He rises up on his tiptoes and yanks the hideous thing off the wall. He tosses it atop a pile of dried firewood, then flashes me a delicious smirk. "If you think the moose head has to go, then the moose head has to go."
I know he could care less about upgrading his living space. But he wants to support me. I have a sneaky suspicion that's the only reason he requested my design services. And I do appreciate having him in my corner. So, I intend to pour my all into this project. Besides, he's a good man, he works hard and he deserves a beautiful home, somewhere he'll feel happy and relaxed and cozy. He may find this project trivial right this moment, but by the time I'm done, he'll realize the value of this undertaking.
Throughout the morning, he's been popping in and out to check in with me while keeping an eye on his farm.
Structurally, the cabin is gorgeous with its high ceilings and its wood beams. But from a decor perspective, it’s almost depressing. It could use some color, some light, some happy. I've spent my time taking notes and jotting down ideas, digging through closets and taking measurements to really understand the space I’m working with. It’s a bit tedious, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it.
Actually, I'm downplaying it—I'm straight-up giddy.
Things in my life are finally spinning in the right direction. Everything is moving forward with my motherhood plan. I’m getting my side business off the ground in the mornings. I don't feel quite so stuck anymore.
Sure, I still spend most evenings catering to drunken fools and mopping up beer at the bar, but this is a start. And I'm optimistic about how everything is coming together. Things are lined up for me to have a nice chunk of savings in my bank account long before the baby arrives, even assuming I get knocked up on the first or second go.
"I know you're busy but do you have a second to go over the design concept?" I ask, flipping to a blank page in my notebook. "Just to make sure we're on the same page."
"I have a second." Walker pushes the sleeves of his flannel back to his elbows then drags a thick forearm across his forehead. The simple action is downright destabilizing. The man's looking all rugged, muscles bulging and sweat dripping down the sides of his face. And somehow, he still smells really sexy.
He’s wearing these tight, faded jeans, hugging his body in all the best places. Who knew a man’s ass could be so sexy? And the front—oh my god—even better. How does he even climb up onto that tractor all day, molded into those tight pants? Or chase those sheep that keep getting loose?
His throat clears. “Penn, you okay?"
I shake myself out of my stupor. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Let's start, shall we?"
In a snap, I'm back in professional mode. "The cabin is gorgeous and cozy but super dark," I tell him, "So I have some creative ways in mind to brighten it up." I grin at him and my heart almost stops when he grins back.
I lead my friend through his house, room by room, laying out my vision for each individual space. Walker follows behind me, looking adorably lost in his own home.
"In here, I was thinking we could do a breezy pastel on the ceiling and a feature wall with some fun wallpaper." We're squeezed into the bathroom. "Don't worry," I say in the face of his skeptical expression. "It'll be manly. Maybe a geometric pattern or something monochromatic. I'll make sure it's a design you like." I lay a hand on his forearm to reassure him. "My number one priority is that you be comfortable while you—"
"Number two." He nods toward the toilet. His nostrils twitch with restrained laughter.
I roll my eyes. "Cheesy and disgusting, Walker. Cheesy and disgusting."
Pivoting on my heel, I spin away from him so he won't see me struggling against my laughter. I may be acting annoyed but it's good to see my friend playing, enjoying this moment. He’s always reluctant to have outsiders in his home. I’d feared he'd be uptight about having me all up in his space, making changes. His poop jokes may be gross and immature but his light demeanor is really putting me at ease today.
I work my way down the hallway, feeling my own excitement in each step I take. "For the kitchen, I'm thinking wide plank floors. A Portuguese tile backsplash. Maybe experiment with some pattern clash on the walls. I want the space to look fresh and unexpected without having to yank out plumbing and tear down walls. This cabin is an architectural gem so I want to keep demolitions to a minimum. I’ll make sure to mention that to the contractor when we do our walkthrough next week. Anyway, I’ve got a bunch of coupons for wallpaper samples I'm excited to try out.” I fan out a deck of swatches in his face.
