Thin Ice (Power Play Series Book #2)

Chapter Thirty-Four × Making a Baby

Relationships fail, and nobody really knows why. Despite the latest technologies and being able to fly to the moon and back if you're a billionaire, nobody seems to have cracked this conundrum. Maybe it's because there's a trillion dollar industry centered around them, and their lack of.

Relationship experts with YouTube channels that claim they can help you prevent your man from cheating on you; therapists that charge hundreds of dollars just to listen to you talk and give you a generic worksheet they printed off of Google; and talk show hosts, that watch and listen to your stories like they're backseat quarterbacks and then - fittingly so, provide their sometimes unsolicited and sometimes asked for, opinion.

So, why do they fail? My theory - a plethora of reasons. Just like everyone else in the world, I have no set answer, only ones that I can theorize and guess from my own past experiences and watching the people around me.

Mismatched libidos', the inability to make your girlfriend orgasm, the lack of desire to give your husband or boyfriend a threesome, or make your marriage into a clown circus on wheels - aka a trouple.

Mismatched intentions and desires - of the non-sexual kind. One person wants three kids, a picket fence, and a dog; the other wants to travel the world and remain child-free. And somehow, you believe that the power of love will be able to solve all of your problems. That just because you get his dick hard, you'll be together forever and ever.

Well, I hate to be the barer of bad news, but you're wrong.

Sure, Rosie's the first girl I've ever been in a serious relationship with - and the last, if I have anything to do with it. Not in some possessive, if I can't have you then no one can, kill you when you're sleeping, kind-of-way; but the kind where I'm willing to put in the work. I'm willing to put in the grind and do the work that any long-lasting relationship takes.

I'm willing to try; and that ladies and gentlemen, is what so many people miss.

"I shouldn't have overreacted." Rosie says, after a moment of pondering my apology like she's both judge and jury - which I guess she kind of is. My brother likes to praise the omen "happy wife, happy life" and while I may not believe that one person should always hold all the power in the relationship, I do believe that in order to resolve conflict, you have to be willing to see conflict from a new point of view.

Then again, I'm also the guy that argues with the barista at Starbucks when they don't put enough ice in Rosie's drink; so, maybe I am her bitch. If so, I am a happy one.

"It's just...it's been a long day." She finally says, deciding the best way to wrap up us waking up at 4:00am, flying across the country, and being pelted to death by questions from my parents, is to phrase it like just a long shift. I guess it's true; it's been a long day. I don't think that necessarily leaves me off the hook for trying to tell my girlfriend what to wear, but I'll take it.

It's not like I was trying to tell her what to wear because I want to control her or become some crazy abusive boyfriend and am looking to do some tests to determine if she's a willing subject. I honestly just love seeing her in my stuff - and I know she's comfortable in it. I know her body has the tendency to sweat like a monk in a strip club when she's sleeping; and wearing one of my t-shirts (with no pants, sometimes no underwear - if I'm lucky), helps with that.

But still, it doesn't give me any right or authority or gall to try and dictate the outfit choices of her. If she wanted to wear a parka to bed, then I should respect that. And for that, I do genuinely feel like shit. I know she's been in some fucked up situations before with guys and I don't want her to ever think I'll be like that. Because I won't.

"I still shouldn't have tried to tell you what to wear." I state, feeling relieved that she's talking to me again; that she's willing to be in my presence. Hell, she came all the way from my bedroom to this basement freezer; so, if that's not telling you she's willing to put in the work, I don't know what will.

Still, I appreciate that she needs me just as much as I need her. It makes me feel slightly less like a whiny bitch when I realize how whipped I am.

"It's ok." She tells me, seeming to notice the way I feel genuinely bad. She looks over at me and for the first time since we started this conversation, doesn't look away after a few seconds. She's still looking at me; and now, glancing at my mouth. Fuck. "We're both just tired."

That is true; what's also true is that I could be sleep deprived and living off of Redbull and coffee after not sleeping for a week, and would still want to make love to her. Which is what I really want to do right now; have some really nice, really hot, make-up sex. Nothing says sorry like eating someone out - or fingering them while kissing their neck in my case. Unless she actually lets me eat her out this time, which is doubtful. But one day.

Maybe when I'm a grandpa. But one day.

Now would definitely not be the right time to jump her bones, right? Sitting in the freezer make-shift basement, about five feet away from my nieces play set? That's definitely not the right call. I think.

"I'm glad you came down." I tell her, leaning over and pulling her into a hug. I love the way she smells: like lilacs, and vanilla, and everything beautiful and right in this world. She smells like a home cooked meal after a long day at work; like your bed after you've been camping for two weeks and haven't showered; she smells like home and comfort.

When her arms wrap around my shoulders and I know she's officially forgiven me, I feel such a wave of relief. "I hate fighting." I murmur, soothing the back of her head and hair by the process. It's wet, so I guess she ended up taking a shower - without me. But focus on the kid's stroller nearby, Erik. Don't think about her in the shower. Because although I'm usually all up for a Rosie fantasy (both literally and figuratively), I would like to get some sleep tonight.

"Me too." She says, hugging me back and letting us remain for a few minutes, before pulling away. She glances at me for a second too long when we're pulling away from each other and all logic and plan goes out the window; I now only have one thing on my mind.

"What time is it?" I wonder, using my hand to cup the side of her face. She's looking at my mouth and I know she's thinking the same thing - just not saying it. I could glance at the digital clock underneath the TV, the one from the PVR, but that would include looking away from her.

And now, enveloped in the warmth and beauty of her green eyes and beautiful face, I never intend on ever letting it go. At least, not until she forces us to both go to bed - hopefully, clothing will be optional.

"I think almost four." Her mouth is right there; her lips slightly parted and I can only watch as her tongue peaks out, running slightly over them. "I think." She adds, even though she just said that; but I guess not being able to think when we're together is something we both have in common. Not being able to think clearly, anyway.

I'm leaning in, slightly; I don't even realize it until our noses are touching. It feels like a delicate dance, a teasing that I've been waiting all day to make good on. "So we have some time." I say, my eyes not leaving her mouth once as I say it. Her breathing's getting a little heavier, and I can feel my own heartrate go from relaxed from making up to excited for potentially making out - or as I would like to, making a baby.

Not an actual baby, but you know, practicing for one.

"For what?" She asks, the question coming a few seconds later than normal. She's distracted; just as distracted as I am. But instead of answering her question with words; I decide to find another way - I lean forward.