Unexpected Daddies

by Lively, R. S.

  Anthony sits down next to me, staring at the bathroom door with worry. Gwen pukes again, and Anthony waits to leave until she comes out, wiping her mouth on a towel. Her face seems a bit pale and tears are running down her cheeks. Her mascara is smeared under her eyes, making it look like she hasn’t slept in ages.

  “You okay?” Anthony runs to her side, placing his hand on her forehead.

  “Fine. I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me,” she mutters, holding her stomach. “Can you get me a ginger ale?” she asks Anthony, but I stand up and run behind the counter. I grab a chilled glass and put a few extra ice cubes in it, filling it with soda.

  “Here ye go.”

  When she reaches for it, our hands touch, sending a jolt of electricity through our fingertips. She ignores it like a pro. Gwen and I are good at playing pretend around everybody. We’ve been doing it for so long that we even fool one another.

  She takes a sip and sighs, plopping onto the seat. I make her a wet rag and place it on her forehead. Our eyes meet, and I try to convey every emotion I can through the gaze, but she breaks eye contact.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, go. I’ll be fine. Really, it’s just an upset stomach. No big deal.” She takes the rag and wipes her under-eye, cleaning off the running mascara.

  Anthony kisses her cheek. “Okay, well, call me if you need me. I love you. And Reilly? I am sorry.” He holds out his hand in front of me, and I take it.

  “It isn’t your fault that he was a crazy old man. I’ll see ye when ye get back. We can get a drink. Not here, though.”

  He tosses his head back and flashes his white teeth. “You got it. This isn’t the worst thing that could happen, Reilly. Remember that.”

  And just like that, Anthony leaves, shutting the door behind him on the way out. The wind blows through the door as he walks out, causing the tarp to come off of the right side. It makes that awful, shuffling noise, but I don’t dare get up. I can’t rip my eyes away from the stipulation in front of me.

  I ball it up in a fist, tossing the paper across the bar.

  Right in the damn shins…

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Gwendolyn

  My stomach takes a long time to feel better, but I push through it, watching the array of emotions pass over Reilly’s face. Over the last few weeks, I had wished for something to happen that would make him mad because I have a broken heart, but now that he has to either marry someone or lose the bar, I feel bad. I feel like I played a part in it by wishing for something bad to happen to him, and now, there’s only one way to fix it.

  “I’ll do it,” I say as I take a sip of my bubbly beverage. The cold rag that he made may or may not be helping, too. He cares. I know he does. I just wish he wouldn’t care from so far away.

  He pushes away from the bar and stands up, walking over to the crumbled piece of paper. “Do what?”

  “Uh, marry you or be your fiancée, or whatever the paper says.”

  He pauses, bending over to pick it up. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why not?” I shrug my shoulders, trying to seem unbothered, when really, I’m wondering what the hell I’m thinking. “We could get married and then get an annulment, and you can keep your pub.”

  He scoffs and flattens out the contract. “Like your brother would ever go for that.”

  My defenses rise. “Well, if you run and tell him, then probably not.” I spit at him, making sure he could taste the venom from my words.

  “You have no idea what you’re asking. And your brother is the best lad I know, so don’t go putting words in me mouth.”

  My stomach rolls again, and I press my hand to my abdomen, waiting for the feeling to pass. I don’t know what I ate, or if it’s just the stress of the situation, but I wish it would stop. “Listen,” I say, and then take another drink of the ginger ale. “I love this place just as much as you do. I know what I’m doing. I’m an adult, in case you forgot. What’s a few months of my life? It’s not like we have to stay married,” I scoff, swirling the straw around in my drink and debating if I should go in for the kill. “I’d just be another mistake, right?”

  Sadness creases the corners of his lips as he frowns. I’d hoped he would say something to that, but he doesn’t. “If we are to do this, it has to be believable. We can’t go around pretending we’re not with each other.”

  “Yeah, we have gotten pretty good at that.”

