by P. Dangelico
He twists left then right. Finally he turns it sideways and stretches out his long legs, parking his motorcycle boots next to the side of my chair. The lazy charmer persona he wears without effort is nowhere to be found.
“I would like you to reconsider me for…” His eyes dart from the utensils he’s busy rearranging, to the table next to us where a couple of suits keep glancing furtively in his direction. “You know––as a potential baby daddy,” he adds, turning down the volume of his deep, raspy voice by a couple of decibels.
“Baby daddy?” I repeat, my attention locked onto his hyper-focused gaze. “We’re talking about having a child together, not something to be taken lightly…this isn’t a joke.”
“You don’t think I know that?”
He sounds offended. Boo-hoo. Cry me a river. “No,” I answer, head shaking to drive home my point.
His whole demeanor changes, takes the shape of determination mixed with a touch of resentment. A small vein pops up in between his brows. He runs a supersized hand through his unruly hair and tugs on the ends.
Before he can jump into the argument I can see brewing, I continue. “No, I don’t. I’m not even sure you’re capable of taking care of yourself.”
At my gesture to his eye, he frowns.
“Give me a chance. Get to know me before you say no for good.”
He’s serious. I would venture to say almost desperate to convince me. Not only does this make me suspicious, but also begs the question why. What reason could he possibly have to want a child with a stranger? One that he doesn’t like, and doesn’t like him in return.
I sit back, arms crossed. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to have a baby with me? Why not get married and have one the conventional way? I’m sure there are plenty of women who would accommodate you, three in this restaurant alone by the looks of it. You may even have a couple of kids scattered about the country you’re unaware of, Mr. Fuck Hard.”
He didn’t like that last jab, his eyes turning into slits, his lips pressing together tightly.
I tip my head in the direction of the table near the door where three women of childbearing years are foaming at the mouth as they undress him with their eyes.
Following my line of sight, he spots them and exhales. His expression changes to troubled. Admittedly, I’m a little surprised. I would assume this is the kind of attention he welcomes.
“Give me one good reason why I should consider binding myself to you for the rest of my life.”
The silence continues, for enough time that I assume I’m not going to get an honest answer out of him.
“My mother left us when I was five.” His gaze moves down to the tabletop, to where his long fingers fiddle with the paper wrapper of his straw. I watch him flatten it against the wood, smooth out the wrinkles with the pads of his blunt fingers, his nails short and neat.
“She took off with some carny that was headed out west. He filled her head with a bunch of nonsense that she wasn’t meant to waste her beauty on a ranch…Happened again when I was eight. She called from Vegas beggin’ for money for a bus ticket home. After that she stayed put for three whole years. I was fifteen the last time she left––for good it turns out. By then it was a relief…always waitin’ for the other shoe to drop. If today was gonna be the day.”
This is costing him to tell me. I can see it on his face, in his stiff posture, in the way the cords of muscles of his forearms flex while resting on the table. For reasons unknown, seeing him look so vulnerable makes me uncomfortable. A small pang of shame hits me.
“Each time she left, a part of my father died. It was like…the light went out of him. The only time I saw him shine was when he came to watch me play.”
His face lifts and it’s all in his hard eyes: the leftover pain, the work it took to overcome it, the determination.
“Football gave me everything. A ticket out of sad town and my father back for four quarters on Sunday. I’ll never get married. I don’t believe in it.” His eyes briefly flicker away. He exhales. When they return to me, they’re soft, a bit of hope restored. “But I want a kid…a son, hopefully, to share with him what I have with my dad.”
I expected one of his obnoxious comebacks. I expected more callousness. I didn’t expect him to bare his soul. His honesty, the one thing I didn’t anticipate, gets under my skin and peels back the thick layer of resolve I thought I’d sufficiently shored up. And for the first time, I see what Ethan sees in this guy––I see potential.
“I can promise you I will never shirk my responsibilities. I swear to you that I’ll always be there for our kid.” He pauses. Laser-focused, his gaze won’t let mine go. “And my hunch is you’re the reliable sort, too.”
Every legitimate argument I had a minute ago seems trivial under the weight of his stare, and the conviction behind his words.
“Okay,” I say half-dazed, the word sliding out without thought.
“Okay?” he repeats, sounding genuinely surprised.
“I’ll give you a chance. We’ll get to know each other and then I’ll decide––don’t make me regret it.”
No smile this time. Wylder’s expression is serious like it never is. “I won’t.”
Chapter Seven
Dane
I’m a man of action, not one to sit around and wait for things to happen. I go after what I want and I go after it hard. So when I don’t hear from Stella the following week after our lunch, I start to have doubts, thoughts that say she was stringing me along only to get rid of me later, and hell would freeze over before I’d let that happen.
It didn’t take long to wear Ethan down. He gave me her cell number after I threatened to show up at her office every day until someone else gave it to me. After that, it was only a question of how long it would take to convince her to see the merits of choosin’ me.
Me: Busy or can you talk?
Stella: Who is this?
