are large, overpowering, and breathtaking—a postcard of the city most wait their entire lives to visit once. And here I am, living in it. Basking in it.

  “It’s beautiful,” I breathe.

  “Sometimes, you need to look out of your comfort zone to find your peace.”

  Now that my eyes are open to the gorgeous view, I don’t notice the cars below me, as I did before. I couldn’t care less about the height, and I’m eager to walk on those wooden planks to get closer to the city.

  Christian wraps his arms around my waist, and I still. We’ve danced. He’s held my hand. He’s even held me before while I cried. But this? This feels more intimate than anything we’ve shared.

  What do I do now? Lay my head on his shoulder? Grab on to his hands and hold them there?

  Instead, I laugh. My stomach rolls in as I toss into a giggle fit.

  “What’s so funny?” he asks.

  “I don’t know what to do with my hands.” I turn around and face him.

  His arms loosen on my waist as the line between his brows deepens. “Place them around my neck.”

  I do just that, and it feels like we’re dancing.

  I look back up into his eyes, glassy from the night air and tower lights. “I don’t know how to be intimate with you,” I confess.

  He lowers his chin. “Why do you think I want three dates?”

  “So, it’s not just me?”

  “We’ve always been attracted to each other. You can’t pretend that’s not true. And we’ve done flirty well over the years. We’ve just never crossed this threshold.”

  “It feels natural, and yet—”

  “This is all new to me, too,” he says, and I let out a breath as he rests his forehead against mine.

  As awkward and even scary as this situation might seem at times, it’s nice to know I’m going through it with someone I trust immensely. Just being in his arms calms me in a way no one else can.

  Especially when he speaks in his soothing hum, “I don’t know what happens next, but I’m not ashamed. You shouldn’t care what everyone else thinks. I don’t. All I care about is you. Don’t look down toward your fears or up into your own worst enemy.”

  I frown, wondering who he’s talking about.

  He taps my temple. “You get lost in your own thoughts. Stop listening to that little voice up there. All your answers, your dreams, your desires can be seen if you look straight.”

  I’m looking straight. Straight into him. Into his soul, into his heart, and into the very person I’m giving my dreams to.

  I close my eyes for a moment to gather my wits. It’s here, in the dark, with the breeze in my hair and the smell of the harbor and Christian’s warm hands holding me tight, that I inhale the greatest breath I’ve taken in weeks and let out the stifling fear I’ve been holding on to.

  “I was thirteen and had a massive crush o
n you,” I say. I’m not sure why I’m telling him this. It just feels like something I need to get off my chest. “It was the year we all went to Six Flags on a class trip. You were dating Sally Romano, and I knew that you would kiss her on the Great American Scream Machine, so I told you—”

  “That she had herpes,” he finishes my sentence.

  I squeeze my eyes tighter, embarrassment coating my cheeks. “You didn’t kiss her because of that, and I followed you around, hoping that you would want to kiss me.”

  “You went on every roller coaster with me that day.”

  “I did.” I nod. “And, if I’m being totally honest, I absolutely, positively hate roller coasters.”

  “No, you don’t,” he says with a tinge of humor in his voice.

  With my eyes closed, I lift my chin in confirmation. “That day was the first and last time I ever went to an amusement park. I never told you because then you’d know that, when I was thirteen, I wanted nothing more than for you to kiss me.”

  “You wanted to kiss me? When we were in middle school?”

  “Desperately,” I admit.

  “Meadow,” he breathes, but I don’t answer.

  I raise my brows at him, waiting for him to continue. He doesn’t say a word. He does something better.

  He leans down and kisses my cheek.

  It’s chaste, except for the way his lips linger longer than usual and then glide down to the space just below my ear, making me shiver.

  His hands grip me tighter, pulling me into him, his hard body up against mine. My breasts tingle with need as they brush up against his chest, and my core rages like wildfire.

  That kiss is followed by a series of light, open-mouthed kisses down the side of my neck, making me mold into him in a pile of goo, and back up to that sweet spot of my jaw.

  My eyes are closed, and my lips are parted as he releases me. He didn’t even touch my lips, and that was, without a doubt, the best first kiss to end all first kisses.

  When I open them, it’s to a satisfied Christian.

  “I’m not ashamed, Meadow. I don’t care if you scream it from the rooftops that we’re going to have a baby.” He brushes my hair that is being blown about by the wind and pins it to the sides of my head with his hands. “I don’t think it’ll feel real for you unless you tell someone, so here’s what I propose. We each tell one person. Are you okay with that?”

  I nod. It’s hard not to when he makes everything sound like the best idea in the world. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

  “No. That would be you.” He takes my hands and holds them in between us.

  I chuckle into the wind. “Smooth.”

  “Tonight has been the best date I have ever been on. And I once took a woman to Aspen.”

  “On a date?” I ask, my eyes wide in disbelief. “How did I not know this?”

  He steps down from the bench, his hands still holding on to mine. “You don’t know everything about me. She was a masseuse from Greenwich, and I had a forum to attend. It made for a relaxing weekend.”

  I step down and fall against his chest. “Looks like you have stories to tell.”

  He laughs as he brings my hands to his lips and kisses the inside of my palms. While the action is intimate, it feels right. “It now feels wrong to tell my tales of past relationships with you.”

  I stop and pull him back toward me, making sure he understands fully. “Christian, I don’t ever want you to stop telling me your stories. I love knowing everything about you.”

  He grins. “Then, I’ll never stop.”

  We continue our walk. When we reach the end of the span, I turn around to walk back toward Brooklyn where we were dropped off, but he pulls me back and points toward our SUV idling on a far corner of Park Row in front of City Hall.