From the perplexed look on my B-F-F's crinkled brow, I can tell that I've lost him. I know I'm talking a million miles per minute but I can't help it. I'm excited.
He does that shoulder shrug thing again. “Whatever you think is best,” he interrupts, digging his wallet out of his pocket and handing me a credit card. “I trust your judgement.” He half-grins.
I lift a brow as I accept it. “Don't you want to hear the prices of each option? The pros and cons? We haven't even discussed budget—”
“Nope. I know you’ll make the smartest choice.”
I won't lie—I feel a flutter between the thighs at that one. I mean, what woman doesn't appreciate a man who can handle his responsibilities without fussing over the price tag?
Don't let the faded denim and the cowboy hats fool you. The guy manages his money like a boss. On top of the highly profitable farm, he transferred his shares in the family company to Cannon a few months ago. And more recently, he sold a greenhouse and a small plot of land to Jude and Iris for cultivating flowers for their flower shop. Recently, he’s even been talking about replacing his entire fleet of tractors with more eco-conscious equipment. That’s no cheap endeavor. Walker isn't hurting for money.
In any case, I'm a professional and I plan on acting like one. And professionals can't be overtly swooning over their clients. “If this is any indication of how you spend your money, I’m going to have my work cut out for me.”
He grins devilishly. “Don't think you can handle it, Princess?”
Why is his unbothered approach to this so damn sexy? I lose my focus and my eyes go wandering down his body again.
And again, he clears his throat.
My gaze flings to his. Shit. Did he catch me checking him out? “You’re…sweaty,” I comment dumbly, in an attempt to cover up my wandering eyes. It falls flat.
“Uh. Yeah. That tends to happen out here on the farm. Come help me with the hogs, and you’ll get sweaty, too.”
My stomach does a weird little flip. That shouldn’t sound so…dirty. Surely that wasn’t some innuendo coming from Walker Kingston. It’s just me. Me and my horny, horny mind.
I laugh it off, trying to ignore the thickening sexual tension inside the tiny hallway. If I didn't know better, I'd think my best friend was trying to flirt with me. In that weird, sexy farmer way of his.
Hurriedly pushing the delusional thought from my mind, I plant myself back into our reality. "Um...next room?"
He nods, and off we go again. This time, we stall in front of a closed wooden door.
"Storage," my friend tells me.
I pop the door open and stick my head inside. I nearly get my eye poked out by a hanger. A dirty mop head merrily rolls off a shelf. Walker yanks me back to save me from a falling ironing board. "Caution tape would be a good idea." I sass, coughing through the dust.
Walker chuckles. "Sorry about that."
"This closet is huge," I tell him. "And it's a really inefficient use of space. I don't see why you need a storage closet of this size inside your house. You have a zillion sheds and shacks all around the farm. You could move your junk there, tear out a new window in here and have yourself a decent-sized guest bedroom.”
He seems borderline offended at the suggestion. "I don't need a guest bedroom." He turns and walks away and that's how I know this debate is over. Stubborn man.
I huff, frustrated. Walker is anti-social as heck and he's opposed to anything that m
ight be interpreted as inviting outsiders into his space.
"Fine," I concede reluctantly, and I shove my way past him, roughly bumping my shoulder into his strong bicep as I'm headed to the very last room. His bedroom. I grumble as I push open the door. "If Disney is ever looking for an actor to portray the Beast, I really hope they give you a call."
The moment the last word slips out of my mouth, I feel my best friend's hands grip my waist. I feel him sweep me off my feet. I yip like a startled chihuahua and I'm soaring through the air. I land on the mattress, Walker-scented pillows and sheets all around me. My nipples tighten instantly.
"What the hell, dude?" I'm trying to come across as offended but my laughter isn't helping with my credibility. "That was so uncalled for. I'm trying to be a professional here." I toss a pillow at him.
He effortlessly swats the pillow away before it hits him in the face. "Professional, my ass. Your snark was uncalled for."
