“But I can take care of you once you’re done taking care of him,” he says, reaching out and running his hand along the side of my abdomen. The offer is distinctly sexual, and it frustrates me that this is where his mind is while our son is upstairs and sick. “Drew, this isn’t the time. Graham’s sick.” “Yeah, but you feel like crap too. And once you’ve got him back to bed, I can still be here to take care of you.”
