Baby Batter: A Baby For The Billionaire Single Dad Romance

by Alexis Angel

  “I still need to shower and make sure I look amazing. No time for anything else. Thanks, though, babe. You’re a doll.”

  I give her a wink and rush to the bathroom. I do my best to relax while taking a warm shower, taking a few deep breaths.

  This’ll be great, or at least fine. There’s no way a stupid barbecue can screw up what I have with Kirk.

  This is all part of building a deeper relationship. I try to clear my mind. As I shave my legs, I think about nothing except the task at hand.

  My quasi-meditation works until I’m staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, perfecting my makeup.

  Why does Kirk seem so nervous about this?

  That annoying thought rears its dumb head a couple times before I can shove it down for good.

  When I finish getting ready, I head to the living room to find Lana again. She’s lounging and looking a bit bored on the couch. By now, I’m showered, shaved, dressed, and all-around perfectly prepared.

  Conservative but slutty.

  Lana looks up from her phone as I power walk past the couch.

  “Leaving?”

  “Yeah. You’ll be here when I get back, right, babe?”

  Lana doesn’t bother answering since she can tell my mind is somewhere else.

  “Don’t drink until you eat something!” Lana yells as I walk out the door.

  I let the door shut behind me. Even though Lana’s words are loud enough to ricochet around the hallway, they don’t really register with me.

  I’m too focused on how amazing WineBar will think I look and how easy it will be for him to push me in a corner and finger fuck me in this dress.

  Yes…I’m totally ready for this.

  Kirk

  “Better than any fucking elliptical machine, am I right?”

  Already outside of the ring, I’m still reeling from that jab straight to my jaw. Since when is Tad so fucking good at feinting?

  Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to dedicate to becoming as good as I’d like at the sweet science of punching another dude’s face at a sweaty-ass gym. Right now, I’m sweaty and rubbing my jaw.

  Tad is correct—this shit beats an elliptical machine any fucking day of the week.

  “Yeah, great cardio, and all for the cost of a few massive blows to my skull and a bit of potential brain damage. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I grin.

  Tad is wearing a derisive smirk, and I have to laugh. Like me, he appreciates a bit of good-natured sparring outside the ring as well as inside.

  “I’d say that brain damage is nothing new for you, friend. Nobody should be that easy to feint.”

  “You may just have yourself a point there, Tad. And if I don’t have the intellect for sparring, I probably need to rethink a lot of things.”

  Tad laughs loud and hard enough to drown out the sound of KFOG blasting through the gym PA. Even the lifters stop their grunts and dumbbell dropping for a moment. I chuckle despite my best efforts.

  “Contagious laughter. I don’t like catching it,” I say.

  I’m not making much sense, and I’m not sure whether it’s from the punches to my headgear or from actual nerves about this afternoon. Since when the fuck am I nervous about anything?

  Tad’s looking at me strange, and not just because of my off comment. He can tell there’s something up.

  Fuck.

  “Do you want to grab a sports drink from the fridge? On me.”

  For the first time in what may be years, I look over at the ridiculous locked commercial refrigerator. There are dozens of multicolored bottles visible through the glass door.

  Those bottles are vintage at this point. Tad would probably be the first person to buy a drink from there since the nineties.

  “You know I don’t go for that sugar-water shit.”

  I know Tad’s trying to help, but he seems to think there’s something wrong. He’s way off about that. This barbecue is a big fucking deal, but in the best way possible.

  I have to explain myself so Tad can stop the inquisition. We only have time for one or two more rounds, and I don’t want to waste it.

  “Regular water then, or a seat on the bench, at the very least. Come on, man. You look like you need a break. Nothing’s wrong with that.”

  I sit down on the bench just behind us and take a swig from my reusable water bottle that must’ve slipped Tad’s notice.

  “Happy now?”

  Tad sits down next to me and gives me a look. Jesus Christ, this really is going to be a production, isn’t it?

