by Kendall Ryan
“Thank fuck someone had the balls to bring that up,” Zach muttered under his breath.
“You draw the short straw?” I asked Matt. They weren’t generally the type to pry into my personal life, but they never hesitated to point out my foul mood.
Despite their annoying probing, they were both pretty good guys. They’d worked for me since I started my construction business on a wing and a prayer three years ago. They stood by me, agreeing to work for less than they were worth until I could afford to pay them more. Now we all did pretty well, but then again, we worked our asses off, so it was all relative.
“Seriously, man. You could use a woman in your life,” Matt said, gazing down into his half-empty beer glass.
“Or at least in your bed,” Zach added.
My life? That was a big fat no-fucking-thank-you. But my bed? That wasn’t the worst idea they’d ever had. I tried to remember the last time I’d had the pleasure of a woman’s company. To be fair, it had been a little while, maybe a couple of months, and damn if I was going to admit it to them, but there was a chance they were right.
“I’ll take that under advisement,” I mumbled, trying not to stroke their egos too much.
“Good, ’cause there’s a cute little number giving you the eye over there,” Matt said, nudging my ribs with his elbow.
His gaze drifted over toward the pool tables in the back of the bar, and mine followed. A blonde with heavy eyeliner and dressed in a pair of cut-off shorts and a red tank top that was cut dangerously low to reveal the edges of a lacy push-up bra stood with her hip out, staring me down. She wasn’t exactly my type, but my dick didn’t care. He’d just heard the suggestion of sinking into warm, wet pussy tonight, and he was all in.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled my gaze away, just in time to see the men flanking me sharing a conspiratorial smile. Assholes.
Thirty minutes later, I had the blonde in the cab of my truck and was headed for my place.
When we arrived at my house a few minutes later, I squinted at the beat-up sedan parked in my driveway. That wasn’t there when I left this morning. I parked on the other side of the driveway and climbed out of the truck.
“Stay put for second,” I said to the blonde and she nodded, her glossy red lips parting in a smile.
I walked around to the driver’s side of the sedan just in time to watch a woman climb out of the car. Dark blond hair hung down, partially obscuring her face, but I’d recognize those bouncy curls anywhere.
“Jenn?” I asked, stopping in my tracks. We’d dated for a few months a couple of years ago, but I hadn’t seen her since.
Our awkward breakup was part of the reason I avoided relationships now. She’d been ready for something more: commitment, stability . . . matrimony. I wasn’t. The memory of our last conversation still stung. A fun three-month-long fling was snubbed out with a few curt words.
“Aren’t you ever going to want to settle down?” she’d asked.
“Probably not.”
I’d been cold. But at least I’d been honest.
“Hey, Max.” Her voice was emotionless and flat.
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but if she was here out of the blue, it was probably for a reason.
“What’s going on? Is everything all right?” I shot a quick glance at my date for the evening through the windshield. Her smile had fallen, and she was watching us with rapt interest.
Jenn opened the door to the backseat and lifted out an infant car seat—with a sleeping baby inside.
What the fuck?
My heart rate tripled and my stomach knotted.
“Jenn?” My voice cracked.
“She’s yours.” Jenn set the infant carrier at my feet and took a step back.
I didn’t look down. Truthfully, I couldn’t bring myself to look at the baby because I was scared of what I might see. Could she really be mine? Did she look like me? That wasn’t possible—was it? I was still watching Jenn, still trying to figure out what in the fuck was happening.
Another uneasy look toward my truck revealed that the blonde’s eyes were glued to the scene in front of her, her lips parted in surprise.
“You can have a test done if you want, but she’s yours.” Jenn wiped a stray tear from her cheek and reached back inside the car for a duffel bag, which she set next to the carrier. “I’m sorry. I just can’t do this anymore.”
I heard her voice but couldn’t process her words. “What are you saying? What are you talking about?”
