I’m sitting at my desk when the text comes just after 5 o'clock. There's a little flip in my stomach when I see the notification. What will he say? Are we still going to do this? I open the app to see.

Hi, I'm sorry that it's been a few days. I got a cold, and I didn't want to give it to you. If you're still interested in meeting up, would tonight or tomorrow work for you?

Oh my God. This is real. I'm going to do this. A thrill of excitement and terror runs through me. And even as nervous as I am, I want to do this as soon as possible.

Tonight is great.

The little text bubble of him typing appears at the bottom of the screen, and I wait, chewing on my lip.

Here's the address. I figured someplace more private would be better for something like this.

I quickly Google the address and find that it's an upscale apartment building on the Upper West Side. That's fine with me. I’d expected to be doing this in a relatively low budget hotel room. this is a nice surprise.

Thanks, that's nice of you.

I thought you might be less nervous if it weren't at one of our apartments. And since you said you wanted to keep this as businesslike as possible, I thought it might help with that as well.

I'm surprised at how well he's managed to read my mind just now. Of course, I suddenly have a tinge of doubt. I'm about to meet up to have sex with a stranger. In a location that I do not know. What if he's dangerous? What if I'm walking into a trap?

I shake my head. Everybody on the app has been extensively vetted. Just don't be stupid. I quickly text Ellen and tell her where I'm going. The only thing she sends back is a string of eggplant emojis and I roll my eyes even though I'm laughing.

What time should I be there?

Seven?

Works for me.

I close Heartility and gather my things, time to go home and decide what to wear to make a baby.

* * *

It was harder than I thought to decide what to wear. Again, my traditional dating instincts wanted to kick in and I was tempted to wear cute underwear and a cute outfit. But that isn't exactly necessary, sex is guaranteed on this 'date.' But at the same time, I don't want this guy to think that I don't care, or that I don’t appreciate what he's doing for me. So I ended up going somewhere in the middle. A bra and panty set that is cute and makes me look put together without being too sexy, combined with skinny jeans and a cute top.

I feel like I'm bouncing the entire way on the subway. Bouncing with nervous energy, with excitement, and with hope. If I'm very, very lucky, I might be pregnant. I could become a mother in nine months. No matter how many times I tell myself not to get my hopes up, I can feel that it's absolutely not working.

I want this to happen.

The apartment building I approach is even nicer than my Google search made it out to be. There's a doorman, and when I tell him my name and which apartment I'm going to, he waves me right to the elevator.

The hallway I step into is plush, with deep green walls and a lovely golden carpet. The apartment is at the end and I have to fight down the butterflies I feel in my stomach as I approached the door.

Just like we agreed, the handle turns when I try the door. And then I step into luxury. The apartment is sleek and modern, decorated in shades of white and silver. All the lights are on, and it seems warm and inviting. I glance into a couple of doorways and see a kitchen that's absolutely to die for with marble and stainless steel and an island big enough to prepare a feast on. There's also a living room that looks cozy and comfortable despite the modern decor. But I don't see my mystery man, not yet.

"Hello?"

"Hello."

My stomach drops. Not because I'm about to meet a stranger to sleep with, but because his voice sounds so much like a voice I know. The voice comes from behind me, and I turn, and when I do the floor falls out from underneath me.

Christian.

It's Christian.

Christian is here in this apartment, standing right in front of me.

A million things go through my head at once. There's a spark of joy, seeing him. And then anger. But the thing that rings out in my brain above all the rest is why on earth is he here? "What the hell is this?"

The little smirk that crosses Christian’s face is both a welcome sight and one that makes me burn with fury. "If I'm not mistaken, we're both here to try to get you pregnant."

"I'm not here to do that with you."

"Sure you are."

I have to walk away from him. I stalk into the kitchen, looking for a glass. I need some water. "You're telling me, that you knew it was me all along, and you chose not to tell me that?"

Christian stays in the doorway of the kitchen leaning against it and looking so fucking attractive I find myself even more angry. "I didn't message you first," he says. "You messaged me. So I guess it must be fate."