  Again, he ignores my words. “No sleeping with other people. No dating other people. This may be pretend, but we don’t want the relationship to look bad. No one can know. We can sign the paper once we are married. At least let the ink dry before ye run off and leave me.”

  I double over with laughter. I laugh so hard, I wonder if I’m going to throw up again as I gasp for air and my stomach threatens to let go of all the ginger ale I had drank. “You can’t be serious, right? There is so much wrong with what you just said.”

  “Like what?” he asks, sitting down next to me and still trying to flatten out all the wrinkles on the paper.

  Mmm, he’s closer than before. I can smell the pine and soap. It makes me want to curl into a ball and take a nap while laying my head on his chest. You’re mad at him. You’re mad at him. I tell myself. “For one, we are so good at keeping our relationship under wraps that we don’t even have to tell anyone. Why start now if we couldn’t even do it before?” I say with a hint of bitch. I don’t care. I want to get my point across. “Two, let’s not pretend I’d be the one doing the leaving. You’re the one who left me, remember? You’re the one who had a change of heart in half a day. It’s not me you have to worry about. It’s you.” My tone is flat and thin, leaving him no room for argument.

  “Me? I know what I want. What I’ve always wanted. I just let my mind get clouded.”

  “Yeah? And what are you going to do about it?” I challenge him, lifting my chin to see if he would make a move.

  He doesn’t.

  “Call me when you need me to act like a wife or whatever,” I finally say with a laugh, shaking my head. I grab my purse and slide off the stool. I walk past him without taking my eyes off his until I can’t see the gorgeous gold in his hazel eyes anymore. I kick the door open, wishing like hell that I could leave Reilly O’Hara behind, only to be greeted with a downpour of rain.

  “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” I groan, grabbing the tin of mints from my purse and popping one into my mouth. Thunder rolls as the sky darkens, and the hissing rain hits the ground, banging against the roof of his car like a hammer. Right as I take a step to soak myself in this storm, Reilly grabs my arm and pulls me back inside, slamming the door shut and locking it.

  One moment I’m cursing Mother Nature, and the next, his arms cage me in, bracketing themselves on either side of my head. “Where do ye think yer going?”

  I cock my head at him, wondering if he didn’t just remember our conversation. “Home,” I say, somewhat confusedly. His nearness makes my brain fritz. I feel a familiar pull again, and I wonder if the universe has something against me, or if I had done something in my past life to deserve this kind of torture.

  To get my mind off his lips, I start counting his beard hairs, but his smile gets in the way. My knees feel weak and my body follows suit, needing and yearning for my other half. Reilly is the only thing that makes sense to me as I lean against the door, his lips only a kiss away. The strong pull I feel every time he’s near doesn’t feel like butterflies or nerves. It’s more like our souls are trying to come together, and they had, but then he gave my half back.

  And that caused damage.

  He inches forward, placing a hand on my cheek. “What are you doing?” I whisper, staring at the lips that contradict everything Reilly says.

  His hushed voice inches closer. “Don’t.”

  “Reilly,” I breathe. My chest heaves as he inches closer, bending his elbows as he bends forward. “What are you doing?” I can smell the hint of beer that lingers on hi
s tongue. I want to taste it and get drunk off his flavor.

  His nose brushes mine. “I need ye. I’m a selfish bastard. I know. But I need ye.”

  Whatever I feel for Reilly must be the most powerful force on the planet. “I need you, too,” I admit, closing my eyes as our breaths mingle.

  “I miss ye so fucking much, Gwenie. It hurts.”

  “What are we doing?” I interrupt, upsetting the mood.

  This is a mess.

  “I don’t know, but I’m tired of thinking.”

  His top lip presses hard against mine as he kisses me. I let out a shaky breath when he pulls away. I almost ask what’s wrong when he slams his mouth against mine again. He pushes me against the door, the grain scratching against my back as our tongues duel. We undress each other as fast as we can until our skin is touching. My breasts press against his chest, and his hand snakes around my neck, holding my head. No words are said. We simply stare at each other. A hundred questions pass between us. Why are we here? Why have we been fighting this? Why did we test each other? Why can’t we be happy together? Why do we have to care about what anyone else thinks?