“I can’t handle it, Max. I thought I could, but it turns out I can’t. She’s yours, so you take her.” Jenn’s voice trembled as she bent and whispered something to the little girl who was still sound asleep. Then she climbed back into her car and started backing out of my driveway.
“Jenn!” I roared, waving my arms at her. She threw her car into drive and stepped on the gas so hard, her tires gave a little screech, and then she was gone.
Pulling a deep breath into my lungs wasn’t as effective as I’d hoped. It felt like there was a lead weight sitting on my chest. I felt frozen to this spot in my driveway, unsure what the next play was, or how I’d even found myself in this game.
The blonde climbed out of my truck and came to stand beside me, looking down at the baby who had slept through the entire thing.
“What an adorable little girl. Is she your niece or something?”
I looked down at the baby for the first time. Her tiny eyelids fluttered, and she stretched one footie-pajama-covered leg before letting it fall slack once again. I was hit by the sudden urge to get her inside the house, to take her in out of the cool night air.
“No. She’s mine.” I lifted the carrier and held it protectively in front of me. Mine. That word sent a small panic racing through me. “What am I going to do now?” I said more to myself than to her. Or maybe it was a question meant for the universe, because my life as I knew it just got flipped inside out.
Blondie shrugged. “I have to pee.”
The three of us headed inside, and I set the baby carrier on the living room floor and pointed out the hall bath.
Once she was done, she marched up to me and rose on her tiptoes to press a kiss to my cheek. “I guess tonight’s a no-go.”
I nodded. “Something like that.”
“I’ll grab an Uber. You better get her put to bed,” Blondie said, fishing her phone out of her tiny denim shorts.
I inwardly groaned. Sex had been the only thing on my mind five minutes ago, and now it wasn’t going to happen. Maybe not ever again. I groaned once more.
“There,” she said, punching some buttons on her phone. “I’ll be out of your hair in five minutes.”
Blondie kissed my cheek again and went to wait outside on the porch while I tried not to have a panic attack. What in the fuck was I supposed to do now?
I made a pillow fort on my bed, blocking all the edges, and then attempted to get the baby out of her car seat. That five-point harness was serious. She was sleeping, not skydiving, but whatever. When she was finally free, I lifted her out and laid her down in the center of the bed. I’d take the guest room. The sheets were dusty in there, and I didn’t want her sleeping on them. I didn’t know much of anything about babies, but I knew their skin and lungs were probably more sensitive than my man-hide was.
Once she was settled, I opened the duffel bag that Jenn had dropped off with her. Inside was a fuzzy pink blanket, some tiny clothes, a sippy cup, diapers, wipes, and a folded sheet of paper. I opened the note and looked down at Jenn’s neat handwriting.
Max,
I know this comes as a surprise. I’m sorry to just dump her on you like this, but I know you can handle it. I know you thought you couldn’t, or maybe you just didn’t want the responsibility, but you’re the strongest man I know. You’ll be better at this than I was. I’m sure of it.
Her name is Dylan. She just turned one, her birthday was Sunday. She takes a nap after lunch and she loves baths. Thank you.
With love
,
Jenn
I flipped the page over. That was it? There were no instructions? No manual, no nothing. I knew the running joke was that men didn’t read instructions, but believe me, these I would have at least glanced at.
The fact that Jenn had named her Dylan made something clench inside my chest. Bob Dylan was my favorite musician and Jenn knew that—she used to tease me about it. Said my taste in music was from another century. I realized that her choice in name was a way to pay homage to me. If she was willing to do that, then why keep the pregnancy from me? Why hide the fact that she was having my baby?
My gaze drifted back over to the baby . . . my daughter. That would take some getting used to.
I had no idea what I was going to do, but I hoped the morning would bring some clarity.
• • •
I heard the crunch of tires on my gravel driveway and looked out the front window. Thank God Tiffany’s here.
I was wired after three cups of coffee and had been pacing my living room for the past thirty minutes.
