Mister Daddy: A Second Chance Secret Baby Romance

by Adams, S. C.

  My clothes are all sorted and carefully placed in their new homes for the week, so I settle on the lumpy couch and flip on the TV.

  “Be careful,” Caitlyn warns. “There’s a movie channel, and whatever you start watching, you have to finish.”

  I furrow my brows at her. “Do they charge you if you turn it off or something?”

  She laughs. “No, but you start watching and then you get hooked, no matter what the movie is. Jess and I ended up sitting for two hours to finish some animated kids’ movie last year because we watched the first five minutes and couldn’t pull ourselves away. Can you imagine? We paid so much money to come aboard, and we spent all this time watching a movie we could have caught on land.”

  I want to say that won’t happen to me, but I’ve been known to get hooked on new episodes of sci-fi TV shows after just a couple of minutes. And I don’t even like sci-fi, which is the crazy part.

  “I’ll stick to something else then,” is my saucy retort.

  I skip over the movie and TV channels to find something interesting. One channel is a fake blue ocean with a red arrow and a tiny ship, tracking our progress. This seems like a good option. We probably won’t get invested in watching the ship move on TV when we can look out the window and see it happen in real life.

  Jess finishes her shower and finally, it’s my turn. The glass enclosure is so tight that my shoulders and hips almost touch both sides of the stall. But oh well. Good thing I’m not claustrophobic.

  My hair is fine, so I leave it up in a bun and focus on cleaning just my body. There’s no shelf or seat in the shower, so shaving is impossible. It’ll probably be easier to use the toilet seat lid, or hoist my leg onto the counter than to shave in here. That can wait until tomorrow, anyway. I’m too lazy and tired to groom tonight.

  After my quick shower, I get dressed in Bermuda shorts and a tank top. I prefer comfort over cuteness pretty much always. Jessica and Caitlyn hate it because I’m always the girl in jeans at the club. They always tell me I’d be “so pretty” if I’d just work a tiny mini-dress like them, preferably one covered with sparkles and sequins. But I always demur because dressing sexy makes me feel so not me. It makes me feel really uncomfortable, and in general, I don’t like to be the center of attention.

  “What are we up to next?” I ask as I exit the bathroom.

  Jessica and Caitlyn sit facing each other on their beds, relishing the last bit of phone service they’ll have before we get further from land. We agreed upfront that we wouldn’t buy any service plans during the cruise. This trip is about connecting with each other and disconnecting from everyone else.

  “I was thinking we’d get the lay of the land,” Caitlyn says. “Er, ship, that is. Explore a bit, and check out the different restaurants and shops. After that, I don’t know.”

  Jessica grins at both of us. “Actually, I have the perfect idea,” she announces. “Let’s go clubbing. Why not? I hear the ship has an awesome one on deck ten, and we might as well start things off with a bang.”

  I stare at her.

  “Clubbing? Really? But I mean, I thought we wanted to chitchat and bond. You know, like a sisterhood.”

  Jessica pulls a face at me.

  “Seriously Abby, you’ve got to lighten up. Of course we want to bond but we also want to make the most out of this experience and that means sampling all the facilities and partying it up. After all, why not?” she tosses off with an impish grin. “If there are lights, music, and a dance floor, then we might as well use them.”

  She and Caitlyn high five while I plaster a smile on my face. Honestly, I was looking forward to a nice dinner and some quiet time with my two friends. Maybe we’d talk about where we are in life, and the things we hope to accomplish in the next few years, including boys, work, and home life. But it seems that Caitlyn and Jessica have a different plan for us and as the third wheel, it’s my job to go along.

  2

  Abby

  If I bend over, a room full of people will see my panties.

  Caitlyn says she brought this dress especially for me, but it’s two sizes too small. Back in the room, she assured me it would fit just fine. She even referenced a book we read together a while back called “The Sisterhood of Traveling Pants,” where a group of girlfriends shared a pair of jeans that miraculously fit all four of them. Except this isn’t fiction, this is real life. The dress is not magical, nor does not fit me one whit.