  “You think of everything, don’t you?” I tease as we cross the street.

  “You have no idea.” He holds the door open for me, and I sit inside, moving over so that he can climb in and not have to get in from the street side.

  When he takes his seat, he reaches again for my hand. I lay my head on the seat back and look at our conjoined hands, tracing small circles on the skin with the other. He looks back at me with those emerald eyes, and I find myself mesmerized. Not only has he promised to fulfill my ultimate dream, but he’s also taking care to do it in the most loving way. Tonight, although unnecessary, was perfect.

  We pull up to my building, and he’s instantly out his door and around to mine. I step out and feel those butterflies from earlier dance as he walks me up to my building’s door. He said he wanted three dates until we slept with each other, but he’s said nothing about kissing, and after what he did earlier with my neck, I can only imagine what his French kisses will be like.

  My heart speeds up, and my body sings with desire. I try to stifle its song, but I can’t. The melody is simmering low in my belly.

  I stop at my front door and look up into his handsome face. “Would you like to come up?”

  “No, I have to be at the hospital in the morning.” He leans forward and I gasp, my breath halting as he lays a hand on my hip and leans in ever so slowly. “Is it crazy to say, I can’t wait for our second date?”

  “What happens on the second date?” I say with a swallow.

  “Our first kiss,” he breathes.

  My body is a mix of anticipation and disappointment as he places the sweetest peck on the corner of my mouth. It’s barely a whisper. A soft, hot whisper that makes my body scream in anticipation.

  My lashes flutter as he steps away and backs up toward the car. “You surprise me, Christian Gallagher.”

  He smiles. “Is that a good thing?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s definitely a good thing.”

  He opens the back door of the car and stands there as Salvatore welcomes me into the lobby, and he waits as I call the elevator and eventually get in. Even as I enter and the doors close, Christian is still standing there, waiting and watching.

  Now, in the safe space of the elevator, I place my hand to the spot where his lips just kissed me. It wasn’t even a real kiss, yet it did more to ignite my body than any kiss I’d ever had in my life.

  “That is a really bad idea.”

  I pick up a pair of topaz heels and grimace at the price tag. I place them back on the shelf. “You’re right. Nine hundred dollars is ridiculous for a pair of shoes.”

  Beth and I are shopping at Bloomingdale’s on my lunch break. According to her, blue is the in color this year, and she is on a mission for a hot summer sandal.

  “I’m not talking about the shoes. I’m talking about you and Christian having a baby together.” She points a Vince Camuto wedge at me, waving it in the air.

  I grab the shoe from her and give it an appreciative once-over. “These are gorgeous!” One look at the price tag on the bottom has me handing it back to her and turning to continue my perusal of the luxury shoe section.

  Beth is quick on my heel—pun intended. “Meadow, you and Christian having a baby together is a recipe for disaster.”

  I do a one-eighty and look her dead in the pale blue eye. “Do you think we’d be bad parents?”

  “Bad parents?” she mutters. Then, she closes her eyes and shakes her head a few times, her blonde tresses whipping her in the cheeks. “No. You’d make great parents.”

  When Christian and I agreed to each tell one person about our plans, I immediately thought of Beth. Now, I’m wondering if she was the right person to tell.

  “Then, what’s so wrong with it?”

  She drops her shoe-filled hands with an exasperated sigh. “Nothing. Everything. Have you even discussed how complicated this will be?”

  “We’ve discussed it, and we’ve both decided that the time is right,” I explain, watching her perfectly lined eyes roll.

  “That’s it? You decide you want to have a baby, and poof, you have one with the first man who says he’ll give it to you?”

  I can feel my jaw hitting the marble flo
or. “I’m going to try to not be wildly insulted by that comment.”

  When Beth texted that she would be in the city and asked to meet up, I jumped at the invitation. While I take my breaks in the office, I was looking forward to talking to her in person.

  I’ve been keeping this colossal secret to myself for over a week, pondering every outcome and biting my thumbnail as I scour the internet and medical journals on anything that discusses the psychology of two friends having a baby of convenience. Turns out, there’s not much out there.

  I was hoping Beth could give sage motherly/sisterly/best-friendly input, and knowing she’d have concerns, I tried being nonchalant in my delivery of the news. I’m now realizing she must think I’m being a two-bit ditz.

  “That’s not what I meant … entirely.” She puts the shoes on the shelf and walks up to where I’m standing. Her features soften as she sets a hand on my shoulder and speaks in a low tone, “Listen, I’m all for doing what you want with your body, but admit this is crazy.”

  I fall back with an exaggerated sigh and hit the back of my head against the shelf. “It is. It’s insane. I’ve talked myself out of it and then back into it a hundred times already. I know it worries you for all the right reasons, but I promise we have thought this through. It’s happening.”

  “How exactly is this happening?”

  “The conventional way,” I say.

  Her pale blue eyes bug out of her head. “You don’t understand how this is going to get complicated?” she says in a whisper-yell.

  “It’s foolish to go through a medical procedure when we can just … you know …”

  “You probably won’t get pregnant on the first try.” She crosses her arms in front of her cashmere-clad body.

  “I’m a nurse. I’m well aware,” I deadpan.

  “So, it could be months. Years.”

  There’s a line forming on her porcelain forehead. I would bring it up, but she’s already upset, and I decide not to aggravate her more.

  “We’re giving it a six-month trial.” I push off the shelf and walk through the shoe section again.

  “A six-month trial?” Beth scurries up behind me as I approach a display table of Badgley Mischka.