The Rock Star’s Baby Bargain

by Lili Valente

  Uteri? What’s the plural of uterus?

  * * *

  Colette: Goodbye, psycho. My gimpy uterus and I will see you in two weeks.

  * * *

  Theodora: Just think about it, okay? What’s the worst that can happen? You ask and he says no, right? But what if he says yes?

  * * *

  Colette: He won’t say yes.

  * * *

  Theodora: Except that he might. Even if there’s only a five percent chance, isn’t it worth a try? I could call him if you want.

  * * *

  Colette: Don’t you dare!

  * * *

  Theodora: But we’ve been friends forever, Colette. He knows what a rational, grounded person I am. If I make it sound like a good idea, he’ll be primed and ready to listen to your Perfectly Decent Proposal with an open mind.

  * * *

  Colette: No. And if you go behind my back, I will never speak to you again, Theo. I’m serious. This is my body and my decision. If I decide I want a man to knock me up, I’ll be the one to ask him to do it.

  * * *

  Theodora: That’s the spirit! Ask him! I’m rooting for you, mama. Talk to you soon and happy baby-making!

  * * *

  Colette: *eye roll emoji*

  * * *

  Theodora: *peach emoji* *eggplant emoji* *happy baby emoji*

  Chapter Four

  Zack

  I pull into the roundabout in front of Colette’s apartment building on Friday afternoon ten minutes before I’m due to pick her up and almost keep driving.

  This is crazy.

  I should be focusing on my music, not diving headfirst into a fling with a woman who’s on the rebound. Colette’s right—we barely know each other. We could be a match made in hell. Sure, we’ve already agreed to keep this low key, but even a friends-with-benefits situation can go hideously awry with the wrong person.

  What if she hates my sense of humor?

  What if she gets clingy and won’t give me time to write and record?

  What if that kiss last night was a fluke, and we end up being incompatible in bed?

  My mind flashes back to the feel of her lips hot on mine as she rocked against my erection, and my cock instantly gets hard, eager to assure me that compatibility isn’t going to be a problem.

  Jesus, what’s wrong with me? My entire future is on the line—if I don’t nail this first solo record, I won’t get a chance to make another one—and I’m letting my dick call the shots.

  If it were just your dick, you’d be fine. But you like this woman. You know you do. What happens when like becomes something more, and she’s still hung up on her ex and only up for casual sex?

  “Nothing like heartache to inspire a slew of Top 40 hits,” I mutter to my reflection in the rearview mirror.

  But my gaze remains steady and calm.

  I’m not afraid of heartache—pain is a part of what you risk when you’re living a full life—and I don’t want to write Top 40 hits. That’s my new manager Chip’s plan. I just want to make music that’s real and honest and mine.

  If that music happens to take inspiration from getting dumped by the most breathlessly beautiful woman I’ve ever met…so be it.

  “I guess you didn’t come to your senses last night, either?” a lilting voice murmurs from the passenger side of my new Tesla Model S, another impulsive thing I’ve committed to in the past few weeks.

  I turn to see Colette peering in through the open window, and my heart punches my ribs the way it does every time her eyes meet mine. One blue and one a murky green, her eyes are unusual, to say the least, but it isn’t their color that gets to me. It’s their…depth.

  Colette is one of those people you can dive into and never reach the bottom. She’s clever, curious, and kind, a combination I’ve never been able to resist. Add in plush pink lips, silvery blond hair, and a barely there sundress made to inspire Let’s-Get-It-On songs, and I’m a goner. Fighting the pull I feel when I’m with her would be pointless, and I’m not the type to waste energy fighting battles I can’t win.

  So I don’t bother to hide the appreciation in my voice as I say, “You in that dress… Jesus…”

  She laughs, biting her lip as she brings a hand to her hip to smooth the shimmery fabric. “I know. It’s scandalous, but it’s so hot in my apartment, and I couldn’t bear the thought of putting on more clothes.” She cocks her head. “But I can go change if—”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  She smiles, and my heart slaps my ribs again. “You’re sure it’s not too much?”

  “It’s just enough,” I say as she tosses her small suitcase into the back seat and slides in beside me, though I know I’m going to spend the entire drive fighting to keep my eyes on the road. The deep V at the front of her dress and the apparent lack of anything underneath are already making me wish I’d picked a closer destination for the end of our day one drive.

  I can’t wait to be alone with her, to kiss her, taste her, and discover every inch of the whisper-soft skin beneath that dress. My balls are already aching between my legs, which bodes for a torturous three-hour drive.

  Reaching out, I rest my hand on her thigh and give it a light squeeze. “You ready?”

  “So ready,” she says in a husky voice that makes the situation below my belt even more…pressing.

  Torture. This is absolutely going to be torture.

  But misery can be fun as long as you’ve got the right company.

  And an end in sight…

  Tonight, this woman will be sleeping in my bed. As long as that’s true, I can handle Torment-By-No-Bra.

  Hell, I’ll even enjoy it.

  Chapter Five

  Colette

  The drive is going to be torture.

  Thigh-trembling, heart-racing, itch-you-can’t-scratch torture.

