Mister Baby Daddy (Bad Boys in Love Book 3)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  She's out of my league.

  Penny's my complete opposite in every way. She’s the soft, feminine touch to all my coarse roughness. It’s like she was created just to torture me. And she’s doing one hell of a job.

  On top of being hot as fuck, she's just...nice. She's a good, kind-hearted person. The type of person who would literally give you half of her liver if you needed it.

  She deserves a man who can appreciate everything she has to offer, and give her the world in return.

  As we round out of the parking lot, she hastily slides down in her seat and shades her face with one hand. "Oh my god..."

  "Why are you hiding?" I glimpse over at her and growl.

  "It's him," she whisper-shrieks. "It's him."

  Through the windshield, I spot a tall, hulking muscle-man with his hand down the back of some stumbling, drunk girl's skirt while they dry-hump and tongue-wrestle against the side of the building.

  When we drive past, Penny twists around to gawk at him out the back window. "The asshole," she says incredulously. "He said he couldn't stay to talk 'cause he has an early dentist appointment. Now, look at him!"

  I check out the sloppy make-out session in the rearview mirror. Looks like the dude's getting a pretty thorough mouth-cleaning to me. Gross!

  My attention moves back to my peeved passenger. "Wait—you were about to go home with that guy? Are you kidding me?!"

  "I was." Penny buries her face in her hands and groans, regret and shame in the sound. "Classy, I know."

  Jesus Henry Christ. I have to clamp my mouth shut to keep from saying something I’ll regret.

  My jaw goes hard, and I squeeze the wheel as I watch the scumbag.

  Her embarrassed squeak fills the cabin. "What?"

  I don’t speak to her. I can’t. I can’t tell her how much it pisses me off to see her fucking around with those idiot guys. This girl has no idea. She has no fucking idea.

  She lays her hand on my bicep. "Why are you so pissed, Big Man?"

  A rush of something moves through me when she touches me like that, calls me that nickname. Her touch and her fragrance go straight to my cock. And my brain is trying to comprehend how she's managing to smell so damn sweaty and mouthwatering at the same time.

  Stopped at the red light at the highway on-ramp, I turn and look into those green eyes. Emerald green. Exactly the right shade. I brush back a lock of that messy hair. Exactly the right length. And this conversation suddenly feels very, very dangerous.

  Against my better judgment, words spill out of my mouth. Words that sound rough like they've been dragged over gravel. "You can do so much better, P. You deserve so much better."

  She expels a rough sigh. She thinks I'm patronizing her. I can see it in her expression. I need her to know how serious I am.

  She's beautiful. Sexy. Glamorous. But then she fucks around with losers like that.

  She drops back against her cushion and folds her arms under her perfect tits. "Well, I don't see any better options lined up at my door."

  "That's no excuse to settle, Penn."

  She seems to shrink in on herself, interpreting my concern as a chastisement. We coast onto the dark highway, back in the direction of Crescent Harbor, our 5000-person hometown tucked against the coast of Lake Michigan in Northern Illinois. We ride in silence. Penny pouts and flips aimlessly through the glossy magazine in her lap while I stew. Literally stew. She has the heat on full blast, and I’m roasting in this freaking turtleneck. She may think it looks good—and apparently the porn star from earlier did too—but quite frankly, I just feel ridiculous in it.

  I roll to a stop on the curb outside her apartment.

  Penny doesn't look up when her embarrassed voice squeaks through the cabin. "You think I'm an idiot, don’t you?"

  I glance over at my sniffling friend. “What are you talking about?!”

  "I know this looks bad. I'm thirty-three. I should know better than to get myself into these types of situations and need rescuing from my best friend in the middle of the night. It's just that..." she sighs roughly and tries to gather the right words. "When my life is over, I want to be able to look back at my life and know that I life'd the fuck out of my life...y'know? But these days, I really don't feel like I'm life-ing. I'm working a dead end job. I never used my degree. And my love life..." She looks up at me through wet, makeup-smudged eyes, silently begging me to understand. "I just want someone to love. Someone to talk with and laugh with and share my coupons with. And sex, of course. Lots of sex. That doesn't make me a bad person."