Now, Walker is looming above the bed, smirking down at me. I'm panting, with my skirt all hiked up and my lacy bra exposed at the neckline of my blouse. Of course, my mind goes back to the last time we found ourselves in this compromising position. The night he picked my drunk ass up from the bar. And right now, I want him on top of me just as much as I did that day.
He offers a hand and helps me sit up. Then, he drops down next to me as I'm still trying to get my outfit back in order. He makes a big deal of adjusting my shoulder pads and smoothing back my flyaways.
I know he's only joking around but my body surely doesn't know it. Let me tell you—my nipples are aching and I have to squeeze my thighs together to keep my pussy from whimpering out loud.
I love this playful side of Walker, the fun, goofy side. The side of him hardly anyone else gets to see. It feels like a little, private secret just for us.
He watches me with a soft expression. "How are you today, Penn? Earlier, I didn't get the chance to check in, with you being all Miss Professional Woman."
One corner of my mouth swings into a smile. I punch him in the shoulder. "I'm good." But my heart is still beating way too fast. We're sitting way too close.
Fuck.
This is getting to be too much for me. Too intense. I seize the opportunity to remind us both of the reality of our situation.
I inch away from him. “Oh, at the next doctor's appointment, they will be collecting your, uh, sperm. For the insemination.” Why are these words suddenly so hard to say out loud? I feel myself blushing fiercely. My eyes have a mind of their own, trailing over the hard lines of Walker’s body, the lines that are fully visible through his well-fitted clothing. He smells clean and mossy like a fresh spring, but with an undertone of something…the testosterone of a hard-working man.
It’d save me a whole lot of money and time if we just bailed on this doctor appointment and took care of business right here on his worn out paisley sheets.
What the hell is wrong with me? Once again, I force myself to snap out of my horny-headed thoughts, silently blaming the hormone treatments for getting me all keyed up.
Seriously, Walker Kingston is my best friend. My donor. And now, my new business client. I need to keep those areas properly compartmentalized and keep my sexual fantasies at home, where they belong. Doesn’t matter that I’ve been hot for the man my whole life.
My gaze snaps back to his. I find him watching me closely. God, I'm going to screw this up.
He eyeballs me. “I haven’t forgotten about the appointment. Or the procedure.” His voice is hoarse. Lower than it was just moments ago.
I’m struggling not to drown in those addictive eyes. “Thank you—again—for helping me with this.”
He gives me a single nod and a barely visible smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Our eyes hold for a second past appropriate, a second past platonic, a second past 'just friends'.
Walker clears his throat. "I should—I should get back to the farm."
Gaze locked on him, I swallow hard and nod.
He backs out of the room, those jeans looking a tad more snug at the crotch. He leaves me alone in his bed.
15
Penny
I’m sitting in a cold, bright conference room at Kingston Realty Holdings, the hub of the Kingston family business. Walker is sitting beside me, fidgeting with the collar of his crisp, white button down shirt. I'm nervous, myself, and my friend's jitters aren't making this any easier.
This is far more formal than what I was expecting when Walker told me a few weeks ago that he'd have some paperwork drawn up. My farmer buddy isn't one for formalities. I was secretly assuming that we’d be signing paper napkins here.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
Across from us, there's this stern-looking lawyer dude, carefully reviewing a thick sheaf of paperwork for about the tenth time.
Walker's still tugging on his collar. I know he’s not used to dressing up. I’m sure he hates the pressed slacks and dress shirt. I lean close to him and whisper. "How come you felt the need to dress up?" This is his family’s business. He could have shown up in his usual flannel and jeans without any consequences.
He makes eye contact and whispers back. "This is important to you, Princess. I wanted to take it seriously."
And I goddamned melt. More and more, I’m seeing all of these unbelievably amazing qualities I hope my kid will inherit. I’m not just talking about what he looks like on the outside. The man works hard, he’d die for his family, he loves animals, he cares about the environment. He’s as protective as he is nurturing.
Plus, there’s the added bonus that he’s strong and sexy and fine as hell.
