The Roommate's Baby

by Penny Wylder

  Somehow that only makes me cry harder.

  He drops the spoon and shoves off the couch, hurrying toward me. In seven years of knowing each another, and four years of living together in this very apartment, I don't think I have ever cried in front of him. Not once. I usually lock myself in my bathroom on the rare occasion when I get emotional, which isn't very often, and usually over some stupid work spat or problem.

  Nothing like this.

  He wraps his arms around me, enveloping me in his tight, familiar embrace. Cannon gives the best hugs. I never tell him that because it would only stoke his ego, but he does. He knows just how tightly to squeeze to let you know he's really there, that he really cares about you. I sink against his chest and breathe in his scent. He smells like the lavender detergent we use and the mint body wash he has in his bathroom, the one I always tease him about because he decorated the whole thing in black—black shower curtains, black towels, everything.

  He also smells, underneath all that, like him. Like our apartment, like home. Like my familiar, safe, reassuring best friend.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and cry harder.

  Cannon rubs my back in slow circles, whispering shh over and over until my sobs finally diminish into hiccups, and then deep breaths, and then finally stop enough that I can lean back and wipe my eyes dry, composing myself. I've left a tear-stained patch on his shirt, and the moment I see it I gasp out an apology, which comes out half words half hiccups.

  In response, he simply shakes his head and laughs. "Not a big deal, Rina," he insists, even as he reaches for the hem of his shirt and tugs it off over his head.

  Not like I haven't seen him shirtless a million times before. Half the time he lounges around this apartment in his boxers, sometimes even when he has his latest one-night stands over, cooking breakfast in his briefs. But there's something different this time, after I just spent a solid minute in his arms, crying on his shoulder. It makes me look at him with fresh eyes: at his chiseled abs, his strong pecs, and the way his biceps bulge as he tosses his shirt over the back of the couch.

  "See? Problem number one solved." He catches my hand and squeezes it lightly, drawing me backward with him toward the living room. "Now, talk to me. What on earth has got you this riled up? I didn't even know you knew how to cry."

  I elbow him in the side even as I let him pull me down onto the couch, right beside him, his warm arm grazing my shoulder, his strong fingertips curled through mine. His thumb brushes the back of my hand, gentle and reassuring. It feels good. Better than good. It makes my stomach, already upset from everything I've been through today, tense all over again.

  But for completely new reasons.

  Cannon? I think to myself. Then I have to shake myself out of that thought. Ridiculous. We've been besties for years. We've lived together for years.

  I've seen how he treats women. He hooks up all the time, practically any night we go bar-hopping together, we wind up back here with a new girl tagging along. But he never sees them again. I don't think I've ever seen the same girl in this apartment twice. He is not exactly the serious dating type.

  Then again...

  Neither am I. I've had all of one long-term boyfriend ever, and that didn't go as planned. Every other relationship I've had has just been a series of casual hookups that go on for a couple weeks or months at most, before we decide to call it quits.

  We're similar, Cannon and I. It's why we get along so well, as roomies, as colleagues, as friends.

  He wouldn't freak out like that guy in the parking lot, part of my brain comments. He's calm, chill, collected. I've never seen him get ruffled, not once, not ever. Not even when shit explodes at work and he's drowning under stress. He handles everything with his usual casual grin, like the world is one big funny, occasionally frustrating joke that he's in on.

  "Hello? Earth to Rina." He nudges me again and I blink, startled back to reality. To our living room, to the couch we've shared for a million and one movie nights since moving in here. To my roommate, who I've walked past every day for the last four years, but who I'm suddenly seeing through whole new eyes.

  He's hot, he's smart, he's responsible. And he's uncomplicated, just like me. He doesn't develop feelings for people, same way I don't. He'd be the perfect donor, so to speak.

  Maybe I don't need a clinic's help after all.

  "Are you going to explain what all that was about?" He waves toward the door in general, then at my face. I wipe my cheeks again, sure that I still look a complete mess. Really attractive. Great way to bring up this topic.

