Pregnant by the Playboy

by Jackie Lau

  “Must be tough for you to go without sex since you promised to be faithful to me, even though I didn’t ask for it. But the answer is no.”

  I’m slightly tempted, but I have self-restraint.

  I return to scarfing down the cheesecake.

  “Out of curiosity,” he says, “what is this double fromage cheesecake?”

  “It’s a thin layer of matcha sponge cake, followed by baked matcha cheesecake with some kind of creamy mousse on top—that’s the white layer. Not too sweet, but so delicious.”

  “And what’s the green coating? It looks like AstroTurf.”

  “Hey, it looks much more appealing than AstroTurf. It’s crumbled matcha sponge cake.” I hesitate. I’m not sure I want to do this, but he did come all this way. “Want to try a bite?”

  “You’re offering me a bite? How generous.”

  “It’s extremely generous. If you’d managed to get me an entire matcha double fromage cheesecake, I might have offered you more than a bite.”

  “They’d run out!”

  “I’m teasing. I can’t believe you paid someone forty bucks for half a small cheesecake.”

  “It was a young couple. They could probably use the money. And they said my suit was ridiculous.”

  I gasp. “How shocking.”

  I pick up a bite of cheesecake with my fork, careful to get all the layers. I hold it up to his mouth, and he eats it.

  Feeding him is painfully intimate.

  It reminds me of when we ate cold pizza during our infamous weekend together.

  “The cheesecake is good,” he says quietly, “and it was worth all the trouble to get it for you.” He slides his hand through my hair, pushing it back from my face.

  “Man, you’re really putting the moves on me.”

  “What can I say? It’s what I do.” He has an odd expression—there’s a hint of sadness in it. “But I promise I’m not putting these moves on anyone else. Just the mother of my child.”

  Against my will, my inner muscles clench. The thought of being his is annoyingly appealing. He says he hasn’t been with anyone else, and maybe it’s foolish, but I believe him.

  I put down my fork once I’ve eaten half the double fromage cheesecake. “I should stop. I just remembered that matcha has caffeine—I was so focused on my craving that I forgot about that—and you’re not supposed to overdo it on caffeine when you’re pregnant. I’ll have the rest tomorrow.”

  “None for me?”

  “You can have the other cheesecake.”

  “Very generous,” he murmurs. “You want your dumplings now?” He takes them out of the bag. “Two orders of beef and celery for you. And me, if you don’t want them all, but I also got some pork ones for myself. I’ll have my cheesecake after my dumplings. That’s the proper way to do things.”

  I snort. “You’re calling yourself proper?”

  “Mmm. Very proper.”

  Ugh, why is that seductive tone of his so damn effective on me?

  He grins. He knows what he’s done.

  We eat our dumplings in silence for a few minutes. It’s a bit surreal. It’s ten o’clock at night, and I’m eating dumplings at my kitchen table with a really hot man in a suit, while I’m pregnant and craving weird things and dressed in pajama pants and a ratty long-sleeve shirt.

  He kissed me back.

  It sends a thrill down my spine.

  My libido has been mostly absent since I discovered I was pregnant, in part because of the morning sickness, but tonight...

  Nope, not happening.

  We finish our dumplings, and he cuts himself a modest slice of matcha cheesecake.

  “Look at you, trying to be all proper,” I mutter. “Actually cutting a slice rather than just stabbing the cake with your fork.”

  He smiles, then shifts the knife to the double fromage cheesecake and mimes cutting off a piece.

  “Don’t you dare,” I say. “I’ll want that tomorrow.”

  He laughs. “You know I was teasing.”

  “Don’t joke about stuff like that. This is serious business.”

  He leans forward, and I think he’s about to take my hand, but he doesn’t. Stupidly, I’m disappointed. “Do you need anything from me other than dumplings and cheesecake delivery?”

