The Baby Race

by Tara Wylde

  He pulls me in for a hug. “Same here, girl. I didn’t realize how much I missed you until you showed up again. And don’t worry about Chance – he’ll come around. Eventually.”

  I give him a peck on the cheek. “From your lips to God’s ear.”

  The clock in the hallway says 11:07 a.m. It feels like I arrived at the Atlas offices a month ago, and my head is still throbbing. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve earned my thousand dollars and Quentin Pearce can go fuck himself.

  I’m taking the rest of the day off.

  49

  12. CHANCE

  “Leave the bottle.”

  Tre glances at the waitress, then at me.

  “Is that a good idea?” he asks. “It’s barely past lunch.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m the CEO,” I grouse. “I get to make the rules. And the president gets to follow them, so drink up.”

  He shakes his head but does as he’s told. The scotch is a special single-malt distilled by a crazy Scotsman who lives in a basement apartment in Lincoln Park. A group of connoisseurs each chip in fifty grand in return for a dozen bottles of the specialty batch.

  It’s far and away the best scotch I’ve ever tasted, and it’s illegal as hell, but bars like this one will serve it to select customers who know what to ask for. But even it can’t bring me out of the state I’ve been in since Sara walked into the boardroom this morning.

  “I don’t know, man,” says Tre. “She sure didn’t seem like she was on a fishing expedition. I think it was just a coincidence that Pearce hired her. She didn’t know anything about the company.”

  “Maybe so,” I say. “But I’m still not talking to her.”

  “Sure, that sounds like the grown-up thing to do.”

  “I am your boss, you know.”

  “A real CEO doesn’t let a past relationship cloud their judgment about the present,” he says. “Especially when it has an impact on the company’s bottom line.”

  Why is he always right? Do they teach a class in it at Harvard, or something?

  “Just keep her out of my way. I have to come up with something over the next month to convince the Sullivans not to sell, and I don’t need any distractions.”

  “Heh,” Tre chuckles. “You always were distracted by Sara. Remember the time you walked right into the side of that delivery van when you first started stalking her? I thought I was going to piss my pants.”

  I scowl at him. “I wasn’t stalking her, I was just interested in her.”

  “Yeah, I suppose you were ‘just interested’ in all those terrorists you hunted overseas, too.”

  I pluck a pretzel from the dish and send it spinning at his head with a flick of my fingers. Mr. Football Reflexes catches it, of course, and pops it into his grinning yap.

  “I’m just saying you’re too intense sometimes, Randy.”

  He uses the nickname he’s had for me since grade school. It’s short for “Random Chance” and I still hate it to this day. Ah, that’s not true. I don’t mind it; I’m just in a shitty mood.

  “You would be, too, if you had a month to come up with a way to save your company,” I say.

  He gives me a sidelong look. “Who do you think is gonna be the one who comes up with that idea? Not you, motherfucker. Besides, I’m invested in this, too. You can bet Pearce wouldn’t be keeping me around as president.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure there’s a golden handshake built into the deal if I can’t stop it.”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” he says. “Golden handshake? Maybe I’m all turned around on this thing.”

  “Fuck you,” I chuckle, launching another pretzel at him.

  “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” he says.

  “Hey, six hours ago, I was the one telling you not to worry.”

  “I didn’t mean that; you totally have to worry about the deal. I’m talking about Sara. I don’t think she’s going to dig up anything we’ve buried, especially if she’s not going to have any direct contact with you.”

  Hearing Tre say that helps ease my mind a bit. I wonder if he’s figured out why I want to stay away from Sara. It’s not about keeping Atlas’s secrets.

  It’s about making sure I don’t allow myself to go down that path with her again.

  The rec center is deserted at this time of night. Nobody cares where I am, and Sara has snuck out of her bedroom. It’s Friday night, which means her mom is so drunk and/or stoned that you could set off a firecracker in her underwear and she wouldn’t react.