  My boobs overflow the sweetheart neckline of the dark blue cocktail dress. The skirt hem barely covers my ample butt, even when I tug it down desperately. It’s a good thing we took the elevator because anyone below us on the stairs would have gotten a lacey show of the blank panties I’m wearing. I guess I should thank my stars that this elevator doesn’t have glass floor either because otherwise, I’d be mooning the world in this tiny dress. Obviously, the undergarments were Caitlyn and Jessica’s idea, too.

  “Put on your sexiest lingerie,” Cait commanded.

  “What?” I gasped, flushing red. “Why?”

  “Just do it,” Jess added, rolling her eyes. “When else are you going to wear them? Come on, Abs. This is the night.”

  There was no point in arguing, so I obeyed, face bright red. The black lace bra and g-string panties are sexy and tiny, and I bought them especially for this trip. In my normal life, I wear cotton underwear that you buy three in a plastic pack from Costco. My bras, I have to get special-ordered because my tits are big and the normal sizes at the department store can’t always support a woman with my figure.

  “Stop fiddling with the dress,” Caitlyn hisses when she catches me trying to pull the skirt down further. I don’t know why I bother since every time I pull it down to cover my butt, my boobs are more exposed.

  “I should have worn my own clothes,” I say under my breath. The elevator whooshes open, depositing us right on the edge of the dance floor. It’s a moderately-sized space, which I guess makes sense given that we’re on a cruise ship and square feet are at a minimum. It’s dark inside, just like any other club, and disco lights spin in multiple colors all over the dance floor. I feel dizzy just watching the colored dots whiz over the walls, ceiling, and floor.

  “You look amazing!” Jessica yells over the music. The DJ is playing a song none of us recognizes, but my friends sway their hips to the beat anyway. “I think you need a drink,” Jess screams in my ear.

  She disappears toward the bar before I can stop her. Hell, maybe alcohol is a good idea because I’m never going to be comfortable in this miniscule piece of cloth masquerading as a dress. But a cool drink might stop my mind from ruminating on it.

  Jess returns quickly with three mixed drinks, complete with gaudy little umbrellas stuck in the tops. I don’t bother asking how she got our drinks so fast when the bar is surrounded by people because it’s actually pretty obvious. Her boobs are hanging out more than mine are, and all the bartenders are men.

  I sip the drink, and my eyes widen. Not only did Jessica use her feminine wiles to skip the line, but she got the bartender to make our drinks extra strong. Uck. I hate the taste of alcohol, but I need to down everything in my cup if I want to relax enough to enjoy the club.

  The club itself is better than I’d expected. The lights are dim and the room has a purple glow from blacklight tubes on the high ceilings. Lights swirl around the room, adding pops of other colors to the beat. The music is loud but not deafening. The floor is clean, with none of the stickiness I’m used to at the clubs I’ve been to in Miami. All of this might change by the end of the cruise, but so far, I like it here. I might let my friends drag me here a few more times before we get back home. Though I’ll probably wear my usual jeans and top on future visits instead of dressing up again. What’s wrong with jeans anyways? Paired with the right heels and a fun top, it can look just as nice as a cocktail dress.

  Halfway through the drink, I start to feel the alcohol working its magic in my system. I’m not even close to drunk, but the buzz warms me from the
inside out.

  “Let’s dance,” I yell to my friends. Their faces pull into wide, proud smiles.

  “I knew you needed a drink!” Jessica responds, grabbing my hand over her shoulder and pulling me deeper onto the dance floor.

  The DJ seamlessly transitions from a song I’ve never heard to a pop hit from a few years ago. The familiar beat moves my large hips from side to side as my hands raise up over my head. I’m careful not to spill my drink on anyone as I shimmy to the song.

  Caitlyn and Jessica flank me, both of them writhing like graceful sylphs. I’ll never be like that. I’m more of a ba-dump, ba-dump type dancer, with my booty and boobs bumping up and down. I chug down the rest of my drink, willing the liquid courage to take hold.