  “No, I’m doing okay. Other than the morning sickness—it’s not as terrible as some women have it, I know—and my aversion to mushrooms, it’s not too bad. I can feel my body changing, though. Like, my bras don’t fit right anymore.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. It’s weird talking about bras with Vince, isn’t it?

  Our relationship—it’s weird.

  Having a baby within a marriage would be much more straightforward. But we’re not in love, and we’re not getting married.

  “I told my mom,” I say. “I didn’t mean for Larry’s children to find out too, but they did, because I looked like a deer caught in headlights when I learned we were having sushi for dinner and Larry offered me a glass of wine.”

  “Who’s Larry?”

  “My mom’s husband.”

  Vince doesn’t ask any more questions, for which I’m thankful. At some point, I’ll tell him more about my family, but not yet.

  “My mom wants to meet you,” I say. “At some point before the baby arrives, can you come over for dinner?”

  “Sure. My parents will probably want to meet you, too, if that’s okay. I haven’t told them yet, don’t worry. At twelve weeks, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “My brother asked if I wanted to be a dad, and it was tough to keep a straight face.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I understand wanting to wait until the second trimester. It’s not a problem.” He stuffs some cheesecake in his mouth. “This one is just as good, you know.”

  “No, the double fromage cheesecake is better.” I pop the last dumpling in my mouth with my chopsticks, then pick up another bite of the double fromage cheesecake with my fork. I hold it to his lips.

  “A second bite? Wow, you really are generous.”

  “Shut your mouth. I mean, open it. So I can put the cheesecake in.”

  He does as I request.

  “The problem is that you didn’t taste them one after the other before,” I say. “But now you have, and you agree the so-called AstroTurf one is better, don’t you?”

  He ponders this for a moment. “No, I like them equally.”

  “You’re just saying that to piss me off.”

  “I’m telling you the truth.”

  “You’re a monster.” I shake my head. “A kind, generous monster who went out of his way to get this pregnant lady what she wanted.”

  “It’s no trouble. Really, Marissa, I don’t mind.”

  This time, he does take my hand in his and looks at me intently.

  My face feels like it’s on fire.

  “Uh, thanks for everything,” I say, “but I’m tired and you should probably be going. Get back to your three-piece-suit-wearing friends or whatever it is while I go to bed.”

  He stands up. “Sure.”

  I shouldn’t be annoyed that he’s doing what I told him to do, but I am. Though I’m also relieved.

  I’m relieved, aren’t I?

  Despite his ridiculous proposal when I told him I was pregnant, Vince has been good at not intruding in my life where I don’t want him, but still being there when I ask.

  And he’s a hell of a good kisser and wears that suit so well it would make angels weep.

  God, that kiss...

  I press my fingertips to my mouth before standing up and walking him to the door.

  “See you soon,” I say. “At the ultrasound, if nothing else.”

  “If you develop any cravings you want me to satisfy, be sure to let me know.” He winks.

  “Vince—”

  “Like, say, you really want some har gow. Or aloo gobi. Or Portuguese egg tarts. Anything like that. Why, what were you thinking?”

  I
fix him with my death glare. “Go, Vince.”

  “Alright, I’m going.”

  But before he does, he presses a quick kiss to my cheek.

  I clean up the kitchen and write out my grocery list for tomorrow—definitely need to stock up on salted caramel ice cream and pretzels—and that kiss lingers.

  What will Vince do now? He said his friend was trying to pick up, but surely he has other things to do this Friday night. Parties to attend, exclusive night clubs to check out?

  If I’d asked him to stay to watch a movie and snuggle up on the couch...would he have?

  Vince and I are now stuck in each other’s lives, but even though I’m attracted to him, I’m not going to make out with him again. We’re going to be co-parents; that’s what is important, and I can’t imagine us actually being together, even if he feels otherwise. At this point, anything physical would just complicate matters.

  Next time, I will control my urges. I blame my little slip-up on pregnancy hormones and that mouth-watering suit.

  Sure, the man who got me pregnant is hot, but I can resist him.

