The Baby Bump

by Tara Wylde

  Oh shit, Maxie thinks even as she loses herself in the kiss. I’m in deep trouble now.

  The scene plays through my mind as I’m shuffled out of the coffee shop. It’s a plot twist I never saw coming, but I really, really like it. Every iota of my being demands that I grab my computer and sit down right now and type it out before it fades from my memory, but the man who currently has one hand locked around my own and his other wrapped firmly around my computer doesn’t seem like he has any intention of letting me stop to write.

  The tiny bell above the coffee shop door rings out a cheerful good-bye as we pass under it.

  I study the face of the man currently holding my hand captive.

  I’ve heard of Ryan Jakes. How could I not have… He’s a legend in this town. The local boy who mysteriously ran away from home when he was a teenager, only to resurface a few years later when he played a tiny role in a rom-com movie that became a hit. That alone would have been enough to make him a local legacy, but that particular job led to more and bigger roles. Before anyone had a chance to blink, he became a star.

  While I’ve yet to see him in a leading role, since that first movie which consisted of maybe a half dozen speaking lines, Ryan Jakes has consistently landed supporting roles in some of the biggest movies for the past decade. He also frequently guest stars on several television shows.

  The media called him level headed and a sweetheart. They hadn’t mentioned that he’s nuts.

  As soon as we get out of the coffee shop, I pull away and stare at him. “What was all that about?”

  He casts a nervous glance at the shop’s windows. “Look, can we not have this conversation out here? Suzie’s watching and if she thinks that something’s wrong with my story, God only knows what she’ll do.”

  The timbre of his dark, rich, velvety voice sends tingles of awareness throughout my body. I press my thighs together and struggle to keep my expression neutral. I’ve always been a sucker for a deep voice.

  He reaches down and threads his fingers through mine before walking me away from the coffee shop, leading me toward the parking lot.

  My heart pounds in my chest as I follow. I can’t stop thinking that in the movies, it’s the girl who generally trusts the strange, good looking guy who becomes a pile of dismembered limbs in a dumpster…

  Ryan halts beside a cherry red BMW. He pulls a key fob from his windbreaker pocket and the locks click open. He releases my hand and opens the passenger door. I hesitate. I swear I’ve been told that the worst thing a woman can do is get into a car with a strange man, that it’s better to stay out in the open. And well known, well liked celebrity or not, so far Ryan Jakes is the strangest, least predictable person I’ve ever met.

  “Here.” He takes my hand again, but this time it’s to press his car keys into my palm. “Hold onto these if it makes you feel better. If Suzie sees us talking in the car, she won’t think anything’s strange. But if she spots us standing outside of it, she’ll assume we’re in the middle of some sort of lover’s tiff. How do you think she’ll react to that?”

  I wince. She’ll storm over here and interfere. Clutching the keys so tightly that they bite into my skin, I slide into the car.

  Ryan closes the passenger door with the softest of clicks before jogging around the front of the elegant little car and sliding behind the wheel. He hands me the laptop he scooped up just as we were leaving the shop. Having it back in my possession allows me to relax just a little bit. God only knows how he’d react if he found out I was writing an erotic superhero romance. And that I’m now thinking about turning him into a main character!

  Still holding the keys, I settle my computer on my lap and rest my hands on the cover while I wait for him to start talking.

  “First off, I want to apologize,” he says. “I never should have touched you, much less kissed you without your permission. That was incredibly stupid and I know better.”

  He’s right. Given society’s current frame of mind, if I cried assault, it would destroy his reputation and his career. And I’d be well within my rights to do so. But … I liked kissing Ryan Jakes.

  Horrified, my hand flies to my cheek, covering the starburst-shaped scar.

  I was wrong. Confused. The last man I kissed was Lance Brooks, my high school and college sweetheart. After losing him, I swore I’d never kiss another man, and I’ve kept that promise.

  Until today.

  Tears prick the back of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. What’s done is done. Later, I’ll figure out a way to atone for that kiss.

  I study Ryan’s face. “Why’d you do it?”

  He drags a hand through his hair. “Honestly, I don’t know. I certainly didn’t plan on it. I hated hearing Suzie yell at you, but my plan was still to walk out the door and just ignore it. But something made me turn to you, and everything else … I guess you could say that kissing you was instinctive.”

  “And the story you told?”

  He laughs. It’s a good sound, one that fills the car’s interior and sends a strange warm sensation rolling through me.

  “Also, not planned. Which is kind of weird. I’m usually so good about thinking about what I say, planning every single word and even gauging my tone whenever I answer a question. It’s what’s prevented me from having any embarrassing soundbites during interviews, but back there, it was like my mouth and my brain were disconnected. You ever have anything like that happen to you?”

  “Not that I can recall,” I tell him.

  He shakes his head and stares down at the steering wheel. “It’s a weird sensation, but you know, sometimes things happen for a reason.”

  I don’t have a response.

  My cell phone rings. I drag it out of my pocket and stare at the name and number on the screen.

  “Let me guess. It’s Suzie.”

  “Yeah.”

  Ryan starts to reach for the phone but hesitates and draws his hand back. “May I make a suggestion?”

