At work the next day, I’m sitting at my desk, looking at baby pictures again to try and make myself feel better when Megan passes by.

She sighs loudly to let me know she’s there. I look up at her. She already saw the pictures I was looking at, so there’s no sense in trying to hide them.

“Did the pregnancy not take?” she says.

She thinks that’s why I’m sad, but it’s not. I’ll let her think that because it’s too difficult to explain the real reason. I don’t want to give her the details and let her know that the man I’d been partnered with was a criminal—and worst of all, that I still have feelings for him despite all that I know of his past. Those kinds of details might make her question her own baby maker. Right now she’s happily married with a child on the way. I’m not going to take that from her.

“No, it didn’t. I got my period.”

“I’m sorry, but it will happen next time. Mosaic won’t give up until it takes. Maybe she can find you another guy with stronger swimmers.”

I cringe. I don’t want another guy. I want Chaucer. I can’t even imagine going into one of those rooms and trying to make a baby with someone else. All I would do is think about him the entire time and wish it were him in my bed instead. I can’t do that. If I’m going to make a baby, it needs to be with someone I love and want to spend my life with. Joining the club was a mistake.

“You need to get out,” Megan says. She claps her hands and gets all excited. “There’s a new bar on the edge of town with live music. We should go tonight.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You want to go to a bar?”

She rolls her eyes and looks down at her swollen belly. “Obviously not to drink. But there’s a band there that I like, and Nathan and I have been saying we need a night on the town before this baby comes and ruins our social life. It will be fun.”

Getting out and getting my mind off of Chaucer for a change really does sound fun. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

She squeals with excitement. “Wear something sexy—I’m talking tight and practically see-through—maybe we can get you laid and pregnant without the help of the club.”

I laugh. Though I’m not ready to have sex with someone else right now, I say, “Okay.

* * *

People look at Megan strangely when we walk into the bar. Her pregnant belly is through the door before she is. She doesn’t seem to mind, though. Nathan orders her a cranberry juice at the bar and a Long Island iced tea for me. He’s not drinking either, but I have no intentions of staying sober tonight. I want to drink my problems away and dance all night.

The band is really good and plays a mix of originals and covers of some of my favorite songs. The alcohol hits my blood stream with full force and I’m feeling pretty good. I dance with a really good-looking guy, but I find myself comparing him to Chaucer, who is much taller and thicker through the chest. With Chaucer I would have to stand on my toes to wrap my arms around his neck. This man, while he does smell nice, his scent doesn’t make me automatically smile and swoon. When the man starts getting too close, I back away. I’m just not into it. I apologize to him and leave the dance floor.

Megan is at a table, singing along with the band and guarding our drinks. I drain my glass and I’m ready for another.

“You guys want anything?” I yell above the music.

“Nothing for me,” Megan says, swaying as the music shifts to a slower song. She’s adorable, all big and pregnant and dancing. Her husband thinks so too. He can’t keep his hands off of her. I’m jealous. I want what they have. It hurts to watch them.

“Me neither,” Nathan says. “Actually, I’m getting tired. I think I should probably get home.”

“Yeah, me too,” Megan says.

I laugh. “You two aren’t fooling me. I know exactly what you two are going home to do.”

Megan giggles. “Busted.”

“You two go enjoy the rest of your night. I’m not quite ready to leave yet. I’ll find my own way home.”

“Are you sure?” Megan says with concern. “You seemed really upset today. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I’m fine. I’m actually having fun for a change.” It’s not true but I don’t want her to worry about me. “If I go home now, I’ll just sulk the rest of the night.”

“Okay, but if you need anything, you just let me know. And text when you get home so I know you’re all right.”

“I will.”

She hugs me. When she pulls away she has a smile on her face. “And no calling in sick with a hangover. I can’t get through the workday without you.”

“I’ll be there, hangover and all. Nothing a few aspirin and a thermos of water won’t cure.”

She looks skeptical. “We’ll see about that.”

When they leave, I head toward the bar to get myself another drink. People bump into me. I’m like a ping-pong ball being tossed around, but it doesn’t really bother me. My mind is somewhere else. Back in that room at the club. A small and happy universe of its own, until reality shattered the dream. I hate that I can’t keep him out of my thoughts.