  No problem.

  Ha.

  * * *

  Saturday afternoon, I head to an independent coffee shop on Mount Pleasant and order a London fog. A few minutes later, Pearl Liang orders a latte and sits down across from me.

  I’ve known Pearl for years. We used to hang out all the time, but now she has two small children and a full-time job, and it’s hard to coordinate our schedules.

  It’s so good to see her for the first time in months. I give her a hug.

  She tilts her head. “You look different. New haircut?”

  “No.” I pause. “I’m pregnant. Maybe that’s it.”

  “You’re pregnant.” Her eyes widen, but when I smile at her, she smiles back. We hug again. “Congratulations. Wow, I really am out of the loop. Who’s the guy you’re seeing?”

  “I’m not seeing anyone. Just a guy I spent a night—okay, two nights—with. Apparently, our birth control failed, and here I am. Pregnant.”

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but I never imagined you having a child outside of a relationship. You used to talk about wanting a two-parent family for your child.”

  “The father will still be involved, which is important to me. But I’m getting old, and I’d like a kid. I need to be flexible.”

  “If you’re happy,” she says, squeezing my hand, “then I’m happy. Have you told your mother?”

  “Yeah. It took her a minute to wrap her mind around it, but it was fine. She’s already sewing baby clothes.”

  “If you have any questions about pregnancy, you know you can ask me, anytime. And since I’m officially done having kids, I have lots of things I don’t need anymore that I could give you. Like a baby bouncer.”

  “That would be great.”

  We talk for a while about pregnancy and her children—and what little adorable devils they are—until she says, “Okay, I have to ask. Who’s the father? You say he’s going to be involved, so I assume this isn’t a big secret. Do I know him?”

  “No, but you might know of him. Vince Fong.”

  “The name does sound familiar. Oh, is he Charles Fong’s son?”

  “Yeah. The youngest one. The tech start-up guy.”

  “He’s known for being, uh, quite popular with women, right?”

  “Yep, and I fell for his charms.” And then I kissed him again last night. “But he’s really not so bad, and he was pretty excited when I told him about the pregnancy.”

  “Marissa,” Pearl says, her voice laced with amusement.

  Oh, God, I know that voice.

  “Are you falling for him, maybe a little?”

  “No,” I scoff.

  She gives me a look.

  This is the problem with knowing someone for more than two decades. She can read me too well.

  “Well, he’s really hot,” I admit.

  “I think I need to see what this man looks like.” Pearl pulls out her phone, and not much later, she lets out a low whistle. “He does look quite nice without a shirt.”

  “What pictures are you looking at?” I grab the phone from her hand. I only have memories of what he looks like shirtless. Pictures would be nice.

  I’m sure he’d take his shirt off for me if I asked, but I wouldn’t be able to stand his infuriating smirk.

  The picture Pearl has pulled up is from a calendar, several years old now. I’ll have to tease him about this.

  And yeah, he looks good, a cocky smile on his face, but something bothers me about his expression. I zoom in. Maybe if I’d never been up close and personal with him, I wouldn’t be able to tell, but he looks...exhausted. Like he’s barely holding it together.

  “You haven’t Googled him before?” Pearl asks. “You would have easily found this photo if you had.”

  “No, I was afraid of what I might find.”

  “You’re having his kid, though.”

  I sip my London fog. “Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t one of the guys I actually dated have gotten me pregnant?”

  “Well...” Pearl says.

  “Right. One of them did.”

  Sanjay went to the clinic with me and held my hand. One day, he said, we’ll have a baby together. When the time is right.

  But that didn’t happen. We broke up several months later. The relationship was comfortable and safe, but I didn’t love him enough.

  This is an unfortunate pattern with me. I meet a respectable and genuinely nice guy. Usually, I’m the one who makes the first move. We date for a while, maybe we exchange “I love yous.” Occasionally, he ends it, but usually I get bored and end it first.