  “What?”

  “Is there anyone that needs to get in touch with you? Someone who will freak out if they have to leave a message rather than talk to you right away?”

  “Just Suzie.”

  “Then how about you just shut it off? She’s just going to keep calling you, and the constant ringing will drive you bonkers.”

  The idea has some appeal. “I don’t know.” Since getting my first cell phone, I don’t think I’ve ever turned it off and been completely unreachable.

  “Then at least set it to vibrate mode and put it somewhere that you won’t feel it. Then you won’t be tempted to answer Suzie’s calls and can enjoy the rest of your day off.”

  Deciding to go dark, I power the entire thing off, cutting Suzie off in mid-ring. It’s a liberating experience, and I smile as I tuck the now silent phone into my pocket. Maybe I should have done something like this a lot sooner.

  Ryan’s Caribbean blue eyes find mine. “I have a sort of crazy idea.”

  “Based on your other ideas, I’m afraid to ask.”

  “Since it’s your day off, and now that you’re hiding from Suzie, and now that she thinks you’re my girlfriend, how about we keep up the pretense?”

  I stare at him. “’And what, start dating for real?”

  Ryan bites his lip, almost anxiously. It’s as though he’s only thinking about the words he speaks a second before they fly out of his mouth. This is the craziest thing in the world – the craziest thing that has ever happened to me. And yet I don’t want it to stop.

  “No, but my agent was just moaning about the fact that I’m not dating anyone. Apparently it makes me seem a little … I think the word she used was unsettled, which in turn makes directors and studio execs nervous about hiring me for leading roles. If you agree to be my pretend girlfriend for a few weeks, it might do wonders for my reputation, or at the very least, get my agent off my back for a little while.”

  I should tell him no. I have to tell him no. The idea is ridiculous. Besides, I already have mo
re responsibilities on my plate right now than I can handle. The last thing I should agree to is a farce that would undoubtedly take up even more time – and probably leave me feeling both humiliated and ashamed.

  Still, it might be fun… Ryan might be a bit looney, but my Spidey-senses aren’t telling me he’s a menace – and he’s certainly not boring. And surely serving as the pseudo girlfriend of a celebrity would be a one of a kind research experience for a budding romance author. Especially a budding romance author with my particular drawback…

  Right?

  I might even gain enough knowledge to write a whole new novel. And maybe it would become a runaway bestseller, and I could quit my job and never deal with the likes of Suzie Collins again.

  Looking at it that way, I really can’t afford to flat-out reject Ryan’s offer.

  I turn to him. “What would I have to do?”

  Ryan

  I can’t believe my ears. “Are you serious?”

  I hadn’t really expected Lucy to accept my offer when I made it. She looks like the kind of woman who instinctively shies away from the limelight, and being my psudeo girlfriend would definitely put her directly under the spotlight, especially once word gets out that I am back in my home town.

  “Um, to tell you the truth, I’m not really sure. I’m in town doing some promotional work for the hospital, so I guess you’ll have to come to those events.”

  “Okay,” Lucy says easily. “What else?”

  “Well, since we’re saying we’re a couple, we should probably do some hand holding, go on a few dates. Maybe kiss a few times.”

  The very idea of kissing Lucy again, and this time having her actively participate in the experience, causes an explosion of heat to ricochet through me.

  “Is that all?”

  “Probably. I’ve never had a psudeo girlfriend before, so I’m not entirely sure how things are supposed to be handled. I really can’t imagine how it could be much more than that.”

  “Well, that’s a weight off my mind,” Lucy half-chuckles. “I wouldn’t want to be getting into bed with someone who does this all the time.”

  She sits bolt upright. “I didn’t mean –”

  It’s all I can do to hide the smile that threatens to stretch across my face. An image of Lucy – hair all messed up, lipstick smeared, and lying in my bed – flashes across my mind’s eye.

  Down, cowboy.

  Lucy looks away, chewing on her lower lip, and stares out the windshield at the row of scraggly rosebushes that line the sidewalk I parked in front of.

  I take the opportunity to study her – and compose myself. While she doesn’t have the drop-dead gorgeous looks my agent would most likely prefer my pseudo girlfriend to have, Lucy is pretty in a wholesome, completely natural way that I find way more appealing than some model from the front cover of Vogue magazine. With the exception of a little mascara, she’s not wearing any makeup and her shoulder-length brown hair is clean but not styled. Her bulky sweatshirt and loose-fitting jeans make it impossible to guess exactly what type of figure she has, but from the few seconds I held her, I’m guessing she’s nicely filled out in all the right places, and that while she’s not overweight, she’s also not afraid to eat ice cream, mashed potatoes, and chocolate the way some of my co-stars are.

  After spending nearly every waking moment surrounded by men and women who spend the bulk of their time worrying about their appearance, Lucy’s naturalness is refreshing.

  I study the starburst-shaped scar on her left cheek. Some people might say it mars her beauty, but I disagree. It intrigues me. I think it gives her looks more depth and substance, and shows that she has a history, a past that, like mine, isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. I desperately want to ask how she got it, but this is neither the time nor the place.