Me: The father of your child. :) Are you hungry?
Stella: No, and how did you get this number?
Me: I asked. Let’s have lunch.
Stella: …
Stella: Ethan?
Me: He never stood a chance. Let’s have lunch and you can get to know me better.
Stella: I’m working.
Dane: It’s Saturday. Let’s have lunch. I’ll be at your place in twenty to pick you up. You said you would give me a chance.
Stella: …
Stella: How do you know where I live?
Me: No comment.
Stella: :/Fine.
Twenty minutes later, I’m waiting by my Harley when she walks through the doors of her building. She’s in black jeans and a white t-shirt, hair pulled back painfully tight. She takes one long look at my bike and tilts her pretty head.
“You expect me to get on that thing?”
’Kay, I guess that’s out of the question. “We can take a cab.”
“Do you have a car? On the off chance I decide to shackle myself to you for the rest of my life?”
“When you choose me––when. And don’t fret, they make the cutest little baby seats for bikes. I’m gonna get one custom made with a matching blue baby helmet.” Staring seems to be her only reaction. “Or I could put the baby seat in my Escalade.”
Crossing her arms, she glances down the street. “There’s a good restaurant around the corner. Do you like Chinese?”
A smile stretches across my face. It can’t be helped. I seem to always want to smile around this one. And the more prickly she gets the more it makes me smile.
“Chinese sounds great.”
We walk in silence all the way there. I get the impression she’s uncomfortable around me and that’s the last thing I want her to be. Considering what happened the last time we saw each other, after I spilled my guts, I was hoping she would loosen up a little, let her guard down, but that guard seems insurmountable right about now.
I’ve never told that story before. As I sat there wo
rkin’ up an argument, debating what to do, it was her eyes that made the choice for me. Her eyes convinced me she could be trusted. They’re inherently open, reflecting a strength of character I’ve seldom seen, if ever, in a woman.
I knew then that if I wanted her to take me seriously, I had to put my trust in her. Best decision I ever made. I walked away from that lunch feeling better than I had in years, the burden a little lighter. My future lookin’ a little brighter. Strange that.
The restaurant is mostly empty. We sit in a booth in the back, far away from the curious stares fixed on us since we walked in. At six-five it’s kind of hard to miss me.
My attention is one hundred percent on the woman sitting across from me. She’s trying to hide behind those ugly glasses again. I think that’s what threw me off when we first met. She uses those things to distract.
Slowly those baby blues lift off the menu and take me in. A strange burning sensation grows in my chest. Feels like heartburn but I haven’t eaten yet. I make a mental note to get a physical some time this week.
“Are you okay?” she asks with genuine concern.
Cute. She’s cute. “What’s with the glasses, Clark Kent? They’re as big as your face.”
A dark eyebrow bumps up. “These happen to be Morgenthal Frederics.”
“Morga what?”
“A designer––not that it’s any of your business.”
“I think it is my business if your faulty eyesight will earn my kid the name Franky Four Eyes with his school buddies.”
Her full lips twitch, though she does a bang-up job of stopping the corners from lifting into the smile I see wanting to bust loose.
To the untrained eye she hasn’t so much as batted an eyelash. I only notice it because I’m a fine-tuned machine when it comes to reading people. I’ve had to be, or wind up dead under defensive backs that want my head on a stick.
“I can’t wait ’til you change into your Super Girl costume.”
I know I shouldn’t antagonize her, and yet I can’t help myself. It’s beyond my control––meaning this woman makes me lose all control. No clue why.
She sighs, her baby blues sliding back down to the menu, and I hide another grin behind mine.
“Will the childish taunting cease, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I scan the chicken dishes, trying to determine what to order, but I can’t focus. My attention keeps drifting back to her. Whereas she keeps studying that thing as if she’s getting a PhD in Chinese cuisine.
“And it’s Wonder Woman.” Her brow wrinkles as if she’s given my comment some serious consideration. “If I were to change into a costume, it would be Wonder Woman. I’m not a girl. Or is your eyesight faulty?”
Sweet Jesus, I like this one. Elbows on the table, I lean in. “Prove it.”
She finally looks up, tilts her head, and smirks. “I can see this conversation is going nowhere I want it to go.”
“Where do you want it to go?”
“On a topic relevant to me making a decision.”
“I’m a healthy male.” I start marking the basics off on my digits. “Age thirty-five in two months. Leo. Which, FYI, makes me great in bed and fun to be around.” This one earns me an immediate and exaggerated eye roll. “I have no history of drug or alcohol abuse. I have diabetes on my mother’s side, her dad, and heart issues on my father’s, great-granddad died at forty. I have perfect eyesight and a great singing voice but only in the shower so if you insist on hearin’ it you’ll have to join me there.”
She’s back to blank staring. A full sixty seconds passes in silence.
“Who does that work on? Really. Someone along the way had to have encouraged this behavior. I’d like to know which one of my gender committed this egregious act of stupidity so I can publicly shame her.”