  She's rambling. She never rambles. Penny is usually perfectly composed and put-together. It's obvious that she should have stopped drinking several drinks ago. I hate the idea of her out here alone and drunk. That’s not safe for a woman, especially not one as beautiful as her. But what pisses me off most? Just imagining all the guys in that sleazy joint who probably tried to take advantage of her tonight.

  "I'm sorry for annoying you," she whispers.

  I reach across the console and cup her cheek in my hand. Fuck, she's so warm. Soft.

  "For the record, I don't think you're an idiot. And nothing you do can ever annoy me." Silly woman.

  I’m frustrated, yes. But it’s only because she deserves more than what she settles for. I don’t get it. She’s perfect. She’s got everything—all the beauty and the smarts. Yet, she gives her body to drunk idiots. I can’t help it if it pisses me off.

  My hand slides down from her cheek to the back of her neck. My fingers tangle in her red, silky, perfect hair. Everything about her is perfect. "Hey, look at me..." I wait for her to make eye contact. "I will help you life the fuck out of your life,” I promise softly. “Just tell me what you need. Tell me how I can help." That earns me the littlest, prettiest smile.

  Penny's gaze grips onto mine like a drowning woman clinging to a life raft. I see something there I've never allowed myself to see in all the years we've been friends. A hungry desire. And I know it's fuelled by the mind-swirling alcohol in her blood.

  Her eyes snap down to my mouth and I just know...my very drunk best friend is about to kiss me...

  And I want it so fucking bad. I'm praying to God for the decency to pull away. It's just the alcohol. I'm not her type. I'm not her type. I repeat it like a mantra.

  Penny leans toward me. But instead of putting her mouth on mine, she swipes her thumb across my jaw. “Lipstick, huh?” She tilts her head back to inspect me better. “And the fancy sweater you swore up and down you'd never wear?...Walker Kingston, were you on a date tonight?”

  Fuck. I can’t lie to her. But I hate the truth. “Yeah,” I mumble, flooded with guilt in an instant.

  Penny’s hand lands softly on my arm, squeezing. “God. I’m sorry. I should have called an Uber.”

  “No. No, you should have called me,” I huff. I don't want her alone in a stranger’s car. Especially when she’s so drunk she can barely stand.

  “Walker, you were on a date. I definitely should have called an Uber,” she insists, stubborn as she is.

  I put an arm around her headrest and get close, forcing her to look at me. “Listen—when you're in trouble, of course you call me. We’re friends. That’s what we do for each other.”

  She purses her lips, nods in resignation, knowing she won't win this fight. "Yeah, we're friends." She pauses, stares at my mouth again. Something morose passes over her features. Then, in a snap, her eyes light up with gossipy interest. "So, how did the date go?”

  “Fine.” I ease out of her personal space at the reminder of Karen.

  Penny’s manicured eyebrow arches up. “Fine? That’s all I get? After I poured my damn drunken heart out to you?” she says, annoyed. "You are frustrating as hell, Sir Grumps-A-Lot. Having a conversation with you is like...like...pulling teeth out of stone." She blinks. "Wait—what?...Anyway, you know what I mean."

  I shrug, ready to talk about anything else in the world. I know it makes me a hypocrite. I get mad about her flirting with big
hairy losers when I was ten minutes away from having meaningless sex with some vapid woman. I’m a fucking jerk, and it doesn’t make any sense.

  Nothing makes sense when it comes to my feelings about Penny.

  I can't talk to her about another woman. I just can't. Not when I want her this badly. Not tonight.

  I force a gentle tone. "Let me walk you to your door."

  At the abrupt change in conversation, her face drops. She huffs and toes on her shoes. Then, she's opening the passenger door and sliding out. “Don’t bother,” she spits my way before slamming the door.

  Why is she so damn stubborn?

  And of course, because she's drunk off her ass, she stumbles on a crack in the street and barely catches herself on a lamp post.

  She glances back at the sound of my truck door slamming shut. She glares at me as I march toward her. "I said, 'don't bother', Walker." She promptly stumbles again.

  I roll my eyes. "Obviously, you've got it covered, right?"