  We tiptoe from the window, through the little gymnasium with the basketball nets toward the storeroom, where I jimmy the door open. Once inside, we curl up together on the little army cot that’s served as my bed more nights than I can count. I’m pretty sure Rev. MacFarlane suspects that I’m using it, but he’s never said anything to me about it.

  Sara reaches under my t-shirt and traces lines along my belly with her fingernails. We’ve done this a hundred times – it’s our way of shutting out all the shit that the world throws on us, and connecting with each other.

  “I wish we could afford our own place together,” she sighs.

  I lean in for a kiss. Her lips taste like cherries. They always taste like cherries. Her tongue explores mine as she grips her arms around my neck, locking me in place. As if I’d go anywhere.

  “I wish I could afford anything,” I say when she finally lets me up for air. “Besides, your mom will never let you move out.”

  “The crazy bitch won’t have a choice when I turn eighteen in a couple months,” she scowls.

  “Hey, don’t talk like that,” I say. “She’s still your mom.”

  Sara stares wistfully at the water-stained ceiling tiles above us.

  “You don’t know her,” she says. “You only see a small part of what I see.”

  “You’re right,” I say, turning her face to mine. “You’re the only thing I see. And you’re perfect.”

  She takes me by the mouth again, only this time it’s more urgent. Suddenly her hands are all over my body, grabbing at my chest and my ass and my crotch.

  I pull back and our lips part with a wet popping sound. When I look at her face, I realize she’s not Sara. Not the Sara from back then. She’s the Sara from this morning. Grown up, filled out, with darker hair and more defined features.

  “I’m not seventeen anymore,” she says. Her hand rips her blouse open, giving me a full view of her breasts. They’re gorgeous: full and round and happy to see me. The look she gives me is pure lust.

  “Like what you see?”

  I don’t understand how this is happening, but I do like it. We’ve fooled around in the storeroom more times than I can count, feeling each other up, getting a glimpse of some skin, but never going all the way.

  Before I know what’s happening, she’s yanked my belt off and is tugging down my jeans. Only these aren’t my skinny high school legs – they’re the tree trunks I developed in the Marines through grueling exercise every day. Apparently I’m my adult self, too.

  There’s a tent under my shorts, and it’s making Sara grin like a Cheshire cat.

  “Is that for me?” she purrs. “I’ve wanted it for so long…”

  I can’t hold myself back – I pull my raging hard-on out of my boxers and use my other hand to unzip her skirt. A few quick moves and she’s fully naked in front of me. I can see that her bush is the same deep red as her hair, and I almost come right on the spot.

  “Slowly,” she says, taking my shaft in her hand and stroking. “We’ve got forever. We’re grown-ups now.”

  Yeah, I think. We’re grown-ups. And I’m rich. I can do anything I want. And what I want to do is fuck Sara as hard as I can.

  As if she can read my mind, she sighs and lays back, only we’re not on the storeroom cot anymore. We’re on the king-sized platform bed in my penthouse. Sara squeezes her breasts together as she spreads her legs wide apart, showing me the secret place I’ve wanted to see for so long.
<
br />   “It’s all yours, Chance,” she whispers. “After all this time, it’s all yours.”

  “I want you, Sara,” I sigh. “You’re all I ever wanted.”

  I want to stay here forever, to feel like this forever, but I can already feel it slipping away. Something is tugging at me, causing me pain. I try to hold on with everything I have, trying to get on top of Sara, to finally be inside of her, to come together finally as one, but there’s so much pain down there.

  Why? Why is there so much … pain…?

  I wake up to the painful ache of my hard cock being almost bent in half by my body weight. I’m on all fours in my bed as if someone is underneath me, but all my hard-on is running into is an unyielding mattress.

  “Fuuuck,” I groan as I roll over onto my back. My chest is heaving like I’ve just finished a full-pack hike.

  There’s a tent under the thin top sheet. I sleep in the nude, so I suppose I should be thankful I didn’t finish the job in my dream. If I had, I would have been stripping the bed before the maid gets here tomorrow.