  Her long fingers with their short, unpainted nails drill a random rhythm on the hard shell of her laptop. She slants a sideways glance at me. “If I agree to this, will you promise me something?”

  I’ve been around show people too long, been burned one too many times to randomly agree to those kinds of statements. They have a tendency to come back and haunt me.

  “That depends on what it is you want,” I say cautiously.

  “Do you promise that this ‘dating’,—” She uses her fingers to form quotation marks around the word dating, “—thing you want to do will be fun?”

  I flash my trademark grin, the one that charms reporters, delights fans, and has made me the darling sidekick for rom-coms. “Fun is something I strive for in every aspect of my life. As long as you’re with me, I promise your life will be a laugh a minute.”

  “Okay.” Lucy takes a deep breath and hands me the car keys. “I’ll do it, but I swear, if you let me down …” She lets the sentence trail off as I slide the key into the ignition.

  “You’ll what?” The engine roars to life and I ease backwards out of the parking space.

  In my rearview mirror, I see the door to the coffee shop swing open and Suzie step out, her right hand wrapped around a large paper cup. She spots my car and her mouth flattens. The fact that I’ve completely ruined her day gives me an odd sense of satisfaction. While she pretty much ignored me all through high school, a few of my good friends weren’t so lucky and occasionally found themselves being used – and abused – by the town's social queen. This felt like a justifiable sense of revenge.

  “I’m not really sure,” Lucy admits. “But I promise, it will be something truly horrible.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. Lucy’s words completely lack the conviction needed to make them a serious threat. Still, I decide to play along.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell her as I make a right turn onto Main Street.

  For the first time, Lucy seems to realize that we’re moving. She sits up straighter in her seat and looks around, her eyes just a little frantic. “Wait a minute. Where are we going?”

  “To the hospital,” I say, my tone mild. “I have a meeting with Chad Rourke about donating organs and bodily tissue. I figure it’s as good a place as any for you to make your debut as my pseudo girlfriend. Don’t you agree?”

  The Fletcher Memorial Hospital was built by and named after the Fletcher Glassworks, a family owned glass making factory that has the distinction of still being the biggest employer in the town. When they’d built the hospital about ninety years ago, they’d done so with the hope that in addition to being able to provide any employees who were hurt on the job with fast medical care, they might also encourage members of the medical community to move to our little town, thus creating a second industry in a town that had, at the time, a total population of about one thousand citizens.

  At the time, the hospital had been a small, unimaginative brick of a building sitting right on the edge of the town. Twenty years later, when the beloved matriarch of the family was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, her husband leapt into action, adding a cancer wing and using his money to convince some of the best doctors in the world to come to Fletcher Memorial.

  The doctors and expensive medical equipment hadn’t been able to save Jean Fletcher. She passed away about two years after her initial diagnosis, but it turned out that her getting sick was one of the best things that could have happened to this little town. Because of her husband’s desperation to help her, the Fletcher Memorial Hospital became the best cancer treatment program in the state, and one of the top five in the country. As a result, people who have been diagnosed with cancer flock here, and the town has learned to cater to them.

  Today, the hospital is still the same unimaginative brick it ever was, but it has expanded so that at least it’s now an eight-story brick, surrounded by an assortment of businesses that include a large hotel, various restaurants, a florist, and a few different hobby stores.

  I park the car in one of the outdoor side lots. Lucy slides her laptop under the passenger seat, hiding it from anyone who happens to walk past before she lets herself out of the car. Almost
as though she’s worried about losing a prized possession. For a second it makes me wonder what’s so important on that laptop, but in an instant – and helped by a glimpse of Lucy’s voluptuous ass – I forget the thought.

  Side by side but not actually touching, we walk to the entrance. I glance at the pretty golf course that’s located next to the lot and stretches to the back of the hospital.

  “Good to see the doctors around here are still getting plenty of exercise.”

  Lucy follows the direction of my gaze and a small smile quirks the corners of her mouth as she shrugs into her lightweight coat. “When I first moved here, I thought that it was the strangest place for a golf course. Especially considering how busy the rest of this part of town is. I hate to think what the property taxes are for a piece of land that big. Then my boss told me that because the golf course is close enough for the doctors to play a few holes during their breaks, and the fact that all the employees connected to the hospital get a huge discount on membership is one of the reasons so many prominent doctors come to Fletchers’ as opposed to somewhere else.”

  “Wait a minute. Your boss... Don’t you work for Suzie?”

  “No.” The ends of Lucy’s hair brush across the top of her shoulders as she shakes her head. “I work for her dad. Doctor Collins. He hired me as his office manager.”

  “I thought you were Suzie’s wedding planner.” I take one long stride in order to reach the door first and hold it open for Lucy.

  “God no.” Lucy shudders. “She had one, but I think that lasted for about a day, maybe two, and the relationship dissolved.”

  “Who called it quits?” I ask, trailing Lucy into the brightly lit, stark hallway. The strange, chemically sterile smell I always associate with my childhood burns the inside of my nose. I press a hand to my stomach in a desperate attempt to stop myself from retching. The only thing worse than being in a hospital is being in this hospital.