  I haven’t been with anyone in almost two months. Fernando and I were arguing so much at the end that being intimate didn’t feel right. Even make-up sex lost its appeal by the fifth or sixth time he shouted at me to stop being unreasonable about getting engaged and “act like a normal woman for once.”

  But a couple of months without nookie usually wouldn’t be a big deal.

  I love sex as much as the next girl, but I’m not a nymphomaniac, for God’s sake.

  I’ve gone for long stretches without fun in my bedroom before. I’d rather sleep alone than with someone I’m not sure I can trust. And in my experience, you can’t know what’s in a man’s heart until a certain amount of time has passed.

  Anyone can play nice during the shiny new beginning part of a relationship.

  I once dated a man who hid his Adderall addiction for six months before I caught him coming down from a four-day bender, and he bit my head off for asking if he’d like to go to the movies during the day instead of waiting until after dinner.

  Growing up with an addict for a mother taught me that actions speak louder than words and to take nothing at face value.

  No matter how attracted I am to a man, in the beginning, I always hold back. It’s not about playing head games or any old-fashioned notion about men not wanting the cow if they can get the milk for free. I’m just cautious about getting naked and vulnerable with someone who might be hiding deal-breaking behavior.

  But Zack is different.

  Maybe it’s the fact that my best friend has known and adored him forever. Maybe it’s that I’ve seen him around town for years, ferrying his grandparents to all their social engagements with the patience of a saint. Or it could simply be that he has the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen.

  Whatever it is, from the moment his lips met mine, I’ve wanted to be out of my clothes and all over him. Just feeling his hand on my thigh through my dress is enough to make my nipples hard and my panties wet. I want to beg him to pull into the first rest stop and bang me in the family bathroom up against the wall by the hand drier machine, but desperation isn’t sexy.

  And there’s a good chance Zack won’
t want to sleep with me once he knows how deep my crazy runs.

  Then don’t ask him! It’s not too late to jump off the crazy train, woman.

  But it is too late. I want Zack in me. Without a condom.

  I want it so badly I couldn’t sleep last night, not even after I finally slid my hand down the front of my pajama pants and got myself off imagining what it would be like to feel him coming while he was buried deep inside me.

  I’m still imagining it now, making it very difficult to concentrate on polite conversation. I’m sure removing Zack’s hand from my thigh would help, but I’m not about to do anything to discourage him from getting his hands all over me.

  There’s a reason I wore a sundress with spaghetti straps and no bra.

  I am a woman on a mission, and I’m not above using every weapon in my arsenal to ensure I get what I want, what I need so badly that I feel a little dizzy every time I glance Zack’s way.

  God, he’s pretty. And sexy. And sweet.

  But he’s also a reasonable human being who isn’t suffering from a killer case of baby-making fever.

  I’m almost certainly going to be disappointed. He’s going to say no. He should say no! No is the only reasonable answer to a request like the one I intend to make.

  “Would that work?” he asks, making me jump in surprise.

  “Sorry, what?” I shake my head, laughing as I turn his way. “Sorry, I was spacing out. What did you say?”

  “No worries.” He smiles. “I asked if you were okay with waiting for dinner until we get to the hotel around seven? Or would you like to stop somewhere earlier?”

  I shift in my seat, sending his hand sliding higher on my thigh, making my pulse beat hungrily between my legs. “Seven is fine,” I say, barely resisting the urge to squirm beneath his touch.

  I have to get control of myself, or Zack’s going to think I’m a sex fiend.

  Fernando. I should talk about Fernando. Nothing less sexy than chatting about the guy who just dumped you.

  “I’m used to eating late,” I add. “Fernando was raised in Barcelona, and they never eat before eight or nine over there. He says it’s because they need time to build up an appetite post siesta.”

  “Best custom ever,” Zack says, not seeming bothered by the mention of my ex, which is refreshing. Fernando was so jealous I couldn’t bring up an old boyfriend in passing conversation without him having a fit about it. “I wish we did the siesta thing. I get up to run at five most mornings, and I’m always ready for a nap by two or three.”

  “Me, too,” I say, adding with a laugh. “The nap part, not the five a.m. part. I don’t get up that early to do anything, but I do try to make time to sketch in my design book before breakfast. It’s my most creative time of the day.”

  He casts a warm glance my way before his gaze returns to the road. “Me, too. There’s always music in my head first thing in the morning. What do you sketch?”

  “Furniture and textile designs mostly. I fell into clothing design by accident. Interior design is my first love.” I shrug. “So even though losing my job is scary, it’s also an opportunity to course-correct career-wise. I’ve already sent out some feelers and received a portfolio request from an amazing interior design firm in Bangor. They do funky, outside of the box stuff that’s still high-end and timeless. I love their aesthetic.”

  “That’s awesome. Congrats.”

  “Thanks,” I say with a sigh. “I’m excited to apply but cautiously optimistic about my chances. They loved the work I did on Theo’s restaurant, but that’s my only fully executed project. I’m pretty sure they’re looking for someone with more of a track record.”