  But all those questions are ignored as he carries me over to the pool table and lies me down. The rough, green felt scratches my back as Reilly kisses his way down my neck. He kisses my breasts, sucking each nipple for a moment before letting go. He wets them and then blows, making them bead and become more erect.

  “Such perfect tits,” he mutters before sucking another one into his mouth. I moan, arching my back to try to get more of my large mound into his mouth. I know I shouldn’t be here, lying on this filthy pool table and giving in to the urges we have been so adamant about fighting.

  But I think we’re tired.

  I’m tired.

  I want to give in. Forever. Years of fighting my feelings for him have worn me down. I can’t keep doing it. I don’t want to fight anymore. I want to win. I want to live. A loud ball of thunder rolls in the sky as Reilly unzips my shorts.

  “These wee shorts. They’ve been driving me mad. I hated that ye wore these,” he says as he slides them down my legs.

  “You love them.”

  “Aye, but I don’t love other men seeing you in them. No more of that. I wanted to gouge all their eyes out earlier today.” He digs into his pocket and tosses a condom onto the table before taking his pants off. His cock bobs and pre-come glitters in the low lighting of the bar—red and angry.

  “Won’t happen again.”

  “Hell no. Can’t have me wife wearing that, can I?” he says as a joke, but it rips my heart out knowing this is just us giving into our urges, because later, we’ll be fighting them all over again. It’s a losing battle where everyone else wins, yet we have to suffer.

  He licks from my ankle up to my thigh, and right when he gets to the heat between my legs, I yank him by the hair and pull him up. “I don’t want that. I want your cock.”

  It might sound weird, but I find that to be far more intimate that having sex, and if we’re going to keep giving in, then I want to fuck like we’re risking it all for nothing.

  Reilly rips the wrapper open with his teeth and rolls the condom down his length, sheathing it. Juice drips from between my legs, falling right onto the table. He’ll have to clean that later. He starts to take his time again, kissing his way up my body.

  I roll out from underneath him and stand up, bending over to show him what I want. I don’t want to play around.

  He bites his lips, strutting over to me. His hand presses between my shoulder blades, pushing me down until my breasts rub against the surface of the table. He rubs his hand over my wet folds, sliding his fingers through the slit. I moan when the heat of his hand disappears.

  “I love this ass,” he growls, plunging deep inside me in a long stroke. I cry out and try to find some type of leverage to hold on to, but the only thing I can find are fucking pool balls. They clank together as I push them away, sinking them into the corner pocket.

  His sack slaps against my clit, and I tuck my chin into my neck, hiding my face in the table as I try to muffle my shouting. He yanks my hair back until his lips graze my ear. His tongue dips inside me before he whispers, “I want to hear ye.”

  My hands clutch his as I hold on for dear life. He feels so good inside of me. Surrounding me. Consuming me. My body missed him. My heart did, too, but I’m trying to keep her from not getting more involved than she already is. Picking up the pieces of a broken heart gets exhausting.

  “Harder,” I demand through clenched teeth as my hand pulls on his hair.

  He pushes me back down, grabs my waist, and thrusts his hips. Sweat drips from my brow onto the turf, turning it a darker green. The air gets thicker, our sounds get louder, and my orgasm gets closer.

  My toes curl, my stomach burns, and I thrust back, meeting his power. “So… Big,” I gasp, feeling like he’s splitting me in two.

  “So damn tight and wet. Fuck, yer soaked.”

  “Only you. You do that to me.” I toss my head back, shouting my release. My muscles contract around his girth, spasming uncontrollably. He lies on top of me, fucking me through my orgasm and he groans as he fills the condom with his seed. He moans my name into my neck, kissing me. I lay my cheek on the table, trying to catch my breath.

  Reilly kisses the middle of my back. “Let me get rid of the condom. I’ll be back and we can talk more.” He slides out of me, making me groan one last time.