Tiffany had been my personal assistant for going on three years. She made sure all the bills got paid on time, the supplies were ordered for jobs, and most importantly, she kept me in line. She was a problem solver, and so even if this was supposed to be her day off, I needed her.
As usual, Tiffany let herself inside. “What’s going on?” she asked, toeing off her shoes at the front door. Working so closely together these last few years meant we were practically family. At least, that was how I viewed our relationship.
Before I could answer, her gaze landed on Dylan, who was sitting on my living room floor watching the Saturday morning cartoons just like I used to do as a kid. Only these weren’t the cartoons I remembered. They were too violent and had crude humor, so we’d have to work on finding something more suitable.
“Max?” Tiffany said, her voice rising like my name was a question.
“Yeah. I know. You better sit down.”
Her brows jumped and she lowered herself onto the couch, her gaze still on the little girl. “Is she . . . yours?”
“Yes.”
Tiffany swallowed. “Jenn?”
She knew all about my failed attempt at a relationship. In fact, Tiffany had even played the role of a rebound at one point. After my breakup with Jenn, Tiffany had kissed me at our company Christmas party and had grabbed the front of my jeans, or rather, what was inside. And for the next ninety seconds, I’d let myself think with my dick—towing her into my office and kissing her back. But then I’d come to my senses. I’d let her down carefully, wanting to preserve our working relationship.
Rubbing a hand over the back of my neck, I sighed. “She dropped her off last night. Said she couldn’t do it anymore.”
Tiffany placed her hand over her chest. “Wow. I’m going to need something stronger than coffee this morning,” she joked.
I sat down on the couch beside her. “You know I’m not good about asking for help.”
“No, you’re not. But you’re going to need it.”
I nodded again.
“Whatever you need, Max. I’m here.”
I swallowed, scrubbing a hand over my face. My gaze wandered down to Dylan, who was still absorbed in the show. I’d changed her diaper when she woke up this morning, given her dry Cheerios and filled her sippy cup with milk. She’d watched me curiously while I drank my coffee, but she didn’t cry and didn’t ask for her mama, which was both a relief and made me sad. I didn’t know what I was doing, but so far, so good.
“You know I don’t like to admit it when I need help, but I’m not going to be able to manage everything, not with work too. I’ve thought about it, and I don’t want to stick her in a day care where she doesn’t know anybody.”
Tiffany nodded.
The truth was I felt bad for the baby after being abandoned by her mom, and I felt all kinds of guilty that I didn’t know about her in her first year of life.
“So you’re going to keep her . . . here.”
“Yeah.”
Tiffany smiled at me and patted the back of my hand. “Maybe it’s time for a fresh start, Max. Maybe this is the universe’s way of intervening. I really think this could be the beginning of something great.”
“You’re right.”
“I am?” She grinned at me.
“Yeah. Everything will work out, right? I’m going to hire a nanny. I’m willing to pay top dollar, but I want the best of the best. It’s the perfect solution. I can work from home sometimes so I’m around more, and Dylan won’t have to be shuffled from place to place.”
Her eyebrows pinched together. “Oh, okay. Yeah. That’s a good idea. The only thing is you’re going to need to pray that she can start ASAP. Most people want to give a two-week notice to their current employer.”
Tiffany was right. All I could do was hope that somewhere out there, the universe was at work putting all the pieces into play so my puzzle would fit together.
Chapter Two
Addison
“You just need a fresh start. A do-over,” my best friend, Lara, said as she flopped onto the couch I’d been crashing on for the past week. She wrestled my blanket away from me before tossing a white paper bag from the drugstore into my lap.
“What’s all this?” I grumbled, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
“The start of your new and improved life.”
I rifled inside the bag and pulled out a box of purple hair dye, a bottle of bright pink nail polish, and about a dozen fashion magazines—all with headlines screaming things like the number of ways I could “Get Him to Beg for More.”
