Lucky Neighbor: A Second Chance Secret Baby Romance

by Gage Grayson

  We’ve got the rest of our lives to get used to it, at least.

  I find the car service number still saved on my personal phone. I hit the button to call, ready to put the phone up to my ear, not realizing it’s on speakerphone. A loud ringing slices through the quiet just as Maddie’s turning around.

  “Yeah, this is the dispatcher.”

  Maddie and I both hear the impatient voice clearly. I forgot how much I love the car service’s customer service.

  “Yo, dispatcher, how are ya?” Maddie shouts, coming back to life.

  “I hear you. What do you want?” This guy loves his job for sure.

  “We’re at 86th and Bay 8th in Brooklyn, and we need someone to take us home into the city.”

  Maddie just narrowed down some of her mystery while yelling at my phone, possibly.

  “What’s the destination?” the dispatcher questions flatly.

  I give Maddie an obvious look, waiting for her to finish her instructions, but she’s boomeranging the look right back.

  “Ten Barclay in Manhattan.”

  The instant I’m done reciting my address, Maddie jumps back in.

  “It doesn’t have to be fancy. A subcompact or whatever you have would be fine. Just...the sooner the better, that’s all.”

  Maddie can’t wait to get out of here. That’s understandable—she doesn’t need to live through this shit all over again.

  The dispatcher’s gets out a mumbled “five minutes” before hanging up.

  “That seems quick,” Madeline remakes, starting to clap her hands together as the temperature plunges.

  “It does seem quick. Too quick is what I think.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  Maddie’s taking a few slow steps in my direction, which is nice, because I suddenly don’t notice how cold it’s getting.

  The sound of a loud mechanical bang ricochets from around the corner. The sound of a loudmouth, needy car engine follows—an engine that probably hasn't been serviced since sometime during the Ford administration.

  This couldn't be our ride from the service—their cars are typically newer, usually from sometime in the twenty-first century, even.

  As I hear that engine round the corner and see the typical Town Car headlights coming toward us, I know that this is our ride indeed.

  The vintage livery cab pulls up to the curb, and I look at Maddie.

  What is she thinking? What will she say?

  Will she crack a joke? Or is she going to appreciate this uniquely old ride back to the city in a beautiful way that I know nobody else can?

  I wait for her reaction, and she just claps her hands with mild coldness a couple times.

  "This is us, right?"

  Maddie does not even wait for me to answer—she's already opening the back door.

  All I want to do is tell her that I’ll make it up to her, and I'll take her for a ride in any kind of car she wants any goddamn time she wants.

  She seems like she could care less, though, and now it's too late, as she’s already climbing into the back seat. And the driver could probably hear everything I say.

  Seeing Maddie looking tired and looking at me with an expression I can’t make heads or tails of, I need to do something, something...funny.

  So I looked over at her, and I nod.

  It's a good nod—not my best, but it's polite, and I see her lips trying to fight a laugh again.

  And she nods back in the same way.

  And then, without warning, the driver hits the gas, and we take a rather violent U-turn around the wide, two-way street we’re on. And we are just shooting north like a rocket toward the BQE.

  Locally owned bakeries and bodegas and auto body shops on either side of us blur by too fast to see what any of them are.

  "This is worse than the Cyclone, I think," comments Maddie, her voice about a quarter fearful and three-quarters laughing.

  "Which one?” I ask smilingly, my eyes right on her as her eyes stay locked on the windshield.

  “Allow me to clear up any misunderstanding,” she begins, still looking through the windshield and still in that same tone of voice. “I am referring to the Coney Island roller coaster we were on earlier—not this roller coaster and not any sort of tropical storm or hurricane—even though we don’t call those cyclones here.”

  I pretend to consider my response as we merge onto the BQE and start approaching what must be sound barrier breaking speeds.

  “So, are you saying that this ride is almost worse than the cyclone at Coney Island, yet not worse than any of those other things?”

  “I just wanted to use the roller coaster exclusively as a comparison. I’m not trying to compare this to any of that other shit, and I don’t want to think about that right now.”

  “So, have you decided yet? Is this worse than the Cyclone?”

  We’re now in the left lane of the highway, at what feels like a comfortable cruising speed, but we might just be getting acclimated to this Fast and Furious shit. We are both watching the view through the left window, the Lower Manhattan skyline, and this rocket ride in a retro Lincoln doesn’t seem half bad.

  Sort of peaceful, almost.

  Sort of.

  “Not sure yet,” replies Maddie. “We’ll have to take a wait-and-see approach on that one.”

  “Don’t wait too much longer. The ride’s halfway over.”

  “Mm, so it is.”

  Maddie’s eyes are on me as she speaks, even though the view behind me can’t be nearly as nice as the view out the other side.

  Not to get too cocky or anything, but I don’t think she’s looking at the view—at least not the one through the window.

  I’m not doing well with avoiding cockiness, am I?

  Well, if it helps, she’s not necessarily gazing deeply into my eyes. There could just be a spot of pesto on my face from Tomasso that Maddie put there using sleight of hand, and now she’s enjoying not telling me about it.

  We are holding hands, though.