  “Are you? I’m not sure what’s going on with you, Kirk. Is it good? Do you need to talk about it?”

  Why do people keep asking me if things are good? It’s meaningless to me, but Tad means well. I try to keep my cool.

  “Yes, it’s good. It’s very, very good, in fact. I’m having a barbecue later.”

  “Oh, okay, that is…good. I guess.” He gives me a look like I’ve lost my fucking mind. I think I may have. “But what else?”

  This motherfucker’s relentless. But whatever, I have nothing to hide.

  “My parents are coming.”

  Tad shrugs and nods slightly. This is the end of it. I hope.

  “Okay. Who else?”

  I don’t know how much Tad’s figured out by now, but I have to give the dude props—I respect his tenacity to pry out the truth.

  “Emily. She’ll meet my parents, my family. This is the first time I’ve ever looked forward to something like this.”

  And…nothing. Tad’s got his fucking poker face on.

  All I want to do is get back to boxing, not have this conversation right now. But if he wants to talk about the most important thing in my life at the moment, it looks like that’s what we’re fucking talking about.

  “How long have you known this girl?”

  This question would normally annoy the fuck out of me because Tad already knows the answer—and also because it’s irrelevant.

  Right now, the question annoys me because the gall of Tad or anyone else referring to Emily as this girl is enough to drive me fucking insane. Seriously?

  Luckily, even in this testosterone-laden gym full of punching and grunting, I’m able to calm the fuck down when I think about Tad’s point of view. His heart is in the right place.

  “A couple weeks. Why should that matter?”

  “You sure you’re not getting this backward? For me, at least, it’s good to hold off on the whole ‘meeting the parents’ thing until I get to know someone.”

  Tad’s still right next to me on the bench, making eye contact and listening carefully. I need to take this opportunity to make things clear.

  “I already know Emily. I know her better than you can realize, and I know her in ways I can’t even describe. I also know her in some ways I can describe easily. For example, she makes a living as a romance author.”

  “Interesting. Why are you bringing that up now?”

  “Because it means that she takes this shit seriously. She gets it—this whole ‘meeting the parents’ business. This is important for her, and it’s important for me.”

  Tad gives me that nod again. It’s slightly more believable this time, but not by much.

  “I think I’ll have one of those drinks myself,” Tad deadpans. I hope like hell he’s joking. He starts to stand up.

  “No! Tad, don’t do it! Think of your family!”

  I don’t even see the trace of a smile as Tad retakes his seat. He can be ice-cold when it comes to jokes, but Tad’s trying to be warm right now. He’s just looking out for me, misguided as he may be, and before we step back into the ring, I’m determined to convince him of that.

  “Sounds like it’ll be a great barbecue.” Tad’s now eyeing the ring again. His focus is switching back to the task at hand, and we’ve got a couple more rounds before the workout is done.

  “Emily can charm the shit out of anyone. I can’t wait for her to meet my family,” I tell him.

  I don’t see Tad’s face
as he reacts to this, since he’s already putting his gloves back on and striding toward the ring. I get up and follow him, mentally preparing myself for a few more punches.

  “It’s about more than just your parents, Kirk. You may not like what they have to say, and you’re a grown-ass man.”

  There’s no way that my parents won’t be floored by Emily. They’ll fucking love her.

  On the other hand, Tad is right about one thing—this is about more than just my family. I want Emily to be part of my life, and that includes both family and friends.

  But I’ll also admit that I’ve been thinking a few more people at the party might make things easier, reduce the chances for awkwardness.

  “Hey, Tad?”

  Tad doesn’t stop, slow down, or even look at me.

  “Fuck yeah.”

  “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

  “Fuck yeah, Kirk. I’ll go to your fucking barbecue, man.”

  This fucker must have ESP. It’s the only explanation.

  “Bring as many people as you can, but only people I know. No random motherfuckers.” I do my best to deliver these instructions plainly as Tad climbs back into the ring, but he’s already moved on.

