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Waking Up Married(3)

By:Mira Lyn Kelly



That it was her womb they were battling over was of as little     consequence as the fact that Megan already had a plan and she was sticking to     it.

“Um...the fun comes nine months later,” Jodie snipped back.     “All tiny and new, wearing one of those little nursery beanies...and without any     of the communicable side effects on offer with your     plan...”

Tina’s plan, as Megan understood it, revolved around the     T-shirt—hot off the silk screen and sporting the slogan GOT SPERM?—folded neatly     on the cocktail table between them.

“I mean, seriously, who’s to say this total, random stranger     enticed by your thirteen-dollar custom call for baby batter isn’t attempting to     walk off the early stages of Ebola or worse? Casual, unprotected sex is stupid.     And you’re trying to talk Megan into it. For God sake, why don’t you pick up a     knife and stab her.”

Turning the glass upside down, Megan watched as a single last     drop of martini goodness slid to the rim. Catching it with her tongue, she hoped     the cocktail waitress would take her action as the plea for help it was and     bring a refill. Fast.

“You’re such a prude. It’s pathetic.”

Eesh.

“What I am is too much of a lady to     say what you are.”

“Girls, please,” Megan interjected before the volley of barbs     got any more intense. “I totally appreciate you two looking out for me this     way.” Okay, she was stretching the truth, but somehow her tongue let her get     away with it. Honestly, she’d have rather been of such little interest they both     got her name wrong all weekend and ignored her through dinner. But courtesy of     her mother’s propensity to spill secrets, the family grapevine had guaranteed     her Vegas arrival for cousin Gail’s wedding was met with a tempest of polarizing     opinion regarding her decision to undergo artificial insemination in two months’     time. “Tina, I love—really love—this T-shirt, but the only place it’s going is     into my scrapbook. And, Jodie, thank you for the support but—”

Jodie’s hand came up, cutting her off. “I don’t, really.     Support what you’ve decided to do. You ought to wait to find a husband like the     rest of us.”

Images of Barry and the two years they’d dated flashed through     her mind, threatening to suck her into a vortex of churning emotions she     wouldn’t allow herself to surrender to. Shame, embarrassment, anger and helpless     frustration.

“Megan, I swear I didn’t even realize it         myself. Not until right that minute...and suddenly I knew. I’d never stopped         loving her.”

She wasn’t going there again, wasn’t wasting another precious     second on the man who’d left for a conference talking about starting a family     with her and then come home married to someone else.

Spine stiffening, she reined herself in.

She didn’t need Barry.

She didn’t need any man to have the child she’d always     wanted—well, at least not for more than five minutes of quality time with a     plastic cup.

Jodie sighed, a faraway look settling over her features. “Wait     for your Prince Charming and you’ll have someone to share your special moment in     the nursery, making it all the sweeter.”

“Well, actually,” Megan started, but Jodie wasn’t finished.

“You’re what’s wrong with our society. I mean, life isn’t about     getting everything you want the instant you want it. Some things are worth     waiting for. That said, in a toss-up between bedding down with the next patient     zero or hitting the drive-thru for prescreened sperm...I’ll back the bank.”

Megan felt the telling wash of heat rush through her cheeks,     but thinking about Gail and what kind of wedding she’d have if all three of her     bridesmaids were at each other’s throats, she tamped it down. “Okay. Well, thank     you...for your thoughts on the issue.”

Tina’s less-than-delicate snort sounded from beside her, and     Megan craned her neck in search of their waitress. Only, rather than the leggy     server with the no-nonsense attitude, she found her attention snared by the man     walking past their table. Hand raised in casual greeting, mahogany eyes fixed on     someone across the room, he was tall, dark and handsome in the most traditional     sense. Broad and tapered, chiseled and cut. All clean lines and classic good     looks. The balanced symmetry of him so flawless, it might have made him     bland.

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