Knocking Boots (Sexy Standalone)

by Willow Winters

  This is all for fun. That’s all. I just need to remember that.

  Chapter 7

  Grace

  I want you to knock me up.

  I could feel the words on the tip of my tongue when I was making a deal with Charlie. But that’s not realistic. I’ll figure out how I’m going to deal with my… issues. But for now, I’m focusing on the positive.

  As I drive home from Mac's, I can’t help the smile that lights up my face. It’s silly, I know. The very idea of Charlie going on a date with me is laughable. I get that.

  But I still let my imagination run wild as I drive back into the city.

  I fantasize about Charlie picking me up for the wedding. I’m wearing a pretty pale blue dress, lacy but not scandalous, and white heels. I open the door to my apartment, and he takes a moment to look at me. Really look at me, drink me in.

  Standing there in his wedding tux, he looks fucking dashing. In the fantasy, I bite my lip and look downward, trying not to show him all the emotions just beneath the surface.

  He whistles, long and low. My eyes drift up, catching his.

  “Damn, you are the kind of girl I’d like to date,” he says. “As a matter of fact, I think you’d look even better if you were carrying my child…”

  I can’t help but laugh out loud in my car as I pull into my parking spot. My reverie fizzles away, gone like smoke. How ridiculous!

  Okay, so the real Charlie definitely wouldn’t say that. My cheeks hurt from smiling as I turn the car off and shake my head. I need to get my head on straight, because going to Charlie’s sister’s wedding isn’t even a real date.

  I’m probably not even on his radar, for God’s sake. He’s just a harmless flirt. For all I know, he’s not actually going to go through with this plan.

  I sigh as I get out of my car and climb the two flights of stairs to my apartment. Only on the tenth stair do I feel the weight of the drinks I’ve had. I’m a little more tipsy than I realized. I usually don’t stay out this long, but tonight, I didn’t want to leave.

  It’s quiet out tonight, the city lulled to sleep by a long day of constant rushing.

  I unlock the front door and let myself in, careful to lock it after I get in. The keys jingle as I toss them in the bowl on the front entry table next to my purse.

  I flip the lights on, illuminating my tiny studio. Once upon a time, I found the fact that my bed overlooks the fire escape romantic. I used to like the way that my kitchen is just a small bar, with a miniature fridge and stove.

  I used to be charmed by the tiny bathroom, painted in purple. I was just glad that I had something in the big city that I could call my own.

  The mattress groans as I sit down on the frilly white bed and take my shoes off. I kick them off and over to the wall where I have my ‘closet,’ a hanging rack jammed full and ready to tip over. I look around at my space — because I spent so much time making it mine — and sigh.

  I know I have to move soon. I’ve lived here for almost four years, and it was great in college and the couple of years after. Now that I have a real job and I’m doing well, though…

  I need to seriously think about moving.

  The weight of the day hits me as I undress, careful to hang up my clothes. Then I crawl into bed, wondering where I should move. I climb under the comforter, and the neighborhood around Mac's flashes in my mind. There are plenty of cute houses for rent in Vinings, after all.

  A blush flames my cheeks when I realize that I’m really fantasizing about living near Charlie. I settle on my side, staring out the window to the fire escape.

  I imagine living close enough to Charlie that he just stops by late at night, his broad shoulders and quiet grin filling my doorway. I groan aloud, turning onto my back.

  His sister’s wedding is not a date! I need to remember that, to get it through my thick skull.

  Him asking me to go is just something to help him out. As I stare at the ceiling, I honestly can’t believe that he asked me, or that I said yes. But after he sent the picture of us together to his mom, it was kinda hard to say no. I definitely blame it on the alcohol, and on the smile that Charlie pinned me with.

  The combination of those two things is enough to get any girl to drop her guard.

  If he was into me, he would have already asked me out. And it wouldn’t be some stupid deal to keep his family off his back.

  I sigh, looking around the apartment. I think about how much I’ve been worrying about IVF and donors and stuff lately. I haven’t even considered that I'll need a bigger place to live if I do get pregnant. A new house with separate rooms, unlike my studio. Some place that could accommodate a nursery.

  I’m so ready to be a parent in my heart of hearts, but so not ready on a practical level. There’s so much that will have to change before I can have a kid.

  I make a strangled noise, and jump up to get my cell phone from my purse. Getting back in bed, I open the Tinder dating app.

  I bite my lip as I swipe through several guys. I swipe left for pass, right for potential. I swipe left several times, stopping on a hot guy. Dark hair, tan, tallish from his pictures…

  But I see that he’s just visiting Atlanta from Texas this weekend. I swipe left regretfully, turning him down. There are half a dozen of the same thing, a hot guy just looking for a girl to show him the city for the weekend.

  Not me, unfortunately. I swipe for a couple more minutes, then Tinder lets me know I’m out of matches. I sigh and put my phone down.

  Maybe it’s crazy to think that I can get a baby and the man of my dreams from one person. Maybe I get the hottie later — after I have a baby on my own.

  I picture myself with a grinning baby in my arms, both of us beyond happy. I don’t really need a guy to give me that, do I?