As if.
I held up the box of hair dye and raised my eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“Sometimes new starts are drastic. I figured it was worth a try,” she said with a wink.
“And that if I didn’t want to dye my hair, this color would look cute mixed in with your newly blond locks?” I smirked.
It was the truth. With her blunt platinum bob and her bright gray eyes, Lara would look seriously fierce with some purple streaks. My regular old brown hair, on the other hand? Not so much.
“You know me too well.” She grabbed one of the magazines from my lap and flipped open the front cover. “I thought we might just look at these to get some fresh ideas. Think outside the box and focus on something other than, you know.” She flipped another page, aggressively avoiding eye contact with me. “The incident.”
Right.
The incident.
That was the gentle way we’d begun referring to the complete and utter collapse of my personal life. Of course, I tended to opt mentally for the more fitting title of Addison’s Personal Apocalypse, but that was a little too wordy.
Not that I had anyone to blame for the destruction of my life other than myself since it all started when I turned my boyfriend gay.
I know what you’re thinking—that’s not possible. But let me assure you, it most certainly is.
I am living proof.
I wanted to ask if Lara had partially gotten these magazines in the hope that, if I learned how to make a man beg for more in ten easy steps, my next boyfriend wouldn’t fall victim to my personal doom.
Instead, I opted to ignore the magazines altogether.
“I’m keeping the nail polish.”
She nodded. “Thought it was your style. Now, come on, flip open a magazine and get to studying. We’re fixing your life, and it starts today.”
I let out a little snort. “Do you have a time machine?”
“Stop it.” Lara waved a page with a quiz at me. “How about we figure out your best colors. You hold swatches up to your skin to see if you’re an autumn or a spring or—”
I flopped back on the couch. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You’re already being too nice by letting me stay here.”
Lara rolled her eyes like she always did when I mentioned it. “It’s no problem. I know you would have done the same if something like that had happened to m
e.”
“Except it wouldn’t.” I punched the pillow behind my head and turned to face her. “You play it smart. Stay single, stay away from guys—”
“As if that’s a choice,” Lara said with an eye roll.
“It’s a good one. Then you don’t end up here, on your best friend’s couch with no apartment, no job, and no mojo.” I blew a strand of dull brown hair away from my face, and Lara gripped my wrist.
“It’s not your fault. You just didn’t know.”
Didn’t know was an understatement.
I was shocked. Floored. Frigging destroyed.
Of course, in hindsight, there were little things. Like, for example, he’d wanted to try a few things that were . . . less than usual for me in the bedroom, but I’d chalked that up to my relative inexperience. Half the stuff he asked for I’d never even heard of, and even though I did my best to please him, I was considerably less than masterful with the strap-on he’d gotten me as a birthday gift. It felt like every time I tried to step outside my carefully constructed sexual comfort zone, he walked away frustrated, and I walked away feeling a little less like a woman, a little less like a person, really, because I couldn’t seem to give him what he needed.
Maybe if I’d had these magazines then, I would have been able to make things turn out differently.
Maybe. But maybe not.
Holding my breath, I thought back to the night I’d woken to find an empty space in the bed beside me. I heard the low hum of the television and the telltale creaking of our ancient hand-me-down couch. Anxious to see if my boyfriend was all right, I’d crept into the living room only to find him sitting in the middle of the sofa with his hand stuffed down the front of his sweatpants, gay porn playing at low volume on the TV.
“What the hell?” I’d asked.
“What the hell with you?” he’d said, somewhat nonsensically. He ripped his hand away from his crotch like someone had electrocuted him, his eyes wide.
“Is that . . . is this what you’re into? Are you—” I’d sputtered, confused and hurt but hoping there was an explanation.
“God, Addison.” He sneered at me. “Don’t be so closed-minded. Fantasies are different from reality. You think just because you dress up as a slutty nurse I feel like you want to bang a doctor?”