  "It's... kind of a long story," I admit, biting my lower lip. Then my eyes snag on something I hadn't noticed before. A bra hooked over the back of the couch. I laugh and lift an eyebrow at him, nodding with my chin. "Another souvenir?"

  "Part of the down side of NSA. Girls never come back for their things." He groans and reaches for it. "I'll add it to the donation bin downstairs tomorrow."

  "NSA?" I say, frowning.

  "No Strings Attached, you know. My MO."

  I laugh and roll my eyes. "Didn't know it had an acronym."

  "I'm thinking of trademarking it."

  "What, in your forthcoming novel, How Not to Get Attached?"

  "Hey, pot calling the kettle black, much? You can co-author it with me. Nothing wrong with this lifestyle." He stretches his arms over his head, which draws my attention somewhat confusingly to his abs once more. What's wrong with me? I know what Cannon looks like. I've seen him every day for years. But suddenly the sight of those washboard abs are turning me on in new and confusing ways.

  Must be the hormones.

  "We like sex," he's saying with a shrug. "We don't do relationships. So no strings attached makes the most sense, to get us what we enjoy without leading anyone on or giving anyone the wrong idea about things potentially getting serious."

  I feel myself nodding along, and forcefully drag my gaze from his chest back up to meet his eyes. "Exactly..." I hear myself saying.

  A furrow appears between his brow. "Unless you were just crying your heart out on my shoulder over some guy I don't know about. What happened, did someone break your heart? Need me to go rough him up for you?"

  I laugh and swat his shoulder. "I cannot imagine you roughing someone up."

  "What? I've been in bar brawls before."

  "I just mean you're so chill all the time. When have you gotten into fights?"

  "When people fuck with my friends," he answers calmly. "I don't let anybody do that. So come on, Rina, spill, why the tears? What's going on?"

  I swallow hard and lean my head back on the couch, eyes on the ceiling. I can't quite make myself meet his eyes when I say this. "It's about a baby."

  He's quiet for so long that I have to steal a peek at him. His eyebrows have shot up to his hairline nearly. "You're pregnant?"

  "No," I say, and that nearly makes the tears start up all over again. I bite my lower lip. "But I want to be."

  2

  Cannon

  "I'm not sure I follow." I frown at my roommate. Rina has always been the calm one, the chill one, the one I can relax with and be myself around. The one friend I trust above all others—or hell, I'd never have lived with her for as long as I have. There aren't many people on the planet I could spend this much time with—working together, co-habitating—and yet, with Rina, I never get sick of having her around or tired of her presence.

  Today, though, when she walked into this apartment and broke down crying, I thought my heart would rip out of my chest in panic. The sight of her in tears made me want to simultaneously hug her so tight she'd never feel hurt again and it made me want to punch a hole in whoever hurt her.

  I assumed it was some guy. One of the dweebs she hooks up with maybe. I've never seen her get attached before, never seen Rina be into a guy enough to show much emotion beyond occasional annoyance. It's one of the many ways in which we're so similar. But I couldn't think what else would make her cry like that.

 
And, admittedly, the thought of her actually caring about someone else did unpleasant things to my gut.

  It's not that Rina isn't hot. She's drop-dead gorgeous, believe me. Fiery red hair, pale blue eyes a guy could get lost in, curves for days. But she never gave any hint at being interested in me, and anyway, I don't do attachment, and I didn't want to risk fucking up our perfect roommate relationship by hooking up and ruining it all.

  Suddenly, though, her crying had me thinking all kinds of new things. Who hurt her? I'll kill him. Why does she like that guy and not me?

  I shake myself back to the present, though, to her response when I finally got her to tell me what the hell is going on. "You want a baby?"

  She sucks in another deep breath and sighs at the ceiling. Her eyes are still red from crying, but even with that, she's as gorgeous as ever, her mouth pursed in the sexy little pout I love, her forehead just the tiniest bit creased, the way it gets when she's stressed at work. Nights like this I'd usually suggest we go bar-hopping and blow off some steam by finding hookups. But she's clearly not in the mood for that right now.