  “The Cyclone wasn’t all bad, was it?” I ask her.

  “What are you talking about? It wasn’t bad at all.”

  “You enjoyed it?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  Maddie glances down to the middle seat where our hands are clasping. I can tell she knows where I’m going with this because of the way she’s looking at our hands while also looking at nothing, and because of her slight smile, and because she’s...is she blushing?

  Holy fucking shit. It’s hard to tell in this light, but she’s also blushing. How fucking adorable is that?

  “I just want to be sure you enjoyed, because I did every moment—if you know what I’m referring to.”

  “Oh, I know.” Maddie’s back to making eye contact, and she’s smiling with less coyly and more mischievously. “All that rattling around, that’s my favorite part of anything. The suspension in this car is a nice simulation.”

  “You mean simulation, or—”

  “Yeah, hey, look,” Maddie interrupts. “We’re on the bridge already.”

  Maddie’s changing the subject, but her hand is gripping mine with increasing strength.

  We’re taking the Brooklyn Bridge back into Manhattan, which is a much more scenic route than what I thought the driver was going to take.

  Maddie’s grip on my hand reaches its peak as we fly over the bridge, and I’m starting to seriously consider that I might be in a dream, but she lets go gradually as we take the offramp back into my neighborhood.

  Turning onto Broadway, I don’t dare ask Maddie where she lives or if she wants a ride home from this guy or from another, less Gone in 60 Seconds–like method of transportation, because I don’t want to make it seem like I want her to leave.

  On the off chance she’s not ready to call it a night yet, that is.

  Besides, I figure the way it will probably play out after the driver drops us off on Barclay is that we’ll say a quick goodbye and Maddie will disappear again.

  I’m prep
ared for that eventuality as the driver pulls over, and I leap out of the car to hold the door open for Maddie as she steps out.

  “Wait, you live here?” she asks as the Town Car speeds away from us.

  “Yeah, this is Ten Barclay...well, the Barclay Tower officially,” I say, pointing toward the lobby.

  “Oh, of course, and you do have that kind of job...”

  “Do you want to check it out while you’re here?”

  Maddie looks into the lobby, seemingly basing her decision on whatever she sees there.

  “I’m on the 52nd story,” I tell her.”

  “Holy shit. Okay, yeah, I’ve never been in an apartment even close to that high off the ground.”

  “It’s pretty high, alright.”

  I walk alongside Maddie into the lobby, past the concierge desk to the main bank of elevators.

  “Up, right?” Maddie asks before punching the up arrow button.

  “Uh, yeah, I’m up from here.”

  Maddie and I keep our eyes locked as she slowly presses the button.

  The moment is interrupted by the door opening to the palatial elevator car, infused with marble.

  “That’s all? I was expecting more.” Maddie’s dripping with sarcasm as she comments on the elevator. “It’s not going to take too long ride up to the 52nd floor.”

  “No, but you may want to have some gum in your mouth for the change in elevation.”

  We ride up to my floor, the elevator taking a few seconds as usual.

  “That was over fifty floors, huh?” Maddie asks when the elevator doors open.

  “Fifty-two, to be exact.”

  Maddie’s already doing her fast walk down the hallway.

  “Other direction, Madeline,” I say, stepping out.

  “Yeah, I’m right on that.”

  My apartment is close to the elevator, and by the time I unlock the door and walk in, Maddie’s right behind me.

  Luckily, the view is the first thing you see when you walk through the door.

  Maddie whistles.

  “That is some view, alright.” Maddie walks past me as I turn on the entryway lights.

  Maddie gapes out the window for a few seconds, then she briefly looks around the room.

  “Some apartment too. I can see why people get into finance.”

  “Would you like a drink? I don’t know if you noticed the bar over there.”

  “No, thanks. But thanks for letting me see this place—I don’t know the next time I’ll be in an apartment this nice. See ya.”

  Maddie walks past me and back to the door so fast that I don’t even perceive it happening until she’s walking out into the hall.

  “Anytime, Maddie, have a good...”

  She’s gone.

  I automatically walk to the bar. It’s time for another Macallan with a little water and a few minutes of sitting and staring out the window.

  Then I can get back to work.

  The problem is, that thought doesn’t fill me with as much comfort as it usually does.

  That view’s not doing shit for me either. For as much as I pay for this place, I don’t think it ever fucking did.

  The thought of spending one more night here, the same place I’ve spent nearly every night for the past five years, is fucking unbearable.

  The thought of spending another night here on my own, that is.

  I’ve spent so much time over the past five years regretting the way everything ended—more time than I’ve realized.

  And I’ve spent even more time thinking about what I could’ve done differently.

  Now I have another chance, and I’m letting it slip through my fingers.

  If I don’t at least try this time, the regret will be even worse, and it’ll last through the rest of my life.

  I almost trip over the marble tiles running to my apartment door.

  Maybe she’s still in the lobby. If she’s not...fuck, now I wish that elevator weren’t so fast.

  I get out the door and sprint toward the elevator, thinking about using the service elevator if this one’s in use.

  “Ethan?”

  I manage to bring myself to a stop by sliding my feet sideways, like I’m hurtling too fast down a ski slope. It’s a damn good thing I do, because I almost didn’t see Maddie still waiting for the elevator.

