“Octavia, I can’t stand this cold treatment. I said I was sorry. I didn’t think you were going to fling yourself on me, so I wasn’t . . . er . . . ready to go, so to speak.”
I pulled myself out of the reverie that had claimed me and looked across the cab at Jack. “You’re sorry about what?”
He frowned. “What do you think? You’ve been sitting there pouting because I forgot the damned c****m earlier, and I don’t know what else to say other than I won’t leave you if you get pregnant because of it.”
“Pregnant? Oh. I suppose that’s possible, yes,” I said, considering that idea. “I don’t think it’s likely to happen, though.”
“You’re not worried about getting pregnant?” Jack asked, looking confused. He ran his hand through his hair, a gesture that always threatened to make my knees turn to jel