  I have no history of going for assholes who break my heart.

  Sanjay got married five years ago and has a few kids. I don’t talk to him anymore, but we’re “friends” on Facebook, and I like when a picture pops up of him with his family. He always looks happy, and I’m glad for him.

  Then I inevitably get a little sad. Why can’t I have what he has?

  Maybe I should have “settled” for one of my exes. Have I been looking for the impossible, for a love that doesn’t exist?

  No, I don’t think so. I think I’ve just been unlucky and haven’t met the right guy yet.

  “If you have a little crush on Vince,” Pearl says, “it’s probably because he’s a sweetheart, underneath everything else. You have impeccable taste in men. Unlike me.”

  “You’re the one who’s married.”

  “But until my husband, I was doing pretty poorly with dating. You’re different.”

  “Why couldn’t I really, truly love one of those guys?” I shake my head, frustrated with myself, but there’s no point in dwelling on it. “The reason I’m not letting myself fall for Vince is because I know he’s all wrong. He’s definitely not a sweetheart.”

  I remember what happened the night we met.

  Nope, definitely not sweet.

  Then last night...

  “You’re blushing!” Pearl says.

  “Pregnancy hormones,” I mutter.

  “Or...”

  I have another sip of my drink. “Last night he brought me matcha double fromage cheesecake because I was craving it.” I don’t bother describing how hot he looked when he delivered my food. That image is just for me.

  “From Cheese & Me?”

  “Yeah.”

  We both spend the next minute salivating.

  If I was a truly good friend, I might have brought her the small piece I have left, but I’m keeping that for myself.

  I mean, I’m pregnant. I deserve it.

  “I’m just saying,” Pearl says, “maybe don’t write off the cute guy who brings you cheesecake.”

  “You’re a romantic, wanting me to have a happy nuclear family.”

  She shrugs. “Perhaps you need someone who’s a little different from the other men you’ve been with. Now tell me.” She leans forward. “Does he really look that good wi
thout a shirt, or are the pictures lying?”

  I laugh. “No, they’re not lying.”

  As I walk home, I wonder if maybe Pearl has a point.

  Chapter 13

  Vince

  I stand on the balcony—one of many balconies—at Brian’s house and look out at his backyard. The sun has set, but there are enough lights for me to make out the edge of the tennis court and hedge maze.

  It’s late March, and I’m a little cold in my suit jacket, though the whiskey warms me from the inside. The music and sounds of the party reach my ears, but I just stand here, sipping my drink.

  “Hey, Vince.” Alexis saunters up to me.

  I force a smile for her. “Hey. How are you?”

  “I’d prefer to do a little less talking,” she says, sliding her hand up my arm.

  I immediately stiffen.

  She pulls back.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Just not in the mood today.”

  She looks at me like I said the earth is flat or something equally absurd, but she doesn’t push it.

  I don’t blame her for her reaction. I’m acting pretty out of character.

  But I made a promise to Marissa, and to be honest, it’s not a difficult promise to keep. When I think of her wearing those frayed purple pajamas and stuffing cheesecake into her mouth—and then kissing me—it’s hard to want anyone else.

  “What are you drinking?” I ask Alexis.

  “I have no idea, but it’s delicious! That bartender is amazing. You tell her a few cocktails or ingredients you like, and she makes something up on the spot. Want to try?” She holds out her glass.

  Sharing drinks has never bothered me, but now, all I can imagine is getting sick and passing it along to Marissa and harming the baby and...

  I shake my head. “No, I’m fine.”

  We talk for a few more minutes about the party before Alexis heads back inside. I return to staring out at the yard and drinking in silence.

  The silence doesn’t last long, however.

  “Vince! I didn’t believe it when I heard you were brooding on the balcony, but it’s true.”

  I turn and see Holden Khoo, and my face splits into a grin.

  “Holden.” I slap him on the back. “Good to see you.”

  He turns to Brian. “He doesn’t seem unhappy.”