  "Yeah, I've got it covered." She ambles like a newborn foal onto the sidewalk. Technically, it's spring but it's frigging cold. The last bits of snow still linger on the sidewalk in dirty piles, concealing thin sheets of ice.

  "I'm not gonna sit there and watch you give yourself a concussion just so you can prove to me how much of a big girl you are."

  Penny's tall, sensual body angles toward me, her expression telling me that she's ready to argue. I don't have time for this. So, I snatch her off her feet and swoop her up, blushing bride-style.

  She yips in surprise and reflexively flings her arms around my neck. "Seriously, asshole?!"

  But she doesn't fight me. Fighting me is futile and thankfully, she already knows it. Her hip, squished against my abs. Her sexy long limbs, dangling across my body.

  With my arm banded around the back of her thighs, I march up the walk to her shitty, crumbling apartment complex then through the lobby. Then, I'm lugging her up the stairs.

  I should be focused on making it to her place before she pukes all over my shirt. But the whole time, I'm painfully hard, trying not to imagine dragging my fingers up under the hem of her dress.

  When I'm standing outside her apartment door, I dig into my pocket and produce my friend's spare key on my fob. She had it duplicated in bright teal, of course. The damn thing is hard to miss. I nudge the door open and kick off my boots on the front mat.

  The building may be shit but Penny's modest space is like a little dollhouse, full of pretty, girly things all stored neatly in their designated place. Down the short hallway, I kick open her bedroom door. Her sweet, feminine scent seems to be dripping from the walls of the shadowy room. The entire place is saturated with it.

  I dump her onto her canopy bed and her body bounces on the plush mattress. Her dress slides back further to reveal even more of her creamy bare thighs. She's there, splayed and vulnerable. Dammit—I'm staring.

  Our eyes hold. There's a plea in her unfocused, green irises. "Stay with me, Walker. Don't go. I could really use a friend tonight.”

  Again, my eyes skim the hem of her too-short skirt. And I could use a fuck. I scrub my hands down my face, trying to wipe away the thought.

  Tonight, I'm horny. Without a fucking doubt. I want a warm, curvy female body beneath me. Moaning my name. Arching against my touch. But the sexy redhead sprawled on the bed is definitely not the one.

  Penny's not the kind of girl you waste.

  She's not a one-night stand or a short-term fling or a casual bang. She's the kind of girl you keep. A lifetime kind of girl.

  She's funny and she's witty and she challenges my bullshit. She's patient with me when I'm being my usual asshole self. She's not afraid of the beast in me that makes other people run in the opposite direction. Penny gets me. That's why I don't let my cock make the decisions. Not when it comes to her.

  That's why we can't ever be more than friends.

  She reaches for my hand. Our fingers tangle. “Walker, can you stay?”

  I glance at her sexy mouth. I'm painfully, ridiculously, stupidly hard. When I inhale, I discover her whiskey-vanilla scent all over again. I want to taste it right off her tongue.

  I shake my head. “Not tonight…” Her hand drops, letting go of mine. I miss her warmth already.

  Penny rises up onto her elbows, looking utterly confused as I take a step backward toward the door. “Why? Do you have plans?”

  Yeah. Plans with my goddamned fist alone in my shower. “Dammit, Penn. I can’t trust myself to…”

  Penny blinks. She is the epitome of drunk innocence right now. “What? You can’t trust yourself to what?”

  Another step backward. “I’m sorry. I can’t…”

  Every time she licks that bottom lip, I want to bite it. Every time she shifts her legs, I want to slide my hand under that skirt. I have so many unsolicited visions running rampant right now, I can’t keep up. I can’t trust myself around her.

  She watches miserably as I stumble awkwardly out of the room. She’s hurt. Again. I have a way of doing that to her, without even meaning to. Sometimes hurting her is the only way I can protect her from myself.

  "Good night, P," I say from the safety of the doorway.

  She flops back onto the bed. "Yeah...Good night." As I'm turning toward the door, I hear her call out to me. "Hey, Big Man..."

  I glance at her over my shoulder.

  In the dim room, I can barely make out her little grin but the smirk is clear in her voice. "Shirt looks good on you, by the way."

  I can't help my own grin. "Thanks, asshole."