  He’s ready to start punching again. And so am I.

  Emily

  This feeling is weird as fuck. I’m staring out my window with, like, awe and wonder or something crazy. The view is nothing new to me, but it sure looks perfect right now.

  Unlike this morning, there’s no fog to speak of, and the afternoon sun is bathing the city in a magical auburn glow.

  But yeah, it’s a weird feeling. The closest thing I can think of—and it’s still a million miles from coming close to this—is what it’s like finishing up a novel. That feeling is pretty fucking awesome, but it’s not even like on the same planet as what I feel like today.

  With big writing projects, there’s a boundless sense of urgency from start to finish. Even with chunks of real life thrown in, those long and lonely nights of work can sometimes leave you feeling more like a hermit in rumpled pajamas and a messy bun than some sexy literary queen of smut badass.

  All those feelings suddenly evaporating with the completion of a manuscript is, well, nice, I guess, along with the reward of knowing that you get to write this stuff for a living. It can even be wonderful sometimes.

  Nothing, however, can compare to what today feels like. That’s why this feeling is so strange—it’s genuinely new to me. I realize this when I try to think of a close analogy.

  Maybe it’s a kid finding out that school is closed for the day due to a blizzard? Looking at the window and thinking about endless possibilities—that’s sort of close, yet not close at all.

  A kid on the last day of school before summer vacation, maybe? Nah.

  How about a kid on Christmas morning? I do have a warm, satisfied feeling. It’s not holiday cheer, though; it’s more like a love-drunk, sex-sated buzz that I never want to go away.

  It’s like finding out the rest of your life is Christmas morning. It feels so good that there must be a catch.

  So what’s the catch? I am, apparently.

  I finally turn away from the window. I’m glowing like the sun outside. When you hear words like hunk or dreamy, they can seem ridiculous and cliché—that is, until you see an actual dreamy hunk like WineBar.

  There are a few other ways to describe the fuckably hot entrepreneur with a twelve-inch cock straight out of the collective, horny imaginations of romance fans the world over.

  Kirk is better than any fantasy, though. The man is somehow real, and he loves the fuck out of me.

  At this point, I can say the feeling is mutual. It really is like Christmas morning—but like times a million.

  I walk toward my bedroom, and it feels like I’m floating on the fucking air. Like, what is this all about? I write about this stuff, but I don’t think I’ve ever truly experienced it—not like this.

  I need to take a look at my wardrobe and find something sexy to change into for the evening ahead. I don’t have anything specific lined up, but going out with only vague plans seems to be serving me well these days. I just have to remember: more wine bars and less freeways.

  Joking, of course. There’s only one WineBar, and I certainly fucking hope that there’s only one Freeway. Joking again.

  I’m sure there’s somebody out there for a tall, handsome luxury sedan owner who just happens to have a fetish for wearing lacy women’s lingerie when he feels sexy.

  But that somebody sure as fuck isn’t me right now. Or ever, really, especially with WineBar fully in the picture now.

  I keep finding myself thinking about the words love drunk.

  What I’m supposed to be doing is trying to find something hot to wear tonight. What I’m actually doing, now that I’m in my bedroom, is standing like a dumb, drunk statue.

  I’m stuck in my head, just thinking about my new reality. I’m sure I have a stupid smile plastered on my face too.

  But why isn’t WineBar calling me? What is he doing tonight that makes him so special?

  Is he working? Whatever.

  As if he somehow has a telepathic link straight into my thoughts, my phone starts vibrating on the nightstand. It has to be him, and like I’m already trained with some Pavlovian response or some shit, my thong is instantly soaked.

  He’s a keeper, alright.

  I finally make it to my phone. Fuck, it’s time to stop that vibrating already. It’s only teasing my already sex-clouded brain.

  Suddenly, I’m anxious and nervous. My mouth is dry. What the fuck is that about?

