Lucky Baby

by Layla Valentine

  Slipping his arms under my back, Jay gently pulses into me. I stare back into his eyes, my chest flooding with more emotion than I would have believed one person can handle.

  This is really happening.

  I can’t take just looking at him any longer. Lifting my face, I push my lips onto his. He kisses me with passion, his tongue gently massaging mine. We push our bodies closer, eager to get every inch of skin we have pressed together.

  As Jay pulls me closer to him, we roll again and end up laying on our sides. We writhe together, pulsing and kissing, sweating and coming undone. His labored breathing against my lips tells me he’s getting close. Just knowing this makes my own pleasure increase. I’m exploding, flying, taking Jay along with me.

  For the longest time, we stay where we are—legs and arms tangled together, cheeks pressed close. Jay kisses my forehead and I listen to the pitter-patter of rain hitting the windowpanes.

  Eventually, he pulls away, props his head onto his hand, and looks down at me.

  “You’re glowing.”

  All I can do is laugh.

  “You are!” Jay insists.

  I roll onto my back and grin up at him. “That’s because you’re here.”

  He smirks and runs his fingers over my stomach. I close my eyes in happiness.

  “Where are we going to live?” he asks.

  I open my eyes again. “I don’t know.” I frown. “I haven’t thought about that.”

  “Detroit is out.”

  “If you say so.”

  “New York?”

  “All three of us could just move in with my parents,” I joke.

  “Have you told them?”

  I nod and take his hand. “Yeah. They were surprisingly supportive.”

  “They sound like good people. Everyone has their differences. Even if they don’t agree with you on everything, it doesn’t mean they don’t love you.”

  I nod slowly. “I’m starting to see that…Thanks to you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. Remember when we talked in Macau and you told me all about your life growing up? It really helped me to stop being so angry at them.”

  “Good,” he says, although he’s running his fingers over my stomach again, and seems more involved in that than he is in our conversation.

  “You’ve changed me,” I say seriously.

  Jay stops and looks me in the eye. “We’ve changed each other.”

  “Hopefully for the better,” I tease.

  Jay kisses my belly, where our baby is growing, and looks up at me. “Definitely for the better.”

  Epilogue

  Lauren

  Eight Months Later

  “The amount of light in here is so refreshing,” Mom murmurs as she looks around the living room. “You know, the more sun you get, the happier you’ll be, and the better you’ll sleep.”

  I set the salad bowl on the table and smile over at Jay, who’s bringing the lasagna to the table. We’ve been in this apartment for over half a year, but Mom and Dad have only been able to drop by a few times. Brooklyn, as they like to remind us, isn’t exactly right around the corner from them.

  Any time they say something like this, my blood boils, and I start to get angry. But then, I inevitably hit the pause button, and remind myself of what Jay taught me: my parents aren’t perfect. I’m not perfect. But we love each other, and that’s what counts.

  “Did you look into that new preschool around the corner yet?” Dad asks.

  Jay and I glance at each other. Dad’s been forwarding us emails full of school information for weeks.

  “It’s kind of early,” I say, sitting down and touching my big belly. “Considering the baby hasn’t even been born, yet.”

  “Your due date is next week,” Mom reminds me, like that’s necessary.

  Dad purposefully points his fork in my direction. “It’s not too early to look at preschools in New York. Not these days. The best preschools fill up years ahead of time. You have to stay ahead of the game if you want your child to get a good education.”

  I nod agreeably, since that’s the best thing I can think of to do.

  Mom waves her hand through the air. “We can talk about school another time. That little baby is going to be here soon, and that’s what we need to be focusing on. Lauren, do you have a schedule set up yet?”

  I exchange yet another look with Jay. “Um…”

  Jay explains for me. “I’m done with gambling for a few years at least, so the baby will be with me while Lauren’s at her studio in the afternoon.”

  I smile at Jay. My parents have never said much about his career, though I know they don’t absolutely understand it. I know they’ll be pleased at his decision to slow down and be around for the baby, and with his prize money savings combined with my own earnings, we’ll have enough to live off for a long time.

  Mom nods, seemingly satisfied with Jay’s answer. “Your father and I have been thinking… We’ve both been working a lot lately, and we don’t want to miss any time with the baby.”

  “So I’m taking weekends off,” Dad announces. “Permanently.”

  “And I’m not going into the office on Fridays anymore,” Mom beams.

  I stare at my parents in amazement. It might be fairly standard for most people to announce that they are going to begin observing weekends, but the two people who raised me are workaholics. I have as many memories of being little and playing with toys at my mom’s office as I do at home. Even after dinner, if she had something she needed to take care of at work, she’d just take me over there.

  I don’t know if my Mom and Dad will ever even formally retire, so this little bit of news is big.

  “That’s great,” Jay says. “You deserve some time off.”

  I feel the grin spreading across my face. “Yeah,” I agree. “That’s great. And the baby will love having you around.”