  I smile over my shoulder and he leans in for a kiss. I watch his naked ass walk to the bathroom, and damn, it’s a good ass. It has muscles, lines, and definition, held by thick thighs. I whine, frustrated with myself for what I’m about to do. When the bathroom door shuts, I slide my pants up and put my T-shirt on. I stuff my bra in my purse, not caring that these things are flapping all over the place. I need to make an escape.

  I grab my purse and keys as I run out the door, leaving Reilly to strip off a condom in the pub bathroom. I run down the street, clutching my purse to my chest so no one can see my boobs bouncing—thank god it stopped raining. I run so hard and fast that I nearly pass my apartment. I skid to a stop, open the side door, and start up the staircase, taking two steps at a time until I fish out my keys with shaky hands. It takes me three tries to unlock the door, but I finally manage to get it open. When the door finally opens, I toss everything on the table, lock the door, and collapse onto my bed.

  I start counting the popcorn on the ceiling as I try to understand what just happened. My phone dings in my purse, which is sitting on my dresser, and I know who it is without even having to look at the screen. I need space and time to think. I just agreed to marry the man I love, but I promised him no love, so he can just divorce me whenever he wants. Am I remembering that correctly?

  “I just fucked on a pool table,” I remind myself out loud. I grab one of my pillows, place it over my face, and scream. How stupid can I be? I can’t believe I had sex with him in his pub when he clearly has no want or desire to voice our relationship to anyone. Anyone being Anthony. Everyone else seems to know already.

  And I bet, at this point, Anthony does, too.

  Damn it. Why? Why can’t I control myself around him? I just lifted my ass up and let him take me. It was so good, though. Why did it have to be so good?

  So many unanswered questions.

  My phone dings again.

  And again.

  And again.

  I wonder if Reilly’s temper has gotten the best of him. I can see him just standing in the bar naked after taking off a condom. I didn’t mean to leave, but I didn’t know what else to do. That had been a mistake, just like everything else that's happened between us.

  Just like me agreeing to marry him, so he could keep Lucky’s.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Reilly

  I wash my hands in the sink, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My cheeks are heated. My eyes are glossed over. My hair is messy an
d tangled, but I don’t care. I grip the sink, wondering why I can’t just let her go. She’s off-limits. Gwen is forbidden territory and I keep crossing the line like a love-drunk schmuck. I grab a few paper towels, dampen them, and walk out. “I think we should ta—” I stop in my tracks when I don’t see her.

  “Gwenie?” I call out, but I hear nothing. My bare feet patter against the hardwood floor until I stand by the pool table, all alone, wondering if what just happened had been a dream. “That little shite…” I say, pulling up my pants and buttoning them. I can’t say I blame her. I yanked her in all different directions and even declared my love for her, but I still managed to push her away. She deserves better.

  I toss my shirt over the bar with a frustrated grunt and lace my hands behind my head. What am I going to do?

  My phone buzzes against my leg, and I think it’s Gwen, but when the contractor’s name comes up on the screen, I grip it tight. “Hello?” I answer, trying not to sound too pissed off. Fred is in charge of the Gredence Place renovation.

  “Hey, we’ve run across a problem.”

  Deep. Breaths.

  “What’s the problem, Fred?” I ask as I go behind the bar and grab my shirt, putting it back on. I pick up my keys by the cash register and take a look at the place. Beer bottles and glasses are everywhere, but does it really matter when I’m about to the lose the bar anyway? I should stay and clean up. But I’m not going to.

  “You need a new roof.”

  I stare at the phone, looking at it as if the guy on the other end was a complete idiot. Of course it needs a new roof. It leaks, not to mention it’s over a century old. “I know. Just fix whatever you have to. I don’t care. I’ll be over later.”

  “This renovation is going to get pricey.”

  Yep, and he can’t say a thing to anyone because I made Anthony give him an NDA. “I don’t care. Fix it. I don’t care how much it costs.” I find a sheet of paper and a pen. I write “Closed until further notice," and tape it to the outside door of the bar.