  Is this love? If so, I guess I’ll take it.

  I pick up the phone. Here we go.

  “WineBar.” I put my hand on my hip and purse my lips, hoping he can feel it right through the phone. “Kirk, what took you so long to call?”

  The first response I hear is Kirk laughing. So far, so good. Now what does he want?

  “Hey, baby. I hate not hearing your voice for so long.”

  I know he can’t see my sudden smile, but I hope he can somehow sense it, or at least hear it in my voice through the phone.

  “Only you can say something like that and have me believe it.” It’s the truth. I try to picture Kirk’s reaction on the other end.

  Is he smiling too? What is he doing? What is he wearing, or even better, not wearing?

  I think about him tying a necktie. And for some reason, that’s the hottest fucking thing in the world right now.

  “I hope you believe it. I’m as serious as it gets, Emily. Anyway, I’m calling about something as equally important as hearing your voice.”

  I’m still picturing Kirk getting dressed. I like to think that he’s done with his tie and that he’s putting on cufflinks.

  Shit. I feel my knees buckling and my pussy clenching. I play it cool for the phone call, though.

  “Now what could possibly be that important, Kirk?”

  This is going to be something good, right? I sit down on my bed—one of my favorite spots to think about WineBar, especially with vibe in hand. So yeah, it seems like the perfect spot to listen to him.

  “First off, I need to see you again ASAP. You know I’m as busy as anyone, but I have something perfect planned. It’s tomorrow, actually.”

  “Okay, what’re you getting at? I’m a bit perplexed, babe. Is this something good?”

  “Oh, it’s good, Emily. You know I’m an amazing chef, right?”

  I’m still not sure where this is going.

  “Uh, sure.”

  “You know it. I thrive in the outdoors too. With my cooking, at least.”

  Kirk’s usually a bit more direct. I’m trying not to let the conversation make me uneasy, especially since he’s clearly nervous about something. Like why is he beating around the fucking bush?

  “Just spit it out, Kirk.”

  “It’s the barbecue, babe! With my family. You’re invited. In fact, I insist you be there.”

 
Even with no plans today, I’m getting impatient waiting for WineBar to get to the real point. Invited? What’s that about?

  “So is this a big event? Or…just us, maybe?”

  Kirk laughs. This time—and I can’t believe I’m saying this about anything he does—WineBar sounds like he may actually be a little nervous.

  Kirk does not do nervous. The guy is like always in charge of every situation. I mean, I’m getting wet just thinking about it.

  “Oh, it’s a small gathering. A couple friends, family, you know. My parents. That kind of thing.”

  And fuuuck. There it is. Parents.

  I can’t fault Kirk for being nervous now. I mean, shit. He’s breaking ground I didn’t even know we were ready for.

  I’m more than happy to go along with it, though.

  I mean, I should be. I think. Right?

  Yeah. I should be excited about this.

  “Kirk, I would love to. Just tell me when.”

  “I’ll text you about all that—the details and such.”

  There’s a few seconds of silence after that last half-formed sentence.

  “Should I…Kirk, are you still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here, Em.”

  Kirk’s not the type to be at a loss for words, like ever. But I guess we all have our moments.

  “So casual dress or what?” I know what a barbecue is, but I’m trying to get Kirk to say something, anything else about it. I fully expect him to tell me to dress however I please.

  “That depends how you define casual. Nothing too revealing, I guess. Conservative.”

  Wait, what? There has to be something wrong with my phone. What I’m hearing makes no sense.

  He’s never cared how I dress.

  And…conservative? Um, has he met me? What the fuck is going on?

  “Okay, Kirk. Text me when you’re ready.”

  I hang up and think about what he said.

  Parents. I shiver a little bit, and I don’t think it’s because I’m still super horny just from listening to his voice—which I totally am, by the way.

  But yeah. Parents. By tomorrow, I hope we’re both ready.

  Kirk