The Pregnancy Negotiation. KRISTI GOLD

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      Whit choked down the ice cream in record time, thankful he didn’t receive a bout of brain freeze from his quick consumption. After setting the bowl on the table, he kicked back against the couch and studied Mallory’s profile as she focused on the game. She’d tucked her hair behind her ears, exposing her lobes, which would probably taste as good as the mint chocolate chip. He visually traced the line of her shoulder, then down her back, following the path of her spine until it disappeared where her back met the sofa.

      Unable to resist, he laid his palm on the bend of her neck above her shoulder and gave a little squeeze. But when her frame went rigid, Whit dropped his hand into his lap, then dropped back on the sofa again. “This isn’t going to work.”

      “I know. Morton’s fast ball has the velocity, but he doesn’t have control.”

      “I’m not talking about the game, O’Brien, and you know it.”

      “Actually, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said without taking her eyes from the TV.

      “Look at me, Mallory.”

      She shifted and rested her left elbow on the edge of the cushion. “Okay, I’m looking at you. Now what is it?”

      He pointed to her than back to himself. “You and me, it’s not going to work if you tense up every time I touch you.”

      Her gaze drifted away. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little nervous. It’s been a long time since I’ve been intimate with anyone.”

      “Me, too.”

      That brought her attention back to him. “Bet I’ve got you beat.”

      “Almost five months.”

      “Try three years.”

      Three years? Whit couldn’t imagine any healthy adult going that long without sex. “You can’t be serious.”

      Her expression told him she was dead serious even before she said, “I’m very serious. I went out with a guy from the office a few times and then I thought, ‘Why not?’ I answered that question in about two minutes. It was awful.”

      “And before that?”

      “Six years.”

      Man, this was getting almost too weird for Whit. “You’re telling me you’ve had sex only once in nine years?”

      “I’ve only been with two men, Mr. Awful and my ex-husband, Mr. Infidelity.”

      Whit prepared to ask the question he’d wanted to know for a long time but never had the nerve to ask. “How was it with old Barry?”

      “That’s Jerry, and it was okay.”

      “Only okay?” For some reason, that made Whit happy.

      “I think he saved his best for the coeds.”

      The bastard. Whit rubbed his jaw then sat forehead, hands clasped between his parted knees. “During all that time, you didn’t miss the sex?”

      She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I didn’t have time to think about it. I had law school and then work. I put all my energy into my career. Sex was just low priority.”

      He frowned. “I’m probably getting too personal, but didn’t you ever take care of things yourself?”

      She laid a dramatic hand on her chest. “What? And risk going blind?”

      “If that were true, then most men would be running into walls.”

      “Does that include you?”

      “I’m going to take the fifth on that one.” He rubbed his stubbled chin. “Maybe you haven’t found the right man, someone who makes your pleasure top priority.”

      She gave him a wry smile. “And I suppose you’re going to say you’re that man.”

      “Yeah.”

      She rolled her eyes. “You have one unparalleled ego.”

      “Not really. I’ve just had some good instruction.”

      “No doubt from some older woman who knew all the ins and outs of lovemaking, no pun intended.”

      “Actually, my dad told me everything I needed to know, before I ever touched a woman in that way.”

      Mallory came to her feet and plopped down on the couch. “This I’ve got to hear, Whit Manning getting the sex talk.”

      “Sex, drinking, it didn’t matter. My dad was always pretty open about that sort of thing.”

      For the first time in years, Whit thought back to a time when things hadn’t been so bad between him and his dad. “One time, when I was about fourteen, he caught me and Logan sneaking a beer from the fridge. He took the twelve-pack, sat us down at the dining room table and told us to drink them all.”

      Her green eyes went wide. “You didn’t!”

      “We did, or at least most of them. I think we both quit about halfway through the fifth beer, or maybe the fourth. Then to top it off, Dad told us to go out in the garage and make something with his skill saw.”

      She clasped a throw pillow to her chest as if she needed protection from a member of the Mad Mannings. “When you were drunk?”

      “Yeah, but he knew we wouldn’t do it. We told him he was crazy, and then he told us to remember how we felt, especially when we got behind the wheel of a car, because that would be just as dangerous as trying to attempt to use a sharp object under the influence. I’ve never forgotten it, and I’ve never driven drunk, not once.”

      “What happened after that?”

      “Logan and I blew a few chunks, then we passed out.”

      Mallory smiled. “A good lesson for you both. Your dad’s a smart man.”

      Whit had to admit his dad was very smart. Overly critical and demanding, but smart.

      She scooted a little closer and tossed the pillow aside. “So exactly how did he handle the sex thing? Bought you a woman?”

      He grinned. “Nothing like that. Right after he found out I had my first real girlfriend, he gave me some very detailed female anatomy lessons and a few tips on what women like. Explicit tips. He also stressed that no meant no. That maybe most people considered sex as a rite of passage for guys, but guys had no right to assume anything. Then he told me if I did decide to take that step, I should always wear a raincoat. Before I figured out he was talking about condoms, I got this vision of climbing in the back seat of a car, wearing nothing but a yellow slicker.”

      She smiled. “What a vision.”

      “Oh, and I also learned you didn’t stick your tongue down a woman’s throat.”

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