  We dig into lunch, the talk turning to the new community garden around the corner, what the best Christmas destination with a baby will be, and what we’re going to wear to Willow’s very first movie showing—which may be a small indie film, but still includes a VIP-only pre-release viewing for friends and family.

  The second the front door closes behind my parents, I turn to Jay. “Can you believe that? My parents, taking some time off of work.”

  He walks over and pulls me close to him—or as close as the giant baby bump between us will allow me to get.

  “I guess miracles really do happen.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m going to go finish up that wall in the nursery.”

  “I’ll help.”

  He gives me a concerned look. “You need to rest.”

  “Jay. All I’ve been doing is resting.”

  “You call fielding phone calls and meetings all day resting?”

  “What can I say? I am my parents’ daughter.”

  He takes my hand. “Okay, you can come with, but no lifting anything.”

  “I’m sorry; do paintbrushes suddenly weigh forty pounds?”

  He swats me lightly on the butt as we head down the hall.

  The apartment that we found the very week we arrived back in New York is my dream home. There’s no other way to describe it. Being on the ground floor, it has its own backyard full of lush, green grass. The day we moved in, I strung white lights around the fence and in the branches of the little tree that grows back there. Now, when the sun sets, the yard shines like something out of a fairy tale.

  We move down the hallway, passing our bedroom and my studio, the walls of which are covered with post-it notes and sketches. Getting things running for my business was easier than I expected it to be, especially with my parents finally on my side. With their combined business advice and introductions to people who knew people in the illustrating and publishing business, emails and phone calls just started flying at me.

  I’ve already illustrated three children’s books. Jay was so proud that he framed the covers and hung them in the living room.

&n
bsp; At the very end of the hall sits the nursery, the spot that will soon belong to our son or daughter. The crib is assembled and full of stacks of baby clothes and diapers, but other than that, the space is pretty bare. We’ve held off on filling it with furniture, since the walls aren’t even fully painted yet.

  Jay cracks a window and a paint can while I survey the outline I drew on the wall weeks ago. It’s a map of the world, with the names of the places we want to visit written out. Someday, when the baby is old enough, we’ll travel to all of those countries and cities as a family. We’ll learn new languages, taste new foods, glide down rivers, and hike through jungles—and I’ll sketch it all out in a book.

  Until then, we’ll enjoy the mural as we feed and rock our little one to sleep every night.

  “Alaska needs a stronger outline,” I tell Jay as he climbs onto the step stool.

  “Why does it have to be all the way up here?” he complains as he stretches to reach it.

  I laugh. “Hey, I didn’t create the world. I just drew it.”

  “I need that angled paintbrush.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  I bend down to grab the roll of brushes, but a sharp pain in my torso stops me. I straighten up and touch my belly.

  “Lauren?” Jay is staring at me, his face worried.

  “I’m fine. I just bent down wrong.” I laugh. “Believe it or not, sometimes I actually forget that I’m pregnant.”

  I go to hand him the right brush, and another sensation washes over me. This time, it’s a tightening one, happening at the bottom of my belly. I stop moving and wait for it to happen again.

  “Lauren,” Jay says, more sternly this time. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  I lick my lips, joy and fear rocketing through me at the same time as the pain.

  “I think…I think I just went into labor.”

  Jay goes white. “Are you sure?”

  I laugh. “I don’t know. I mean, the contractions are supposed to be pretty light at first. Like, you hardly feel them.”

  Just as I’m finishing talking, what’s undeniably a contraction washes over me. It’s twice as strong as the last.

  “Whoa.” I clutch my belly.

  Jay gets off the step stool and walks to me. “Okay. This is happening. Let’s get your bag and get to the hospital.”

  I wave him off. “No. It’s too early. Remember? First labors can take twelve hours or more. There’s no point in going to the hospital until I’m halfway along.”

  “I just really think we should—”

  I interrupt him with a yelp. It’s yet another contraction, this one even stronger.

  My heart rate speeds up. “How long was that between those two?” I demand.

  Jay goes wide-eyed. “I don’t know. Uh, a minute? Maybe less.”

  Less than a minute. No way.

  Contractions are supposed to start at fifteen to twenty minutes apart. It’s not until they’re five minutes apart that you’re supposed to head to the hospital. That’s what all of the pregnancy books say. One minute apart? That doesn’t make sense.

  Yet another contraction blasts through me. This time, it’s a long one.

  “Okay,” I harshly exhale. “We have to go to the hospital. Now.”

  I’ve never seen a person move so fast in my life. Jay has me and my bag down to the curb before the next contraction comes.

  The next two hours are a blur, full of a terrified cab driver, scurrying nurses, and a baby that’s coming way, way too fast. Through it all, Jay is calm, always by my side. He holds my hand and soothes me, never straying more than a few inches away.

  And then, suddenly, there’s a baby in the room.

  “It’s a girl!” the doctor announces, holding a tiny little red-faced person in the air.

  A girl! Willow is never going to let me forget she was right about this.

  The baby squeals and I look at Jay. His eyes are full of tears.

  “She’s beautiful,” he whispers.