  Of course, getting a donor from a sperm bank is pricey. Not only that, but it’s sort of clinical and cold, too.

  My eyes wander back to my phone. I could get a donor myself, the old-fashioned way. Hook up with some super hot, super smart guy without protection. And hope that I get knocked up.

  I bite my lip. Would it be so wrong? My mind wanders to Charlie. What if the donor was someone I kind of knew? If I just asked him, would he say yes?

  He's hotter than fire, really smart, and runs his own business. Plus, Charlie wouldn’t ask that many questions about a baby, right? Maybe he’d do it in exchange for me helping him out? It’s crazy. I’m sure he’d think I was a fucking lunatic.

  I’m sure there’s a consent form or legal... thing.

  But that’s only if he could even knock me up. Hey… Charlie. Could you jerk off into this test tube for me so I can have your baby, in exchange for me going to that wedding?

  Yeah… I can’t ask that. My mouth turns down as I think about that.

  I need to figure the clinical sperm donor thing out. I pull the covers closer to my neck and nestle into the bed. I make a note to myself to work on it again when I’m sober.

  The idea of getting my own donor was just a fantasy. I huff a humorless laugh. The idea of Charlie is just a fantasy. More than that, I don’t want to know about my donor’s personal life. I don’t want to spend time wondering if I’d ever meant anything to him.

  I roll over and pull my pillow onto my face, unwilling to think about Charlie or his hookups any further.

  Chapter 8

  Charlie

  “Don’t you ever sleep?” Maggie’s voice rings out in the back room.

  I look up over my shoulder as I set the box of craft beers on the floor in the stockroom. The bottles rattle slightly as I stand up, stretching my back.

  “Morning,” I tell her, stifling my yawn. I got done with the shift around three in the morning, but the food trucks will be here today. I needed to go through inventory, so my schedule went a little over… by seven hours, to be exact.

  Maggie sets her purse down on the long bench just outside the door. The back part of the bar is open. The kitchen and storage are in one area, and my office is all t
he way in the back. It’s not the best setup, but it works.

  I crack my neck as I walk past her to grab my coffee. I can’t believe it’s ten already. I need to get home, get into my bed and actually sleep.

  The thought makes another yawn creep up on me, and I cover my mouth, looking at the back door before bringing the mug of coffee to my lips. It’s lukewarm now, a little cold even. I drink it anyway. I’m used to having caffeine however I can get it at this point.

  “Good morning to you, too,” Maggie says with a worried look on her face. I ignore it. Maggie’s always worried about something. If it’s not me, it’s someone else.

  “You good to get the food prepped when the trucks come?” I ask as I walk across the kitchen to the sink.

  I rinse the mug out before setting it into the dishwasher. She waits for me to turn off the faucet, and answers as I dry my hands on a dish towel. Leaning against the sink makes me feel that much more tired.

  “I am. And you didn’t have to do this,” she says as she gestures outward.

  I shrug. Throwing the dish towel back down, I push off the sink. I don’t like handing off responsibility. I know Maggie said she can do it, but I like knowing everything’s going to run smoothly.

  “You have control issues,” Maggie tells me. She checks one of the boxes closer to her.

  “What else am I gonna do other than keep my baby in shape?” I ask. I’m trying to be lighthearted, but the question makes my stomach sink.

  I’ve got no one waiting for me at home and nothing to do besides run the bar. It never used to get to me, but the thought is making me second-guess everything as I close up the box she just opened.

  “You need a hobby, Charlie... Or a wife.” She adds the last part beneath her breath. She grabs the aprons off the hooks and bundles them in her arms.

  I let the irritation settle deep in my chest. I don’t need another woman telling me to settle down. I stare at the stacked boxes for a second and then realize I need the clipboard. It’s been a long damn night, but it’s best I get this taken care of before I place the next order.

  I have to walk around Maggie to get where I’m going at the side of the back room, farthest from the dining area.

  “You know,” Maggie calls out to me. I snatch up the board and pen, right where I left them on my desk. “I really think you should hire a manager.”

  Her arms are still full of the aprons as I come out of my office. She blinks once and waits for a response.

  It takes me a moment to even have her words sink in. I don’t have fucking time to find someone to help me. Let alone actually teach them what to do and show them how all this works.

  “I don’t think so, Maggie,” I answer her easily.

  I go through the last few items. It’s a normal delivery, but a few brands just aren’t selling. I’m not ordering them anymore. They’re seasonal, and not many customers seem to be going for them.

  Maggie steps closer to me, crossing her arms and waiting for me to look up before she says, “You can’t do this on your own.”

  “It’s been working out so far.” The words slip out, but my lighthearted playfulness is absent. I know she’s right. It’s just going to set me back to take someone on and spend time training him or her, moving slower than if I just did it all myself.

  “You know you can’t keep this up.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but Maggie leaves before I get a word out. I watch her back as she heads out to the front, the double doors swaying and creaking.

  I stare at them as they slowly stop swinging. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I know she’s right. Just before I toss the pen down on the desk, my phone pings.