I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts. "After everything, I can't believe that you would do this. You of all people know how much I want a child. The fact that you would play with that—"

“Why do you think I'm here? It's not so that I could lure you to an apartment that I rented and then not get you pregnant."

I don't say anything. What I should really be doing is walking out the door right now. But I find a pitcher of water in the fridge, and pour myself a glass. Then I go to the living room and kick off my shoes and curl up in a corner of the couch. I haven't decided what I'm going to do yet, so I'm going to sit here until I do.

Christian follows me, sitting on a chair across the room. "You still want a baby right?"

"Of course I do, asshole."

"Then nothing has really changed."

"Of course it has, Christian."

"How?"

I try to think of an answer that's good enough, and I come up short. If I were being absolutely literal, then no, nothing has changed. He still has the ability to get me pregnant. But I don't know if I'm able to overcome our history together.

When I don't say anything, Christian stands. He comes over to the couch and sits near me. My body perks up in spite of myself. Christian and I never lacked chemistry, and I know just how talented he is in the bedroom. Just being next to him has my body aching for the way he used to touch me.

"Audrey, let's think this through."

I do my best not to laugh in his face. "Please, enlighten me with your thoughts."

To his credit, he ignores the poison in my words. "I know that you don't like me, but —"

"I don't not like you," I say. "I hate you."

"But what I did back then was a mistake."

I sit up, putting my water glass down on the coffee table. "A mistake? I asked you to consider children and marriage after three years of dating, which caused you to go get plastered and tell a bar full of people that you didn't in fact want any of those things with me. That you couldn’t believe that I had even asked. Then I never heard from you again. That's a mistake? No, Christian. That's not a mistake. That's taking a three-year relationship and dropping a nuclear bomb on it."

Christian grows quiet. He doesn't say anything for a few minutes, but then, slowly, he reaches for my hand. He doesn't take it, simply runs his fingers over the back of my hand. The way he does it, so gently, reminds me of the person I used to think he was. I hate that the simple touch of his hand has my nipples hard and my skin growing goosebumps. I hate that after this long I still want him with every fiber of my being. That, more than anything, means I should walk away. But I don't know if I can.

Finally, Christian says, "I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted. But I don't think you should throw this chance away just because you hate me. You know me, you can trust me in this."

"Why should I trust you at all?"

"Because whether or not you hate me, I'm a man of my word." I open my mouth to protest and he cuts me off. “Say what you will about my behavior, but I never broke any promises to you."

As much as I want to argue in rage against that fact, it's true. He never agreed to marry me or give me children, he never let us get that far.

Christian continues to stroke my hand, and I don't like that it's working. My body is relaxing, my mind growing into the idea of sleeping with him. The part of my brain that's trying to rationalize this is whispering 'just this one time.'

He leans in, pressing his lips against my ear. It makes me shiver. "Let me help you."

"We shouldn't."

"Because you hate me? Or because you don't?"

I shake my head. "Because it's complicated.”

"It's not," he says. "I know you. I know what you like. I know what you don't like. I know how to fuck you to make you scream. And we both know an orgasm helps you get pregnant.”

"That's not a proven theory."

“Does it matter? It could help. And there's one thing I can guarantee, none of the other anonymous men on that app already know how to make you come."

I hate that he's right, and I hate that I'm considering this. However, as angry as I am, this is better than being with a stranger. "Fine," I say

Without hesitation, Christian reaches out and cups the back of my neck to pull me in for a kiss. It's rough, with enough power to have my body going liquid. God, Christian can kiss. He's always been able to kiss, and it's one of the things I always loved about him. But kissing him takes me back to when we were happy, and I can't afford to forget where we really are.

It kills me, but I pull away. “If we're going to do this," I say, "you don't get to kiss me."

Christian looks surprised. "So I can fuck you but I can't kiss you?"

"Businesslike, remember? We're not a couple. And as much fun as this may turn out to be, it's not meant to be romantic."

"Fair enough," he says, but he doesn't look happy about it.

"Give me five minutes," I say, and I walk into the bedroom.