  Seconds later, I take a breath as I burst out of the building onto the sidewalk. Frustrated and horny, I try to put my gorgeous friend out of my mind as I drive myself back to my farm.

  4

  Penny

  I've got dark sunglasses over my eyes and an extra-large vanilla oat milk latte clutched to my chest as I stumble into Iris’s flower shop. I pull the bill of my baseball cap lower to shield my eyes from the offensively colorful peonies and marigolds and tiger lilies positioned throughout the place.

  My head is pounding, an obnoxious reminder of my decision to chug cheap Manhattans last night. I just want to slide on my sleeping mask and crawl back under my covers for the next three days.

  Hangovers are a bitch. And the lingering humiliation of my interaction with Walker last night really isn't helping. But since all my friends turn to watch me enter, I attempt to look like a functioning member of society. I’m not in the mood to make a scene.

  Iris is at the cash register, ringing up a bouquet for a suave-looking man in a suit. A few older ladies meander around the shop, aimlessly browsing the house plants.

  Jessa eyeballs me from where she's curled up on the dusty window sill with a book in her lap and a lollipop stick poking out the side of her mouth. "Hey there, superstar. You okay? You look like you got chased all the way here by the paparazzi."

  I shrug. "Long night." I drop my purse on the floor under the counter and kick it until it’s hidden. I'm in yoga pants and a hoodie. For once, I didn't have it in me to get dressed up.

  Lexi wanders out of the bathroom and snatches the brown paper bag I have tucked under my left arm. "Thanks, Penn. I'm fucking starving." She waddles across the room toward the wobbly wooden table in the corner. She drops into a folding chair, one hand roaming over her enormous baby bump.

  I brought my friends cookies from Jittery Joe's. I had a coupon.

  The customer walks out and Iris turns away from the register. “You’re late,” she says in an accusatory pitch a tad too high for my liking.

  Ouch! I flinch and massage my throbbing temples with my fingertips. “I’m here, aren’t I? Don't I get bonus points for attendance?” I grumble. "And I'm giving you free labor so you have zero right to complain."

  “Sorry, I’m just excited!” My cousin rushes me and snatches the hand-rendered floor plans I have tucked under my right arm.

  Iris fell madly in love with Walker’s youngest brother,
Jude, a few months back. They bought this flower shop together and are in the middle of the rebranding process. The place is definitely a work-in-progress and Iris has been growing increasingly overwhelmed by the whole thing.

  A week ago when I realized just how much she was struggling, I mustered up the courage to dust off my interior design know-how and volunteered to lend a hand. I know that it would help if she could see what her ideas look like on paper before committing to anything.

  Working on this flower shop project with my cousin has been fun. It's been a chance to put my interior design degree to use, brushing up on my technical skills and gaining a bit of much-needed experience for my portfolio.

  Iris spreads out the plans on the tatty wrought iron table where Lexi is sitting. Jessa hovers over her shoulder. The girls begin oohing and aahing over the sketches. I hang back, still grappling with my composure.

  “These are so gorgeous, Penn,” Iris coos. “It’s like my flower shop dream come to life."

  Lexi nods. "I really don’t understand why you're still tending bar. You should be working for some big downtown Chicago design firm. You have loads of talent.”

  I barely grunt out a reply before taking a long drag of caffeine. An illustrious career in design is just another one of the dreams I never pursued. I'm hoping that will change soon...

  An anxious-looking man in his twenties hustles into the shop, requesting a bouquet to appease his angry girlfriend. He’s sparse with the details of the fight but from the look in his eyes and the sweat on his top lip, it’s clear that he did something really, really stupid and he’s trying to earn his way back into his woman’s good graces. With a compassionate smile, Iris goes off to help the clueless chump make his selection.

  The second the man walks out the door with a gigantic bouquet of tulips and daffodils, Iris is back at my side. She bumps her hip into mine. "What's the story, cous? Why so glum today? Spill it.” She hooks an arm through mine and leads me to the table.

  I could lie. I could try and convince my friends that I’m a-okay, but these ladies know me too well and each one of them would see right through me. The truth is I had a crappy night and too much to drink. I got traded in by a sexy stranger for a more willing bed buddy, then my best friend dumped my drunk butt into my bed and practically ran for the hills.