  The next song is another new one that makes me feel old, but I’m already more relaxed than I was when the elevator dropped us off. We keep dancing to the fast-paced songs, laughing and spinning each other around the floor. Other passengers join in on our fun, and we end up accidentally forming a dance circle. I’m not brave enough to jump into the center, but Caitlyn and Jessica do, and it’s pretty hysterical. Their hair flies every which way while passengers clap like we’re at a crazy Greek wedding. Hmm, I wish I had a camcorder.

  I feel around for my phone because it has a really nice camera, but then remember I left it in my room. Damn. I’d love to record my two friends dancing like fools. But there’s nowhere on this dress to hide a phone, and I didn’t bring a purse. Caitlyn and Jessica assured me I wouldn’t need my phone since the three of us would be together the whole night, but I feel a bit naked without it. Such are the trials and tribulations of modern life.

  When they’ve had enough of the attention, Jessica and Caitlyn re-join me in the ring of the dance circle. Our bodies move together in time with the song and I’m reminded of the good times we used to have.

  The girls and I used to go out a lot more, before I took on more clients at the accounting firm where I work. They work at the firm too, but they started later than I did. We’d had the same number of clients until about six months ago when one of the other accountants left to open a firm of his own and I got the half of his old clients who didn’t move with him. My friends weren’t jealous of that, though – neither Jess nor Cait really wanted to increase their workloads. But it meant that I didn’t get to spend as much time with them. That’s partly why we’re on this trip in the first place.

  “Thank you for making me come,” I yell into Jessica’s ear. “I’m glad I’m here.”

  She smiles warmly and takes my hand, spinning me around. “I’m glad you’re here, too. We’re going to have the best week ever!”

  We continue dancing until our feet are dead, but it’s still too early for us to leave. You’d think we’d be exhausted since it’s the first day and we got up early, but instead, energy pulses through our bodies.

  “Another drink?” Caitlyn suggests. We follow her lead toward the bar and manage to find three stools together. I plunk down immediately, groaning when my feet leave the ground.

  “I hate these shoes,” I gripe. I resist the temptation to pull my foot into my lap and massage it. My black-heeled sandals are the bane of my existence, but they are the only fancy shoes I brought. And they just happen to match the dress well enough that my friends let me wear them instead of trying to squeeze my large feet into their two-sizes-too-small heels.

  Jessica summons her new favorite bartender and orders us three vodka sours. He dumps at least three shots worth of vodka into the bottom of the plastic cups before filling them the rest of the way with whatever makes up the ‘sour’ part of a vodka sour. With a flirty smile, he slides the drinks over to Jessica and takes her card.

  I take a slow sip of my new drink and cringe at the high alcohol content. Vodka is supposed to be tasteless, but to me, the bitter sting on my tongue is unmistakable. I take another sip anyway.

  Jess and Caitlyn finish their drinks with a few chugs and ask for another, but I work slowly on mine. While they flirt with the bartender for even stronger drinks, I turn around on my stool and take in the room.

  The dance floor is directly in front of us with the DJ up against the wall to the right. It tapers out the further left you go, eventually turning from hardwood to tile to carpet. Leather couches and chairs are arranged in a dark corner. I hate to think what kinds of bodily fluids are soaked into that furniture to be honest. Even though they look clean at the moment, I’m sure the staff uses industrial-strength detergents to remove stains every night.

  But suddenly, a pair of blue eyes catch my own and I shiver involuntarily. Who is he? There’s a giant shadow sitting across the way in the cave-like corner of the dim club, and I can’t make out much more than broad shoulders and a massive chest. A light from the moving disco ball on the ceiling flashes over him briefly, and the sapphire glint from his eyes startles me again, making me go warm all over. How is this possible? I can’t even see his face, much less the expression guarding his lips.

  And yet, somehow I know this man is attractive. It’s more than the broad form or the air of power and domination that seeps from his frame. It’s the fact that even across thirty feet of crowded dance floor, he’s made me feel his presence. I’m warmed by it, and gasp involuntarily, unable to tear my eyes away.