  “Just a little over two hours,” the doctor adds with a smile. “That’s really rare. You better spend your last month sleeping at the hospital for your second baby.”

  We stare in amazement as they clean her up, measure her, and take her weight. Finally, she’s in my arms. Her blue eyes are open and looking up at me.

  “Hi, little one” I angle her up so she can get a look at Jay. “That’s your daddy.”

  Jay puts a finger against her palm and she makes a little fist around it.

  “Do you have a name for her?” one of the nurses asks.

  Jay and I look at each other.

  “Rose,” we whisper at the same time.

  Just murmuring the word makes me remember all the best roses I’ve encountered in my life: the roses in Macau on the night Jay and I first met, the roses filling the hotel room the day Jay told me he loved me, and, now, the sweetest and best Rose in the world—the one in my arms.

  Looking down at our newborn daughter, I can see how everything that’s happened in the last year has brought us to this perfect place. Jay and I were once adrift, floating through the world as two separate beings.

  Now, we’re together. Now, we’re whole. Now, we’re home.

  The End

  Mountain Daddy: The Single Dad’s New Baby

  Layla Valentine & Ana Sparks

  Time for a tease!

  Next up are the first few chapters of Mountain Daddy: The Single Dad’s New Baby, the next in my series of standalone novels, A Baby For The Bad Boy

  Happy reading!

  Copyright 2017 by Layla Valentine and Ana Sparks

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author. All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Serena

  “Man, you really do need a vacation.”

  The man at the grocery store sputtered this to me as I mopped at my sweating brow, waiting in the long line that weaved toward the back. I gave him a grimace, trying to stand on my tippy-toes to see the front.

  “Seems like everyone’s trying to get out of town for Labor Day,” I sighed, playing with my coiffed blond hair. “I don’t blame them. But damn, I should have gotten here earlier; when I planned to. Things never really go as planned, though, do they?”

  “Sure don’t,” he grunted.

  The man I was speaking to—just one of those “friends” you pick up in line everywhere, who shares your qualms with the world—gave me a soft punch on the shoulder. He was carrying a twelve-pack of domestic beer, and his belly bulged out over his jeans. He had the aura of a previous frat boy, reliving the glory days. I could tell by the way he swept his eyes from my shoulders, down the crest of my breasts, and toward the cinch of my waist, that he wanted our conversation to move forward.

  But I felt drained, washed out. I’d been on a dozen or more dates over the previous summer, without a single “win,” and I yearned to be free of the San Francisco streets. I yearned to flee the tech people, who earned high salaries and seemed to eliminate anything interesting or gritty or personable about the city. The reasons my mother and father had been drawn here in the first place. The reasons I had stayed, after finishing law school.

  But it seemed that those reasons were seeping away, making me a stranger in my own land.

  “Where you off to, anyway?” he asked.

  “The Mendocino National Forest,” I told him, knowing this was a place someone like him wouldn’t follow me.

  He gave a snicker, one that read unkind if I listened to it the wrong way.

  “Why the hell would you go all the way o
ut there? We’re renting a boat, my buddies and me. Why don’t you come with us? We’ve got loads of beer and food and afterwards, we’ll have a bonfire on the beach. Classic San Francisco late-summer evening.”

  “I don’t want San Francisco right now,” I said, adjusting the parcels in my grocery basket. “I want to be as far away from this place as possible. I haven’t had a vacation in years.”

  The man’s eyebrows rose high on his face. “But don’t you have unlimited time off? Damn, I don’t know anyone without that. We’re always coming and going as we please in the tech industry. You don’t work in it, I take it?”

  “Defense attorney,” I said. I kept myself low, centered. I wasn’t in the courtroom. I didn’t have to defend myself against anyone like him. Against anyone at all, actually. Not now that I was on vacation for one entire week.

  “Sounds rough.”

  How was it possible that the line hadn’t moved along at all?

  Again, I rose up on my tip toes, and I sensed the man’s eyes on my ass. My hands shifted, feeling the weight of the things I’d packed for the trip away: a water bottle, some snacks for the drive, and a small bar of chocolate. I felt anxious, itchy.

  With a thrust forward, I dropped my basket near a stack of the others, and began to dart toward the door. I was no longer hungry. With my hands drawing into fists, I felt volatile and alive—straining against the vibrant city around me.

  “Hey! You want me to hold your place in line?” the man called from far away, his voice growing whiny in my ear. “Or…?”

  But already, the grocery store doors had pulled apart, revealing the grey and foggy parking lot. My little Chevy Cavalier, red and dented, awaited. I tossed myself into the front seat and inserted the key, bringing up the map to the forest on my phone. The blue line that led me there looked winding and strange, so unlike the simple dart to and from work I’d been taking for the past three years.

  “Mendocino National Forest,” I whispered. “Here I come.”

  I blasted from the little grocery store in the Mission District, easing down Valencia Street. Around me, Mission District hipsters celebrated Labor Day weekend. They held frozen margaritas and large burritos, twirling their mustaches and ogling one another.