  He nods. “It’s like that in the music industry, too. I’ve been part of a successful band for a long time, but it was still hard to find someone willing to take a chance on a solo deal. I had to agree to take most of the profit on the back end.” He looks over his shoulder, signaling as he pulls into the left lane to pass a slow-moving SUV. “But that’s fine. I’ve been saving hard the past few years. My grandparents are all set for retirement, even if they end up needing care at home, so I’m free to take risks.”

  “Did you always live with your grandparents?” I ask, spreading my fingers in the air between us. “If that isn’t too personal.”

  He flashes a big grin my way that makes my incorrigible nipples start tingling again. “No, it’s not too personal. You can ask me anything you want. And yeah, I did. My mom lived with us for a while when I was little, but she couldn’t stay clean, so my grandmother asked her to leave. I was six. Haven’t seen her since.”

  Wincing, I nod. “I’m sorry. But I’ve been there. My mom’s an addict, too. Heroin.”

  “Pills for mine,” he says, squeezing my thigh. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too, and it’s okay.” I pull in a breath and let it out slowly. “Well, it’s not okay, but you know… It’s as okay as it can be. She gets clean for long stretches, but it never seems to stick.” I shrug. “At least she had her act together while I was in high school when I needed her the most. I’m grateful for that.”

  Zack glances my way. “Hard time in high school?”

  I laugh, leaning my head against the seat. “So hard. They say you fall in love with people who remind you of your parents, and I made that my mission in life for a few years. My boyfriend was this alcoholic narcissist who made me miserable, but I had such a hard time quitting him. I kept thinking I could make it better, make him better, if I could just figure out how to give him exactly what he needed.”

  “While ignoring what you needed?” Zack skims his hand up and down my thigh in a way I know is meant to be comforting, but it only makes my sex-starved body sizzle hotter.

  “Of course. Classic dysfunction.” I pinch the gauzy fabric of my dress between two fingers, concentrating on the rough cat’s-tongue texture instead of the way my nipples are aching. “But in the end, I’m glad I went through that when I did. I got the crazy out of the way when I was young, saw a therapist my senior year of high school, and have had much healthier relationships ever since.”

  Zack arches a brow, and I laugh.

  “Even Fernando,” I insist. “We didn’t start fighting all the time until I made it clear I was serious about trying to have a baby this year, with or without his assistance. Before that, he was almost never mean.”

  “Still no excuse for it.” Zack squeezes my thigh before adding in an apologetic voice, “I’m not judging, though. I’ve had my share of bad endings. Sometimes people change when things stop going according to plan. Their plan, anyway.”

  “Right,” I say, nodding. “That’s what happened with Fernando. He couldn’t understand why my plan wasn’t matching up with his plan. It drove him crazy that I didn’t want to get married or that I’d even consider having a baby with him outside of a legal arrangement that would guarantee the baby had a father.”

  Zack makes a dubious sound. “Your baby would have still had a father. Fernando would have been the father, whether you were married or not.”

  “Exactly. Thank you.” I karate chop the air. “See, you get it.”

  Zack shrugs. “Unless he fucked up and lost custody like my parents, he would have had every legal right and obligation that you did. No marriage necessary.”

  It’s a perfect opening, so perfect that my heart races and my palms start to sweat.

  I shouldn’t do this now.

  This isn’t the time or the place.

  I should wait until we’re at dinner, sharing a relaxing drink, and then spring it on him casually, reasonably.

  Instead, I find myself blurting out, “Though we could have signed something before the baby was born to ensure he wasn’t legally obligated. I mean, that wouldn’t have worked with Fernando because he wanted a future with me, not just a fling or whatever, but some people do make other arrangements.” My tongue slips out to dampen my suddenly dry lips. “Say, for example, a woman desperately wanted to get pregnant, but the man she was casually
sleeping with for a couple of weeks didn’t want a baby.”

  Zack cuts a sharp look my way, making my heart slam even faster, but I force myself to keep going. I started this, so I might as well finish it and get all the insanity out at once. “There are documents those two people could sign to make sure the father never had to pay child support or be involved in the baby’s life in any way if he didn’t want to be. You can even make secrecy a part of the agreement, so the child will never be able to find out who his father is, no matter what.”

  Zack glances my way, then back at the road.

  My way, then back at the road.

  My way, back at the road, until I’m on the verge of begging him to say something when finally, he asks in a stunned voice, “Are you serious?”

  The hope flower in my chest shrivels, and its petals droop.

  “I know, I’m crazy,” I mumble. “I’m sorry. I knew you’d think I was crazy. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just want to have a baby so badly, and I thought maybe you might…” I flip my hands over in my lap, palms up in silent supplication. “That this trip might be the perfect chance…” I shake my head, my breath rushing out. “But it’s way too much to ask, way too soon, and I’m… I understand if you want to call this off. You can drop me off at the next Greyhound station. I’ll take a bus home so you won’t lose any travel time, and when you get back from your trip, we’ll never speak of this again.”

  Zack drags a hand through his hair, then brings it back to the wheel, but he doesn’t say a word—not a word—for so long that I risk a peek at him from the corner of my eye, surprised to find him looking remarkably…serene.