About halfway to the bar I stop dead in my tracks. Blinking, I try to clear my vision. Did that one Long Island iced tea get me so drunk I’m starting to seeing things? I know I’m a lightweight, but I’ve never hallucinated before. I rub my eyes—probably smearing my eye makeup all over my face—but it’s not a hallucination or a mirage. Sitting at the bar, with another man, is Chaucer.

I scramble to hide around the corner.

The man he’s with is attractive with light hair and dark eyes. Both men have a similar build and could be runway models for Calvin Klein. But all I can focus on is Chaucer. They’re deep in conversation, talking over tumblers of what looks like whiskey neat. Women surround them and toss glances their way, but the two men are deep in conversation and aren’t paying attention to anyone around them. I wonder if that’s the man who called Chaucer while we were together. Chaucer has that same strained look on his face as he did when he was on the phone.

I move to get a closer look, but when I do, I bump into a woman by the bar and knock her drink out of her hand. Glass shatters on the ground and people scatter to get away from it. When I look back up at Chaucer, he’s not on his stool. I scan the crowd and see that he’s heading my way. I don’t think he saw me, but I can’t risk it. I dip around the corner again. When I peek around to take another look, he’s heading straight toward me.

Shit.

I quickly make my way into the bathroom. As soon as I shut the door behind me I spot the urinals, and I realize I’ve taken cover in the men’s bathroom. Shit! This is probably where he’s heading. My heart is a jackhammer pounding in my ears and I feel sickened by the floral scent of urinal cakes. Men aren’t the cleanest bunch and I’m afraid to touch anything around me.

There’s no one else in here, so I duck into one of the three stalls and shut the door. I watch through the cracks of the door as Chaucer enters the room. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt like most of the men in this bar, yet somehow he stands out and looks high-end. Seeing him again makes me excited and heart-broken at the same time. Could this really be the same man from the articles I read on the internet? A thief, and possibly a killer? I like to think I’m a good judge of character. I didn’t pick up on anything nefarious from Chaucer. He seemed so genuine. Maybe that’s just because we were in bed together most of the time. If we had met at a bar instead, would I still have thought the same? It was easy to trust him because he was supposed to be vetted by Mosaic’s club. Now I don’t know what to think.

I didn’t think I would ever see him again. I was determined to make a clean break with the baby-making club and him. I wasn’t looking back. But now that he’s right in front of me, all I want to do is reach out and touch him. I realize in this moment just how much I’ve missed him. I want so badly to say something to him, but what? And more importantly, why? There’s no future for us.

He goes to the sink and washes his hands. As soon as the water turns off and the room is silent, my phone chirps.

I suck in a breath and plaster myself against wall. The walls are grimy and disgusting, but right now I really don’t care. This isn’t good. If he looks under the door of the stall he’ll see a pair of high heels. I climb up on the toilet and hover there. He doesn’t make a sound. I can’t see him from here. I’m holding my breath, waiting to see what happens next. Then the bathroom door opens and I hear the sound of footsteps leaving.

I take in a deep breath and step off of the toilet. That was close. Now I have to exit the bar and pay my tab without running into him. This should be interesting.

As I leave the bathroom, I realize how ridiculous it is to worry about him seeing me. It’s not like I followed him here. I’m not breaking the rules if we run into each other by accident outside of the baby-making club. We live in the same city; it’s bound to happen to someone at some point.

I relax a little and head toward the bar. If he even notices me, I’ll say hello, and it won’t be a big deal. Now that I’ve given into the idea of seeing him again, I’m more excited—nervous, but excited. I need to act surprised when I see him—but not too surprised or he’ll know I’m lying.

My hands are shaking with nervous energy as I approach the bar. My mind is a tornado of different things I could say to him, excuses as to why I haven’t confirmed future appointments. I start to think it wouldn’t be so bad if I saw him and we struck up a conversation. Maybe I could get a little background on the awful stories I read about him. What would it hurt to discover he isn’t the bad guy as portrayed in the news? As I get closer to the bar, the idea of seeing him again makes my cheeks flush and I can feel the smile forming on my lips.

But when I get to the bar, he’s not there. Neither is his friend. I scan the bar from the front door to the back, where the pool tables are lined up. No sight of him. They must have left. My heart sinks. I’m so stupid for getting my hopes up. I tell myself that maybe this is for the best. But it doesn’t feel like it.

Once I’ve paid my tab, I go home and flop on the couch and feel sorry for myself, drowning my sorrows in double fudge brownie ice cream and kick myself for not saying something to him when I had the chance.