  “Hey.” I take a moment to subtly regain my balance, pretending that I didn’t just dart into the hallway like a madman. “Maddie, since you came all the way up here, wouldn’t you like to stay for a little bit longer?”

  I don’t really give her much of a reason to stay, and as soon as I’m done talking, the elevator dings, announcing its arrival, and the doors open.

  “Okay, sure,” Maddie responds, ignoring the elevator.

  Ethan

  How did we even get here?

  How did I even get here?

  I don’t know, I don’t care, and I better stop questioning it and enjoy this rare, surreal moment.

  Maddie is walking with me from the elevator back to my apartment, only a few steps to and from.

  I feel like I’m someone much younger, just learning about this world of dating and romance for the first time, unsure of what happens next.

  I turned to Maddie.

  “Hey, so, you want a scotch or something?”

  Maddie grabs me by the front of my shirt and pulls me closer.

  In a flash, we’re making out like we’ve been kept from it our whole lives, and now we’re suddenly liberated to act on our desires, our wants, our needs.

  It kind of feels like the old days, but it kind of doesn’t.

  This is not like some sparse, sunny Hawaiian vacation.

  It feels like we’re at the top of a skyscraper in a dense city.

  We’re at the center of the world.

  I feel all the metropolitan, cosmopolitan energy flowing through me.

  “Mmmm.” I’m mumbling, and she’s already groaning.

  I feel around the small of Maddie’s back.

  That feeling, it’s so familiar—like it was yesterday, or even earlier today.

  I feel the small of her back, just about where her ass starts, and I can sense the start of her voluptuousness. I move my hand down slightly. Yeah, there it is.

  She’s feeling my ass, too, grabbing a cheek with one hand.

  She’s somehow holding me up but pulling me down closer to her, and our tongues are just going fucking crazy.

  I feel myself falling backwards, in the middle of the fucking fifty-second floor hallway, onto the carpet. Maddie falling perfectly on top of me, our tongues dancing with feverish intensity.

  Passionately and erratically, she grabs what she can of my hair, and I feel the back of her head, her silky, blond strands.

  My hands, as passionate and as eager as they are, are content where they are—just softly feeling those soft, golden Rapunzel wisps.

  Finally, we separate, our kiss ending naturally and slowly. We’re both breathing heavily at a fast tempo.

  “No, thanks,” she tells me.

  “Okay. Want to go inside?”

  “Yes, thanks,” she tells me.

  We stand up slowly, still pressed against each other, not as tightly as before, but only so we can move into the privacy of my apartment.

  As much as it pains me, I turn slightly away from Maddie and towards the door just long enough to unlock it.

  We walk inside, and at some point, between the hallway and the entryway of my apartment, we find each other back where we were moments earlier.

  Our lips find each other’s lips again.

  Our tongues find each other’s tongues again.

  That dance was not over in the hallway.

  And here we are, in my apartment again. What a difference a few minutes can make.

  I feel the electricity between us two. Our tongues continue to dance, and our heartbeats continue to increase in speed.

  I reach over slowly to turn on the light. I can feel Maddie wanting to push me ove
r again, to pin me down, using glorious gravity to press herself against me.

  I want nothing more in the world than that right now, but I don’t want to do it on the marble tiles, because I need my back to stay intact so I can see this—whatever this is—to its fruition.

  I take a few steps to my left, and she steps alongside me, almost like we’re doing a line dance. Our tongues persist in their own crazy polyrhythmic dance.

  Finally, we make it to the carpeted section of the floor.

  Maddie definitely knows what that means.

  I find myself falling backwards, surrendering to her crazy, erratic, vigorous strength.

  I’m lying on my back on the carpet. She’s on top, her weight pressed against me.

  For a moment, all I can I feel is the beautiful sensation of her tits just below my chest. Then, I sense her crotch grinding on mine, slowly but getting ever so slightly faster.

  My cock is as at full length, hard and throbbing as it’s ever been, yet it feels like that’s its natural state.

  Even with the very many enjoyable encounters I’ve had in the past five years with myriad women, I feel like I’m waking up from a coma and seeing the true colors of reality outshine the dullness of some half-formed dream.

  That feeling of my cock just running down my pants leg, wanting to breathe free—and the possibilities to come after that...the memory of that feeling never really left.

  It’s been some time, but it’s the most natural feeling in the world—like riding a bicycle or driving manual transmission: old instincts coming back easily.

  Now, my old instincts are telling me I need to get these stupid pants off as soon as possible.

  Maddie reads my mind. That old telepathy is back. We’re both working feverishly to try and undo my pants, fumbling with the belt buckle.

  There it goes. Maddie undoes my fly, unbuttons by top button, and next thing you know, she’s pulling down my slacks and my boxer briefs at once, and…it comes out, sticking up and out at a severe angle.

  Maddie’s eyes sparkle, their emerald power fixated on the sight of my cock, which is clearly longing for her with intensity.

  She looks like she’s okay with that. She closes her hand around the bottom of my shaft, and the sudden flare of pleasure directs me to make a dumb, animal moaning sound.