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She glared. Quent laughed. “Don’t worry. I promise not to mention corporal punishment in our talk.”
“Good.” After a moment’s consideration, she said, “I think it’s okay for us to have differing opinions as long as we agree on the main issues.”
“Sounds good to me,” he said. “When are we giving these talks?”
“Saturday morning, if you’re free.” Amy had forgotten to mention the short notice. “I know it’s the Thanksgiving holiday, but most of the girls will be there.”
“No problem. I’m on duty, so I’ll be around,” Quent said. “The department has some charts I can use.”
“Great!”
Amy was glad to get the matter settled. Quent looked so appealing with his blond hair ruffled and his polo shirt clinging to his chest that she had a hard time thinking about the presentation.
If there’d been a couch, she would have been tempted to push him onto it. But the very thought of trying to curl against him in the awkwardness of a recliner suggested a humorous rather than amorous result.
“So how many kids do you want to have?” Quent asked.
Surprised by the question, Amy lost her concentration and served the ball into the net. “Why do you assume I want kids?”
“When you were staring at those babies at the birthing center, you had a look on your face like…like…”
“Like what?”
“Like you wanted to hold one in your arms.”
“Sure. They’re cute. Big deal.” The last thing she wanted was for him or anyone to feel sorry for her. So what if she hadn’t been able to make her dreams come true? There was plenty of time left.
Yet for some reason, she served the ball so hard it nearly missed the table. It chipped off the edge at an angle and shot by him.
“Foul!” Quent called as he went after the ball.
“It is not!” She refused to concede, even though she suspected he was right. Besides, they weren’t supposed to be playing for real.
“It was over the line.”
“There is no line.” The table, which he must have bought secondhand, had faded. Amy saw nothing wrong with using that fact to her advantage.
“Everybody knows there’s a line.” Quent returned to his place. “However, I’ll concede if you answer my question.”
“Which question?”
“How many children do you want?”
“I never thought beyond one,” she said.
One child to hold in her arms. One cradle to rock. One tiny pair of upraised arms and one little face gazing at her lovingly. It seemed like a whole universe.
To Amy’s annoyance, his serve whizzed past her. The man had an annoying way of distracting her.
“One?” Quent shook his head, which made his glasses slip lower. “I picture you as an earth mother. Three or four at least.”
“Then I’d better start soon. Not tonight, however,” she added in case he misinterpreted her remark.
Quent reddened. “I wasn’t implying that you should. I hadn’t even thought that far.”
It was time to quit dancing around the obvious. “Don’t tell me you haven’t had sex on your mind since we nearly got beaned by that palm tree,” Amy said. “Well, get over it.”
“How about you?” he demanded. “You’ve been thinking about it, too, or you wouldn’t have mentioned it.”
Too late, she saw the trap she’d set for herself by raising the issue. It would be unthinkable to tell the truth about her lack of experience and how much making love would mean to her. Instead, she said, “You’re my buddy. We’d both regret it if we yielded to impulse.”
“I’m not so sure,” Quent said. “Maybe we ought to go ahead and get it out of our systems.”
His words stung. Was it possible that making love, which would turn her life upside down, would cure Quent of any feelings for her whatsoever?
Although he didn’t seem like the cruel type, Amy knew that men sometimes behaved coldheartedly toward the women they’d “conquered.” The prospect was too painful to contemplate.
Struggling to keep her tone light, she said, “I don’t know when I’ve received such a romantic offer. Who needs flowers, wine and trips to Tahiti when a man whispers in your ear—what was that again?— ‘Let’s get it out of our systems.”’
Quent had the grace to look ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”
“Apology accepted.”
“I don’t mean to be pushy,” he went on, “but it’s hard on a guy, knowing how great you must be, imagining all the things you can teach me.”
What on earth was he talking about? Amy supposed she should order an advanced sex manual on the Internet and find out. Even if she did, however, she still wouldn’t know how to put it into practice.
If only she dared level with him. But she’d grown up with guys and knew how he would react. Men didn’t sympathize about stuff like being a virgin. Quent would tease her mercilessly, and Amy, for all her apparent self-confidence, was sensitive on the subject.
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