Make Me a Mommy: A Mother's Day Secret Baby Romance

by Liz K. Lorde

  As the liquid snakes through me, a fire ignites.

  Fuck.

  My life really has gone down the fucking toilet.

  My eyes fix on my drink again.

  I’m on the same bar stool, in the same bar I first met Chloe.

  Those cheesy Humphrey Bogart lines spring to mind.

  “Out of all the gin joints in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.”

  Or something like that.

  How fucking right he was.

  Except I realize how fucking lucky I was to have Chloe walk in to my life. And I the fucking fool, I was fucking stuffed up.

  I still remember every tiny detail of that first meeting. Well, maybe not every tiny detail, but I remember Chloe. I remember the way she smelled and her smile and those delicious tits of hers. I remember how she complained of not being able to get a drink.

  I sigh.

  Life was so fucking unfair.

  Didn’t every story have a happy fucking ending? So why didn’t mine?

  Because this is life and not a fucking story, my inner voice reminds me.

  I sigh again.

  “Hey, Aaron.” Theo appears behind the bar.

  Instead of a reply, I just nod my head.

  “What’s a handsome dude like you doing all alone drinking at my bar on a night like tonight?”

  At first I say nothing.

  “You trying to drown your fucking sorrows or something?”

  No denying it.

  “It’s been a rough day.” I evade the direct question. I’m so fucking good at avoiding the direct question, aren’t I? Chloe had outright asked me what I do, and what had I done? I avoided the fucking question.

  Why the fuck had I not told her the truth there and then?

  Rough day my ass. It’s been a fucking rough week.

  “Give me another,” I say to Theo and keep wallowing in self-pity.

  I replay what happened in Reykjavik over and over again like a fucking annoying jingle from a television ad.

  Who the fuck could have predicted we were both pretending to be fucking different people?

  Theo pushes my drink toward me.

  The jackhammer in my head’s got to work already, but it’s bearable. Later, when he really starts to hammer away, it’ll become almost unbearable.

  My hand reaches for the drink, and I pour some of it down my throat.

  Its effect seems a little delayed.

  This fucking stuff was almost pure alcohol. Why was it not taking the pain away?

  Fucking stuff had also not worked all alone in my executive hotel suite in Reykjavik. I had sat day after day, night after night, watching the fucking northern lights by myself.

  The display of colors was fucking awesome. Trouble was, I had no one to share the experience with.

  Hope of Chloe coming to see me turned to fucking desperation, until I realized she was not coming to see me.

  After a week of waiting and getting drunk, I came home.

  It seems fitting I should go back to where I first met Chloe.

  If fate helped us once before, maybe fate would smile on us again.

  Instinctively I glance around. It’s early. There are only a few people around.

  Unfortunately, most of the patrons are couples.

  I hate seeing fucking happy couples. It makes me want to puke.

  There’s no sign of her.

  If I’m going to run into her anywhere, I’m sure it’ll be here.

  Where else would she go? She would come here and I would be ready. Ready to what?

  With a sigh, I take another big swig of my whiskey.

  Then I keep staring at the glass.

  Again, little Chloe heads appear. This time, they seem to be frowning. I shake my head and open and close my eyes.

  Drowning my sorrows like this wasn’t going to fucking work, was it?

  Nothing was achieved, and I seem to be starting to go mad. I’m sure it’s not normal to see tiny heads in your drink. Was I losing my fucking mind? Quite possibly.

  Action—I needed to take fucking action. Instead of navel-gazing, I should be coming up with a plan. The current one seemed not to be working.

  If she were to come through the door right here, right now, I’d get on one knee and declare my undying love for her. She’d have to listen.

  I stare at the door again. I’m willing her to walk through it.

  And then to my utter surprise, the door does open. I almost tumble off my barstool.

  Now that I’m faced with the possibility of seeing Chloe, I feel my throat constrict. Breathing becomes difficult.