  A baby?

  "You know my mom had me by herself," Rina's saying.

  "Of course, same as my mom did," I reply. Who isn't raised in a single-parent household in this day and age?

  "And your mom was fine with it, wasn't she?" Rina asks.

  "Well, it's not like she had a choice. My dad was a total deadbeat. But she never complained about it. Well, except when she had to pay for childcare while she was at work," I add, remembering.

  Rina huffs out a sigh. "I want to have a baby. I'm already the same age Mom was when she had me, and I'm only getting older, I don't want to be an old mom. But you know me, I don't really... do relationships," she points out.

  "As we were just saying," I agree.

  "So... I tried to go to a clinic. I found a donor and everything."

  "When were you going to mention this?" I ask, bewildered. Normally Rina and I talk about everything. Or so I thought.

  "I didn't want to tell you yet, not until I knew if it worked. I didn’t know when I'd need to move out or anything. I figured once I was pregnant I'd start to shop for a new place."

  Move out? My stomach rolls again at the thought of it, and I have to tense my muscles to keep from visibly reacting. But I don't want to live with anyone else.

  Focus, Cannon. Rina's hurting. That's what matters now. "So, er... you got a donor then? At the clinic?" I ask, not sure how these things work.

  She shook her head. "I had one picked out. I was supposed to go today and get inseminated. But..." She swallows hard. I can see this is really taking a toll on her. It makes my chest hurt in weird, confusing ways to see her like this.

  I reach out and catch her hand again. Twine her small, narrow fingers between mine, in the one small gesture of comfort I can offer.

  She shoots me a sad half-smile. "Some guy, one of the donors, came in and was freaking out at the woman who used his sample. He didn't like the idea of having a kid out there in the world he didn't know, but he was totally crazy. And then I thought, what if the donor I picked did something like that? What if that stranger turned out to be a total nut job?"

  "That wouldn't be ideal," I agree with a frown.

  "So I didn't go through with it. But now..." She sucks in another deep breath. "Now, no baby. And I'm back to square one."

  "I'm sorry, Rina." I tug her hand, pull her toward me. She leans over and lets herself fall against my chest, her head pillowed on my pecs. I close my eyes when her soft cheek touches my chest. I can't help it. Just feeling her there, pressed against me, has me thinking improper thoughts. Thinking about how fucking incredible she smells. She uses the same jasmine soap every day, this stuff she gets from the corner store, or actually, makes me pick up when I go on beer runs. I secretly don't mind because I love the smell of it and the way it mingles with her scent.

  I close my eyes, savoring having her in my arms, if only for a moment.

  That, and praying that she doesn't notice the way my jeans are getting tighter, as all the blood in my head starts to rush south. Not now, I try and tell myself.

  Rina pulls back with another deep breath, and I tense, thinking she's about to say something, call me out for getting too touchy or something. But instead, she stares at me with a frown, eyes assessing in a way I've never seen before. Then her gaze drops to travel along my body, and I lift a brow.

  Is she checking me out?

  "Rina?" I prompt.

  "You like NSA agreements," she says. "You don't like relationships."

  "True."

  "I don't like relationships either," she replies. "And I need a baby. A sperm donor, really. Who I trust." She locks eyes with me. "Someone I know won't get emotional or over-attached or crazy later down the line."

  Is she asking what I think she's asking?

  I stare into those cool blue eyes of hers. "What exactly are you asking, Rina?"

  She bites her lower lip. Fuck, it's sexy when she does that. Another curl of desire runs through my gut. I shift in my seat, hoping that will disguise the way my cock is growing harder in my jeans at the thought of it. She wants me to impregnate her?

  Not going to lie, the thought of that is actually pretty fucking hot.

  "Look, Cannon... I don't want to mess up our friendship. I know we're coworkers, we live together, but... we're both good at NSA, you said it yourself. Pot and kettle." She dares a tiny grin. "Would... would it be weird if we... I mean, you like sex, I like sex, I need a baby, there's an easy way to make a baby..."

