“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Maybe. I’m a wild child, remember? Just living down to my reputation.” She slid off her shoes, curled her legs under her and moved closer, pressing her body against the solid strength of his.
Unlike her, his body hadn’t changed much in the past decade. Greg believed exercise helped control mood and set an example to the community by spending time in the gym and running on the beach. As a result his body was as good as it had been at eighteen.
Jenna still found him really attractive, but if she was honest unbridled lust wasn’t what drove most of their sexual encounters these days.
“Let’s go to bed.”
He turned his head and looked at her quizzically. “It’s not the right time of the month for you to get pregnant, is it?”
Did he really think that was the only reason she’d suggest it?
She felt a flash of guilt, and that guilt was intensified by the knowledge that she’d done those calculations too. And he was right, it was the wrong time of the month. But sometimes sperm hung around, didn’t it? Or maybe her ovaries would be so excited they’d pop out an egg spontaneously. At least having sex meant there was a possibility she could get pregnant. If they didn’t have sex, there was no possibility.
“It’s not the right time for me to get pregnant, but that’s not the only reason to have sex.”
“Isn’t it?” He spoke so softly she wondered if she’d misheard.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Only that lately that’s all you think about.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again.
Greg had been the only guy she’d ever kissed (she didn’t count that one session behind the bike sheds with Nick Jones because that had been part of a dare). Sex had changed over time. Being with him didn’t give her the same dizzying thrill she’d had when they’d first got together (take that, Mom. Saint Greg and I had sex before we were married), but in many ways it was better. Familiar. Intimate.
As he deepened the kiss, his other arm came round her waist and Jenna tried to suck in her stomach, regretting the cupcake she’d eaten at breakfast. She shifted closer to him and felt something hard dig into her hip. “Is that your phone?”
“No it’s my giant penis and the reason you married me.” There was laughter in his voice as he nuzzled her neck but she shoved him away.
“Wait! Greg—why is it in your pocket?”
“My penis?”
“Your phone!”
He sighed and eased away a little. “Because that’s where I always carry my phone. Where else would it be?”
“Anywhere else! You’re supposed to be keeping your testicles cool and your phone out of your pocket. We agreed.”
Greg swore under his breath and released her. “This is crazy, Jenna! Next you’ll be asking me to see clients in my boxer shorts.”
“That’s a great idea. Could you do that? I’m kidding,” she said hastily. “Of course I don’t expect you to do that. You’re overreacting. Although if you sat behind a desk I guess you could—”
“No I could not! You’re obsessed.”
“I am not obsessed! I’m focused, which is not the same as obsessed. Focused is good. Focused gets things done.”
He eased away from her. “Jenna, getting pregnant is all you think about. We don’t talk about anything except babies.”
“That’s not true.” Was that true?
“When was the last time we talked about something not sex or baby related? And I don’t count talking about your mother.”
“Over dinner.” She smiled triumphantly. “I didn’t mention babies once. We talked about decorating the upstairs bedroom.”
“Because you want to turn it into a nursery, even though you’re not pregnant.”
Oops. Guilty as charged. “Last week we had that long conversation about politics.”