  Because I should stop looking at him, but I can’t. He smiles, his teeth white against the shadows surrounding him. The man doesn’t break eye contact, so uncharacteristically, I don’t either. It’s the alcohol or the new setting making me bold, and I roll with it.

  Another spotlight rakes over his body, giving me a glimpse of his body in a perfectly cut suit. Who dresses for a club like they’re going to the office? The other guys in the room are in sneakers, shorts, and t-shirts. Some wear polos, but most are casual, a few even with backwards baseball caps on their heads. This guy is the only one who looks put together, like a dark, dangerous animal.

  His hair is cut short, and his strong jaw is clean of stubble. Everything about his look screams “I paid a lot for this.” Normally, people who look like money are a turn off, but it’s more than that with the stranger. His attire and bearing scream power, assertiveness, and domination.

  I feel myself attracted to his aura, like I’m being pulled towards a supernova. Suddenly, a voice cuts in.

  “What are you looking at?” Jessica shrieks in my ear, forcing me to peel my eyes from the attractive man and focus on her.

  “Nothing,” I hedge. I glance back, but the man is gone. Was he ever there? I can only see shifting shadows in the corner, occasionally punctuated by the colored lights of the dance floor. I shake my head, like a drunk rousing himself from a dream. Maybe he was never there to begin with. Maybe I’m just soused out of my mind and hallucinating with a blood alcohol content three times the legal limit.

  Suddenly, there’s a disturbance of the air at my left and immediately my heart begins pounding. I know who it is before I even turn, but when my eyes meet his, I realize that none of this was a dream. The mysterious stranger is tall, strapping, with a brooding face like an avenging angel, and eyes so blue that my heart seizes in my chest. But his voice, when it comes, is startlingly mellifluous for a man so large.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” he says in a low baritone. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  3

  Carter

  My eyes trace the path the mystery girl takes. As hard as I try, I’m unable to unglue them from her body. It’s crazy because there are plenty of other women in the club right now, but none are as mouthwateringly gorgeous as the woman in the blue dress. The way that fabric melts onto her skin should be illegal. The way the neckline emphasizes her Double D breasts makes my body harden. I silently beg her to stop tugging down the short hemline because her milky thighs deserve to be seen. Admired. Loved. The things my mouth could do to those thighs…

  Two twigs pull the girl from her seat at the bar and back onto the floor. I was watching her when she was out there before, her movements hesitant and her bo
dy nervous. The alcohol must have hit her while she was at the bar because she’s loose now. Her arms flow with the music as her head bobs to the beat, brunette locks flying everywhere

  I want to dig my fingers into her hips and pull her against me while she continues to sway, but I can’t. I want that softness plastered against my hardness, the sweetness of her moans filling the air as I give her a good ride. But this is my ship, my crew, and my customers. They’d be shocked to see me behaving like a barbarian.

  So instead, I’ll keep watching her from afar.

  Someone bumps into my side, knocking me slightly off balance. “Sorry, man,” the drunk frat boy says.

  “It’s fine,” I growl. This is why I never come to the club on board. People run into you and spill drinks on you, sloppy and ridiculous in their Hawaiian shirts and flip flops. I could tell the guy to go sleep off his inevitable alcohol poisoning, but he’s on vacation and probably wants a good hangover. Plus, I want him to like the cruise line, and not associate it with an old buzzkill.

  After all, I’m only here to check things out, to make sure everyone is having a good time on their first night. Personal interaction with the guests is well below my pay grade, but I like to live among the plebes every once in a while. It’s almost like that show where the boss dresses up and works side-by-side with his employees to see what life on the bottom is really like. The only difference is that I’m observing, not working. And I’m not in a disguise, although I doubt anyone would recognize me. Being CEO means that I’m way up top, and most employees only see my head shot when they read the company’s annual report. Not that my employees do that on a regular basis, or at all.