  A woman does walk through it, but it ain’t Chloe.

  Fuck.

  Why is life so fucking complicated?

  “You sure getting drunk is the answer?” Theo’s come back to me and is polishing a glass.

  Barmen always seem to be polishing glasses. I thought they only did this in movies. Turns out in real life they’re the same.

  The same.

  Chloe and I, we are the same. We’re kindred spirits. We think along the same wavelength.

  We dig the same stuff.

  We both love books. We fucking love words. Words are our lives.

  I rest my head in both my hands.

  Argh.

  If we’re so alike and meant for each other, why isn’t she with me right now?

  I lift my head and pull out my phone.

  There’s still no message from her.

  I’ve left like a million messages for her—all of them so far have gone unanswered.

  Why the fuck is she ignoring me?

  Sure, I stuffed up, but don’t I at least deserve a second chance?

  I sigh again.

  Seems like she’s not coming to the bar, at least not tonight.

  What the fuck should I do now?

  I rummage around my brain. No inspiration comes to me.

  I bet Ms. Winters would have an idea. No. She wouldn’t just have an idea, she’d be full of action.

  Ms. Winters.

  Mr. BadBoy.

  There’s a connection. What the fuck’s the connection?

  And then slowly the light bulb goes on inside my head.

  I need to get in touch with BadBoy.

  It’s a little bit difficult for my index finger to find the right keys on the tiny, itty-bitty mobile of mine, but somehow I manage. And why the fuck it’s harder tonight than ever before is beyond me.

  And then, just as I open up Thebadboys.net app, the fucking phone glides out of my fingers and lands with a loud thud on the floor.

  Fuck.

  The fucking thing better not be broken now.

  My eyes try and focus to see where it landed.

  Slowly I get off my barstool and sway a little when my feet find the floor. My hands reach out to steady myself, and it takes enormous fucking effort to find the slippery sucker of a phone on the floor.

  It takes more than one attempt to grab it. Every time my fingers reach out to pick it up, the possessed device slides away from me.

  I swear if it weren’t for the fact I’m trying to get in touch with Chloe, I’d be giving up.

  But Chloe’s worth it. Chloe is, well, Chloe is Chloe.

  She’s one of a kind. She’s the kind of girl you don’t meet too often, and when you do, you take her home and introduce her to your mother.

  What the fuck was I doing?

  The bar seems to be spinning anticlockwise. I close my eyes and steady myself. Fuck, who turned on the spin cycle?

  “Here you go, my man.”

  I register Theo, no, I think there are two Theos. Is that even fucking possible?

  “Double espresso, on the house.”

  Double fucking Dutch to me.

  With a shaking hand, I pick up the tiny cup and bring it to my lips.

  Coffee. Wow. Smells fucking delicious.

  I drink it with one gulp and close my eyes.

  Five seconds later, the fog in my brain’s lifti
ng a bit.

  My eyes find my phone again.

  That’s right. I was going to contact Mr. BadBoy.

  With a sigh, I open up the message app and start to type.

  It’s short and simple, straight to the point.

  I think we should have that date we never got the chance for.

  Once I press send, I keep my eyes glued to the screen, willing her to reply. The chances are fucking slim, but a guy needs something to hang on to, right?

  Aaron

  Ok. I’ve had two espressos.

  I’ve had some water to wash everything down. I feel a little less intoxicated.

  I’ve sent the fucking message to BadBoy and so far, there’s been deafening silence.

  Would he respond—I mean she respond? It’s still a little bit difficult for me to think of Mr. BadBoy as Chloe.

  Chloe is impersonating a man. I’m impersonating a woman. What a crazy world. And yet we worked perfectly together. We zinged. Thoughts swirl around my head faster than a tornado. Fuck. It’s hurting.

  A further check of the bar and there’s still no sign of her.

  The cold hard reality of the situation is refusing to sink in.

  What if?