  I lift a brow, and she stops babbling. "You want me to fuck you," I say.

  Her cheeks flare bright red. But she doesn't remove her eyes from mine. She keeps them laser-focused, intent on her goal. I've always respected that about Rina. She's goal-oriented to the max. And the girl always gets what she wants. In work and in play. "Only when I'm ovulating," she says. "Look."

  She digs into her pocket and pulls out her phone. A few taps later, she's showing me a chart she made. It's color-coded, with little red hearts on one week of the month, and green hearts a few days of the month too. One of those green hearts lands on today, I notice, and there's another one on the screen tomorrow. "These green hearts are the days when I have the maximum chance of getting pregnant," she says, tapping her finger on the screen. "We'd make a schedule. We have sex on those days, you know, to maximize our chances."

  I have to choke down a laugh at the technical way she's talking about this. "Yes, I am aware how babies are made," I reply with a single raised brow.

  Her cheeks, if possible, glow even redder at that. "So, we keep it professional. Sex on those days only, no attachment, nothing else changes in our friendship or our working together. And when you... when you knock me up," she says, with a quick glance at my face, which only makes the growing tightness in my jeans worse, "then it all stops. I move out, get my own apartment, and we both move on with our lives. And I won't ask you to be involved with the baby or anything, no child support, I can pay for my own kid. This will be completely my own decision. I'll write us up a contract."

  I laugh and reach out to cup my hands around hers, which have started to quiver a little where she's gripping the phone like a lifeline. "No contract necessary, Rina," I say. "We've known each other for how long now, seven years?"

  "We're both lawyers," she points out. "We should always get things in writing, we know that."

  "Yes, but not with you," I reply, rolling my eyes at the thought. "I trust you. And you're right, we're both great at NSA." I grin a little, my gaze roaming down her body. "Besides, this should be fun. Sex should be fun."

  She swallows audibly, and I catch her casting another longing glance at my abs.

  Damn. I knew Rina was awkward and pretty shy, at least around people she didn't know well, but I thought I knew how to read her reaction to me. I thought she only thought of me as a friend, nothing physical. Has she been attracted to me all along, at least a little bit? The
way I’m attracted to her?

  The more you know.

  "Okay. So we're agreed." She holds out a hand.

  I smirk, but reach up to shake her on it. "Agreed." I cast one last glance at her phone chart. "When should we start, tonight?" I lean closer, eyes locked on hers.

  But she slides backward off the couch and seems to catch her breath, a little nervous. "I'm still kind of recovering from the clinic. And besides, I..." She glances at me again. This time her gaze lingers on my crotch. I don't bother to hide my hard-on anymore, not now that I know what she really wants.

  I can already picture how it will be. I've fucked plenty of girls around this apartment, I know all the best spots. The shower in my room with the detachable shower head, the kitchen counter which is at just the right height for me to pick girls up and spread their legs around my hips. This couch, which is pretty comfortable to bend girls over the arm of, or the leather reclining chair where I could pull her across to straddle and ride my cock. I like that idea best, the thought of watching her sexy curves as she bounces up and down on my shaft, her head falling back with pleasure...

  "I've got to shower, and I have work early," she stammers. "Tomorrow?"

  My eyes are practically on fire when they meet hers, and I don't bother to conceal my grin when I agree. "Tomorrow it is," I tell her.

  3

  Rina

  Oh God. Was this a terrible idea?

  I'm standing in my bathroom staring at myself in the mirror. Already things are different. There's a charge in the apartment that never existed before. I went out of my room to get a glass of water before I came in to get ready for bed, and the whole time I kept stealing glances at Cannon, still sitting shirtless on the couch right where I left him. I could feel him watching me too, could hear the tension in his voice when he called out goodnight.

  It just reminds me all over again of the way he looked at me tonight after my suggestion. With whole new eyes, like he'd never seen me before.