Biting back a grin, I glance at my menu. “All of ’em, sweetheart. They all love it. Except you, of course.”
“Which brings me to my next question. STDs?”
That’s a weird one but I’ve got nothing to hide. “Clean as a virgin nun.” And I’m dead serious. I’ve always tagged and bagged it. Mainly because I’ve always been terrified of knocking up some wannabe WAG. It says a lot that I was always more concerned with gettin’ one of those, than an STD.
“I highly doubt that, but moving on. The actual parenting stuff we’ll leave for later. If I choose you.”
“When––when you choose me. Let’s think positive.”
She pauses, her face telling me the heavy stuff is coming.
“Are you sure about this? You just retired. That must be difficult. How do you know you won’t feel differently a year from now after the dust has settled? And do you have any experience with kids? How do you know you’ll like them?”
“Man Up.”
“Excuse me?”
“The name of the camp for at-risk boys I started. It runs every August at a farm upstate. The family that owns it rescues animals and grows organics. They spend the month caring for the animals, learning about sustainable farming––some of these boys have never eaten a fresh vegetable.”
The tension she often carries on her face eases. A small change in her opinion of me has occurred, the walls coming down some. I breathe a sigh of relief.
“That’s…really great.”
I shrug and take a swig of my beer. The pat on the back doesn’t mean anything to me. I do it for the boys, for the shit luck most of them have had. A few weeks of breathin’ room from the burdens of their lives isn’t much but it’s better than nothing.
“The Dane Wylder Foundation does good.”
“Can we cut the hillbilly crap? I know you graduated summa cum laude.”
“Yes, ma’am.” It makes me uncomfortable, talking about myself. The real stuff that is. She doesn’t need to know that though. She probably wouldn’t believe it if I told her anyway.
“What about you? Why a kid with no husband? I thought that’s what all little girls dream about?”
Her gaze slides to the paper napkin she’s shredding into a million pieces. “Not this little girl.” She’s got her dander up. I can tell by the sharp reply. “I’ve always wanted kids. I had plans to work hard for a couple more years before doing this but…you know, plans change.”
“Any reason?”
“Yeah, because time is a precious commodity and I don’t want to waste any more of it.”
I sense a deeper meaning somewhere in there, but I don’t push, not when she’s finally starting to let her guard down around me.
“And you’ve never wanted to do this before? With somebody you loved.”
She studies me before answering, taking the time to suss out my intentions no doubt. “No, I haven’t. The one person I was in a relationship with wanted to get married and I didn’t.”
Her words hit home. It’s like staring at a mirror image of myself. Before my thoughts get a chance to drift down that road, she says, “What about you? Nobody you love to do this with?”
“I’ve never been in love.”
The gives me a look that says she doesn’t believe me. “Come on––all kidding aside.”
“I’m serious.”
Her face shifts from suspicion to disbelief to a tentative acceptance. “You’ve never been in love?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Not once.”
“You’re thirty-five, and you’ve never, not even in junior high, been in love.” It’s no longer a question. She’s finally accepting it as fact.
I shrug. “I guess I’ve gotten lucky.”
A bunch of silence happens…which tells me I may have overplayed my hand.
“What about dating?” she says with a hard stare, practically willing me to be bad.
“I’m game if you are.”
She blinks and blinks. Then her eyes narrow. “I wouldn’t want my child exposed to a string of your victims.”
The smile falls right off my face. What the hell is she implying? In contrast to popular
opinion, I don’t chase women. Never had to when so many chase me.
“They’re not victims if they’re beggin’ for it.”
Sitting back, she crosses her arms. “This isn’t helping your cause.”
“Can I be honest?” I lean forward, invading as much of her space as possible. Not for the first time I’m grateful for my size.
“By all means.”
“You make me crazy. I’m on my heels every time we speak. I don’t say shit, ’scuse me, I don’t say things like that, but I get around you and it’s like…it’s like I’m not myself. I react without thinking.”
We both fall silent. I’m a dead man walking. By the look on her face it’s over for me. In my mind, I’m howling. Pissed off at myself. Pissed off at her.
“I don’t want any strange women around my child. That’s a hard limit. And if––and it’s a big if––I decide to do this with you, I will hold you to it or see you in court.”
I blink, processing…processing. She didn’t give me the boot. Hot dang, I’m still in play. Also, I’ve come a long way when the words “see you in court” don’t send me running out of the restaurant.
“I’m not going to pretend I’ll be livin’ like a monk, ’cause that would be a lie. What I can do is promise that I will keep my personal business totally separate from my family business.”
And then it occurs to me that she may want to date as well. An ugly thought butts in. Some strange dude coming to pick her up and my little boy crying after her as she walks out the door, the image so clear my stomach flips. There goes my appetite.
“The same rule applies to you. No weird dudes around my kid.”
She’s surprised, eyes widening until they’re impossibly big.
“I would never.” A slender hand falls over her heart. “And dating isn’t an option for me, not for a long time.”
My appetite comes storming back.