That’s a unique combination to find. And it’s everything I could possibly want for my offspring.
Frank turns the last page and looks up. “As you know, I'm Cannon's lawyer and normally, I handle most of his business remotely from my office in New York, but he emphasized that this means a lot to both of you. So, I'm here to make sure you understand what you’re getting yourselves into. Both legally and financially.”
The old man regards me warily. And that’s when it hits me. This lawyer is here to protect the Kingston assets—and their asses. Not mine.
For a half-second, I wonder if I should have had someone here representing me. But that’s just silly. This is Walker. My best friend. He’d never do anything to take advantage of me. In any situation.
He’s doing me a huge favor so I want him to be protected in this.
Walker and I glance at each other as Frank hands us each a folder. I flip mine open and am confronted by sheets filled with legal jargon.
The man patiently walks us through each page and Walker's fidgeting only increases. Good lord. His stress is stressing me out. Even without him saying a word, I can tell his anxiety is eating at him. I know all this was his idea but, silently, I wonder if I'm asking too much of my friend. This sperm donation thing is a big deal. Maybe I'm being selfish by so willingly jumping on his offer.
I catch a bead of sweat forming at his temple, as his nervousness builds. He tugs at the collar of his crisp, white button down shirt. Then, he does it again. After he does it for the third time, I nudge his foot with mine under the table.
He catches my eye with a grim smile, forcing his hands back to the table. Then he picks up a nearby pen and clicks it open. Then he clicks it shut. Click. Click. Click.
He’s clearly losing his shit.
I take a deep breath and try to focus on everything Frank is reading to us. This contract sure is thorough.
The lawyer is reviewing a long passage explaining that there is no financial or legal responsibility on Walker regarding the needs and welfare of the child. That's when Walker finally cracks.
“Wait," my friend snaps. "Wait, wait, wait. What if I do want to help her?” Frowning, he looks at me, then at the lawyer. He picks up the page we’re reading from. “Let’s take this whole clause out.”
Frank eyeballs him with caution. “I would have to advise a
gainst that, Mr. Kingston.”
Walker shakes his head adamantly, and I see that vein starting to pop near his forehead. “No. Penny is a friend. My best friend. Not someone who’s going to rake me over!”
I place my hand on his arm, giving him a little comforting squeeze. I hear him take a breath. “No,” I address Frank. “Leave the clause in, please.” The lawyer seems slightly relieved by my objection. I meet my friend’s eyes. “It’s fine, Walker. Really. This is for your protection. If I wasn’t prepared for the financial part of this, I wouldn’t be doing it. I’ll be just fine.” I've been living a coupon life for a long time now, saving up specifically for this.
He looks like he’s going to put up a fight, so I turn back to the lawyer with a decisive nod. “Go ahead.”
When Frank makes it through the entire contract, I ask for a few minutes alone with my future baby daddy. I need to make sure we're on the same page.
The lawyer grabs his briefcase. “I’ll leave you two alone to discuss things. When you’re ready, please come find me in Cannon’s office.”
Then the old man is gone, leaving Walker and me alone in the tense room.
After sitting next to my nervous friend for the better part of an hour, I feel the need to give him an out. I need to give him the chance to graciously bow out of our crazy game. Even if it breaks my heart.
I grab his arm lightly, swiveling my chair to face him completely.
“You good?” I ask softly.
I stare into honey brown eyes, darkened by his frown. “Mmm-hmm,” he says with an unsure nod. “You?”
“Listen, Walker—if you need to walk away from this, tell me right now. Right here. I can’t afford to get any more invested in this, and neither can you, if we're only going to be let down in the end. So if you’re not sure, we can forget this right now." I gesture to the contracts. "We can tear these up and forget they ever existed."
It physically pains me to say all that. I want this with Walker. When I was planning my single mother journey, I’d never considered having him as my donor. But now, it’s the only option I want. Still, I won't force him into something he can't handle. Our friendship is too important to me.
Mister Baby Daddy (Bad Boys in Love Book 3) Page 9