  The door opens, my heart lurches but it’s some bloke and his big boobed chick walking in. They’re so closely intertwined I think they’ve come to the wrong fucking place. They need a room, not a bar.

  Where the fuck is she?

  I slide from side to side on my barstool. This is starting to feel like eternity. I check my phone to see how long since I’ve sent the message. Yeah. I suppose it’s time to fucking accept she’s not coming tonight.

  “Theo,” I call out to the barman. “Can I get my usual?”

  I’ll just have one more drink and if she doesn’t show by the time I’ve finished it, I’m calling it a day.

  It’s the act of a desperate man, but that’s what I am, fucking desperate. I don’t want to accept defeat. I’m not a loser. I’m Ms. Fucking Winters.

  There are a few more people milling about now, but no sign of Chloe. No matter how many times I will her to walk through that door, she doesn’t.

  The caffeine has helped clear my alcohol haze a little.

  My phone is remaining silent. If she got my message, she’s not responding.

  A dark cloak wraps around me. Have I really blown it? Is this already the end of the road for Chloe and me?

  If I can’t fucking explain my side and say sorry to her, how can she ever forgive me? And I can’t do any of those fucking things if she does not return my call or answer any of my messages.

  With a shake of the head, I drain my glass. What’s the fucking point of delaying the inevitable? May as well head home and do what?

  Fucking drink some more.

  Fuck.

  The more I drink, the more it hurts.

  Fucking alcohol doesn’t solve the fucking the problem.

  I feel someone touch me on the shoulder.

  It’s a soft touch.

  A familiar perfume wafts in my direction. My insides feel as if they’re put into a vice and squeezed so tight I can barely breathe.

  “Excuse me.” And there’s the familiar voice. The one that can caress my ego and tip me over the edge, drive me mad with desire. “Excuse me.”

  I turn to look at her.

  I can’t believe my fucking eyes. I pinch myself to make sure I’m not imagining it.

  It really is Chloe.

  And boy does she look fucking hot.

  “What do you think a girl has to do to get a drink around here?”

  She’s smiling at me.

  Fireworks erupt in my head. And an orchestra is providing the music to the display.

  “Let me get you something.” My voice is croaky.

  She bows her head a little.

  “I’ll have what she’s having.”

  We both laugh.

  Who hasn’t seen the infamous scene of When Harry Met Sally?

  Fuck, I’ve missed her. I love her fucking way of thinking. She’s on my wave length.

  I signal Theo.

  “A drink for the lady.”

  A minute or so later, Chloe has her drink in front of her. She turns to me.

  “So tell me,” she tilts her head a little to the right and stares at me with her puppy eyes. “What’s a handsome guy like yourself doing all alone at this bar on a Friday night?”

  I grab the lifeline she’s thrown my way.

  “I’m waiting for my hot and sexy girlfriend to arrive.”

  She smiles and sips on her drink.

  “And when she gets here, I want to tell her how sorry I am for what’s happened. And ask for a reset.”

  Her eyes blink a few times. She nods.

  “You mean like you press clear or delete on those little electronic devices we call mobile phones?” She asks, teasing.

  I laugh and nod.

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “What do you think this hot and sexy girlfriend of yours will say?”

  I shrug.

  “I hope she’ll understand and forgive me.”

  She seems to ponder my words for a while.

  I take the opportunity to feast my eyes on her. She’s wearing the tightest of blood red tops and matching tight red skirt.

  Her legs are covered in black tights with a seam going up the back of the leg. She looks so fucking hot I can barely contain myself.

  “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself properly.” Her voice rouses me from daydreaming and perving on her exquisite body.

  I focus on her and I find myself staring at her outstretched hand.

  “I’m Chloe. I’m a top-notch dating assistant.”

  I arch my eyebrows.

  “Sounds fascinating. Do tell me more.”

  Her long fingers play with her straw.

  “I help billionaires find the loves of their lives.”

  I nod in understanding.