  My brows pinch as I look at the number. I don’t know it, and it’s not programmed into my phone.

  What should I wear to the wedding?

  A smile curls my lips up. Last night before my sweetheart left, I put my number in her phone. I wasn’t sure if she’d use it or not, but I told her to.

  I huff a small laugh at the text. She was sweet last night after a couple more drinks, leaning on me a little more than usual. Asking if I was just messing with her. I wonder if it was really her way of asking if this is actually happening.

  If it was a few years ago, I would have thought of her as the clingy type maybe.

  I lean against my desk and then decide to just fall into the chair as I look at her message.

  Last night, I didn’t have a single problem with her clinging onto me while the guys in the back shooting pool were looking at her. She didn’t even notice them, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to point them out to her.

  It’s a small wedding. Nothing too fancy or formal is fine.

  It’s been nearly an hour since she messaged me. I sit the phone down, thinking she won’t get back to me for a while, but the phone goes off rapid fire.

  Okay, so not a ball gown, got it.

  I’ll do something simple...

  But classy.

  What are you wearing?

  The laugh comes up easy, vibrating my chest. I lean back, and get comfortable in the chair. I’m so damn tired I could lay my head down and take a nap.

  I text her back: I’m in the wedding, so I have a suit.

  Her response makes me laugh even harder.

  And you told me I could wear jeans!

  Wear whatever you want, sweetheart.

  I stare at my message for a second, playing with a small tear in my jeans before adding,

  I’ll be in gray with a dark blue tie.

  Okay, now I’ve got something to work with.

  I smile at her message, debating on what to say back.

  Probably nothing, I think as another yawn takes over. I stretch out and grab my keys, nearly pocketing my phone before it beeps again.

  And you're sure you wanna take me?

  I knew it. I grin at the phone as I type my response.

  You backing out of our deal?

  I hope she can feel my smile when she reads it. I add:

  We shook on this. That’s as good as a legal notarized document when a handshake happens in my bar.

  I don’t even notice Maggie come in until I hear her voice.

  “Now, whatever’s got you smiling like that,” she says with her hands on her hips, “That’s what you should be spending your time on.”

  I lift my head to look at her, but the second I do, my phone goes off.

  I’ll pick out something to match.

  Chapter 9

  Grace

  “Oooh, let’s go in here!” Diane says, tugging at my arm and pointing to a shop. “I’ll bet they have exactly what we need.”

  “Okay,” I say easily, allowing her to pull me inside. I rub my inner elbow where I’ve just been poked and prodded. I had to have lab work done quickly before coming here. I’m hoping for the best, but prepared for the worst. At least shopping can take my mind off of this mess. Even if it’s with Diane.

  She came into work all chipper, like the fight we had Tuesday never happened. I was happy to let it go, because I had so much on my mind. Namely, dress shopping.

  So after listening to her dish about all of her dating shenanigans, I admitted that I had agreed to go to a wedding with Charlie as a favor.

  She actually squealed, then gushed about how she was going to the wedding as well. Apparently, some distant cousin of Charlie's or another relative was her new fling.

  Part of me doesn’t believe her. It wouldn’t be the first time she's lied. And the way she said it… I don’t know. It doesn’t matter though. Either she’ll be there, or she won’t. It doesn’t matter to me in the least.

  That conversation led us here, to what the sign proudly announces to be Dynamite Dolls. A quick look at the windows shows that the shop caters to '50s pinup designs, with two mannequins dressed to the nines in plaid pleated dresses.

  My simple work heels click on the shiny floor inside; the shop is obviously very nice, with fashionable dresses on racks to our left and right. In front of us is a
wraparound counter, with two fully decked-out sales associates behind it.

  The extremely petite blonde and a tall, plus-sized redhead behind the counter turn as we walk in, obviously stopping mid-conversation.

  “Hi!” they say in unison.

  The blonde rushes out to the sales floor, beaming. It seems that we’re the only customers in the store, which is fine by me. I’ve never heard of this place.

  I don’t shop much at all in this part of the city. It’s a bit out of my price range, usually. But this is for a wedding, so obviously, I need to get something nice. It’s a treat to myself, too. A reward for putting up with Tinder and dating apps.

  I walk over and look at a rack of dresses made of black crepe.

  “I’m Tessa. Are y'all looking for anything in particular?” the blonde asks.

  “Actually, we’re both going to a wedding,” Diane says, looking around. “So we’re looking for something classy…”

  My fingers trail along the beautiful fabric; it’s luxurious. As soon as I get to the price tag and turn it over, I can’t help that my eyes widen, but at least the gasp is silent.

  Six hundred dollars for one dress? What the hell kind of place did Diane bring me to?

  I blink a few times and try not to show that I’m freaking out. I cannot afford this place, not in the least.

  Of course, Diane has no idea that I’m stressed about money. Well, that is, I’m looking forward to being stressed about money.

  Today at work, I Googled how much it costs to find a donor and what the process is like. Then I nearly had a panic attack, because just the sperm can be hundreds of dollars. I remembered what my doctor said about IVF treatments… the cost of those can be thousands of dollars!