None of the options sounded like good ones to her. Maybe Marta was right to worry.
***
Asher: Morning, you there?
Greer: I was just about to start our daily wedding meeting. The triplets are here. Where are you?
Asher: That’s what I’m texting about. There was a work emergency & I had to fly back.
Greer: To NYC?
Asher: I’m afraid so. I’m hoping to be back in Vegas by the weekend.
Greer: But what about our deal?
Asher: Guess we’ll have to skip a few days in kissing week. Or should we extend our deal by a few days?
Greer: No! We said we would be done by the wedding and we need to stick to that.
Asher: You’re in charge. We’ll just skip some of the kissing lessons. I thought we did okay. What did you think?
Greer: Gotta go. When will you be back?
Asher: Friday or so. Maybe Saturday. So . . . kissing? Scale of one to ten?
Greer: I’m not rating you!
Asher: I’m going to take that as at least an 8 then. Maybe 8.5
Greer: Shouldn’t you be working?
Asher: Shouldn’t you?
Greer: I am warning you, I’m texting if something comes up that needs a Stijn decision.
Asher: Fair enough. I do need to go though. Meeting. Later.
Asher smiled down at his phone, then tossed it aside onto the empty spot in the hotel bed next to him. She didn’t rate him, but she didn’t disagree with his 8.5 or higher. That was a good sign. He’d noticed that when Greer got nervous, she tended to try to change the subject. He was learning all the little tells she had. Or rather, he was remembering them anew.
He relaxed and stared up at the ceiling. Now, what to do for the next three days? He hadn’t flown back to NYC like he’d told her. That was a lie. It was just that, after she’d staggered out of his room last night, he’d realized that he was moving too fast. He’d been hoping for the kissing to last several days. After last night’s heated make-out session? He’d have been lucky to go a week without bending her over the couch and nailing her.
The days away would give him a break. It’d give her time to think, too. He wanted to give her space. This little plan of his wasn’t about crowding her—it was about making her realize that she still wanted him after all. And if that meant he’d have to forego a few nights of kissing?
He’d just have to masturbate a hell of a lot to make up for it.
Or work. He supposed he could do that. He grabbed his laptop off his nightstand and logged into his email. Even though he’d recently hired a new CEO that was good at taking things off of his plate, he still needed to check in now and then.
And then he’d masturbate to thoughts of Greer.
***
Gretchen: So I’m thinking about wedding flowers. You busy?
Greer: Not too busy. What’s up?
Gretchen: Are roses for the wedding too cliche?
Greer: Not at all.
Gretchen: Oh, good. Because you know Hunter has a thing for roses. It would just make things pretty special for us.
Greer: Not a problem, we could do some nice arrangements.
Gretchen: Okay, so I was thinking of one particular rose.
Greer: Hey, so what do you think it means when you make out with a guy and he leaves town the next day?
Gretchen: The rose “Blue Girl” has a special meaning for us, so I was thinking that one.
Gretchen: Wait, wait.
Gretchen: BACK THE FUCK UP.
Gretchen: Did you just say you made out with a guy and then he left town?
Greer: Is that bad?
Gretchen: Pretty sure it ain’t good! So who did you make out with? And are we talking like, fourth base or first base?
Greer: First! Jeez Gretchen!
Gretchen: Don’t get all huffy with me, missy! You’re the one that’s knocked up.
Greer: Good point.
Gretchen: You gonna tell me who it was?
Greer: Asher, duh.
Gretchen: I . . . thought you hated each other.
Greer: I’m experimenting in hate fucks?
Gretchen: I AM SO CALLING YOU. Also, Blue Girl roses. Remember that.
Greer’s phone rang a moment later, followed by an incomprehensible stream of squealing and babbling from Gretchen’s side. She held the phone away from her ear for a moment, waiting for her friend to calm down.
“Well?” Gretchen prompted after a moment of silence.
“Well what? What do you want to know?”
“Why is it you hate the guy and are oven-ing his bun but you’re hate-fucking him? There’s a disconnect somewhere around here that I am just not getting.”
Greer sighed. “I still hate him. And it’s part of a deal we made. I fool around with him this month and he gives up all parental rights to the baby.”
There was a long pause on the other end.
“Hello?” Greer said into the receiver. “You still there?”
“My brain just temporarily short-circuited at the thought of Asher giving up all rights to his own kid. Why the hell would he do that?”
“Because he doesn’t want to be a dad?”
“Oh please. Like anyone wakes up in the morning and thinks, wow, I’d really like to change someone’s shitty diapers for the next eighteen years!”
“Diapers for eighteen years?”
“Slight exaggeration, but you know what I mean. No one’s ever ready to be a parent, but when there’s a baby on the way, you sack up and take care of things.” A wistful note entered her voice. “I’m just shocked Asher’s bailing out.”
“It was my idea.” And she was not going to feel guilty about it, damn it.
“You don’t even want child support?”
“Why would I? I have millions of my own.”