  “And the way I do this is by pretending to be a man. My alter ego is called Mr. BadBoy,” she continues.

  “Wow. That must be fascinating work.”

  She beams at the compliment.

  “Now that I’ve had the honors, I think I should introduce myself.”

  I shake her hand.

  When our skin touches I feel electric shock waves rip through me. I don’t want to let her go.

  “I’m Aaron. I own an exclusive business called Thebadboys.net. My aim is to help billionaires find their perfect match.”

  Chloe laughs.

  “Sounds like we might have a lot in common.”

  I nod. How fucking easy was that?

  “Tell me,” she leans forward and I catch a glimpse of her red lace bra, “what’re we going to do while we wait for your hot, sexy girlfriend to get here?”

  I restrain myself from cupping those delicious tits that are within arm’s length of me.

  “That won’t be a problem.”

  She smiles.

  “She’s already arrived.”

  I stare at her luscious lips and let my finger trace over the outline.

  My cock’s throbbing in my pants.

  Is this really happening? Am I having some sort of hallucination?

  “Can you pinch me?” I whisper and I see her questioning look. “I just want to make sure you’re real.”

  Now she’s giggling.

  Her lips are hovering near my ear. She starts to nibble on my ear lobe and whispers.

  “Still not sure if I’m real?”

  I sigh.

  “What’s taking you so long?”

  Instead of a reply, she continues to caress my face with soft kisses. I feel as if butterfly wings are moving across my skin.

  Wow.

  “So tell me, Mr. BadBoy,” I mutter. “What’s going to happen next?”

  Her kisses stop, and she looks at me.

  “Well,” she starts. Now her fingers walk up my leg. “I have a few suggestions. We could…” she does no
t finish the sentence but leaves her words hanging.

  “Chloe,” I cup her head between my hands, turning serious. “I want you to know I want you. I mean, I’ve realized I’ve fallen in love with you. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you. I was stupid.”

  Chloe puts her index finger to my lips.

  “You weren’t the only one who made a mistake. I’m just as much to blame for what happened as you are. I’m sorry too. And I also want to be with you. And I also…am falling in love with you.”

  For a moment, the world seems to stand still. It’s as if only the two of us are in the world. It’s the most magical moment.

  I want this moment to last forever. My heart is filled with happiness and I feel as if I’m drowning in her eyes.

  Slowly, I lean forward.

  Her lips open a little in anticipation of meeting mine. I press down on them gently. They’re soft and delicious. She melts into me. My tongue probes and is allowed entry into her inner sanctum. I explore and engage with her tongue.

  We are locked in this kiss forever. My hands find her lower back and the back of her neck. I push her toward me.

  My insides feel as if they’re melting.

  Her hands wrap around my neck. I feel her move closer to me. I want to scoop her up like ice cream and devour her. My cock’s throbbing in my pants and I can feel little ripples of pleasure take hold of her body.

  I release her slowly.

  “Shall we get a room?” I whisper into her ear and she nods.

  “Put it on my tab, Theo,” I call out to the barman and escort Chloe out the door.

  As we walk, I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her possessively toward me.

  I won’t be letting go of my girl any time soon.

  My girl. I play with the expression. It’s fucking corny, but it’s straight to the point.

  Chloe. My girl. And if I play my cards right, the only girl. Forever. I know Ben’s going to love her.

  But there’s time for all that later.

  For now, I can’t fucking wait until we get a room.

  Chloe

  I’ve gotta hand it to Aaron. He has this terribly over-the-top way of delivering apologies.

  When we agreed to get a room, I thought we were grabbing a cheapo by-the-hour rental at the closest hotel that would have us. I was prepared for the worst. Weird stains on the comforter. The faint smell of cigarettes. A demanding cleaning lady popping in halfway through. And I would have endured it all, too.

  That’s how bad I want him. Kicking a bossy cleaning lady out of our fuck-room bad.