  “Fucking scotch,” I mumble as the dizziness begins to catch hold. It does nothing to wash away the images from the dream, though. I can still see Sara’s perfect naked body, still feel her hand around my cock, still taste her cherry tongue in my mouth.

  I see the setting sun behind my bedroom curtains casting an orange glow on the window pane. The clock on the night table says 8:16 p.m.

  That’s what I get for starting into the booze right after lunch. I sigh and reach down to massage the cramp out of my rapidly deflating cock.

  This is going to be a looonnng fucking month.

  50

  13. SARA

  Whap.

  “Again.”

  Whap.

  “Again.”

  WHAP.

  “Whoa.”

  WHAP!

  “Hey, settle down!”

  Kelsey flashes me an annoyed look that pulls my head back into the moment. I didn’t realize I was letting my mood creep into the roundhouse kicks I’ve been driving into her padded shield for the last five minutes.

  “Sorry,” I pant, propping my gloved hands on my knees to catch my breath.

  “Everything okay?” she asks. “You’ve been aggressive since your warm-up.”

  Kelsey has been my martial arts instructor and friend for six years. She’s learned how to read minds based on a student’s movements, plus she knows me really well – there’s no getting anything past her. The upside is I don’t have to pay for a therapist.

  Kelsey doesn’t charge me for the workouts either – we met when she hired me to get her sister out of a cult, and she hasn’t let me pay her a dime since.

  “Crazy day,” I puff. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Uh-huh,” she says. “Let’s take a break before you hurt yourself. Or me.”

  I grab my towel and wipe the sweat from my face as we take a seat on the bench in front of the full-length mirror on the wall of her studio. As usual, I’m a pit-stained mess in my workout clothes, while Kelsey looks like she just stepped out of the salon. Some women just seem have that natural coolness about them.

  “What happened?” she asks. “You’re only like this when you’re frustrated. Is it a case?”

  “Yeah, but not the way you think. I’m doing a corporate job this month. Huge pay.”

  She smiles. “Awesome! So why is that frustrating?”

  I shake my head. “It’s complicated.”

  “Try me.”

  The truth is I don’t know why I’m feeling like this. It’s not like I’m mad at Chance, or unhappy about the money. I should be kicking up my heels, not trying to kick Kelsey’s head off her shoulders.

  “I won’t bore you with the details,” I say. “It’s just a different kind of work. I’m nervous that I won’t be able to pull it off.”

  Kelsey’s eyes narrow. Her gaze has the same effect on me that my father’s did when I was a kid, back before he finally left us. It’s like a school principal’s.

  “I think it’s a guy,” she says. “You’re always like this after you break up with someone.”

  “I am not.”

  “Yup. I always assume it’s because you’re mad at the guy.”

  I’ve only had a handful of boyfriends, and none of them has lasted more than a few weeks. Well, except for Chance. We were together for two years.

  I sigh. “It’s not them I get upset with. It’s me.”

  “You get mad at yourself after a breakup?”

  “There’s a reason no guy ever wants to stay with me,” I say morosely.

  Kelsey takes my shoulders and turns me to look her in the eye.

  “Don’t talk like that,” she says. “You’ve got the full package, girl. If a guy can’t see that, it’s his problem, not yours.”

  Should I tell her? All these years we’ve been friends, I’ve never actually broached the subject with her. But if there’s anyone I can trust in this world, it’s Kelsey.

  “It’s not the guys,” I say. “Well, a couple of them were jerks. But the others just couldn’t get past something that’s wrong with me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s just… I’ve never…”

  “Never what?”

  I lean in and whisper, even though we’re the only people in the room.

  “Kelsey, I’m a virgin. Every time a guy and I get to the point where most people have sex, I just… don’t.”

  Her eyes widen. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I’m more screwed up than I let on.”

  “Honey, believe me, I know how screwed up you are,” she says with a grin. “But there’s nothing wrong with waiting for the right guy. I kind of admire you for it.”

  I grimace. Should I keep going? The only other person I’ve ever talked to about this is Grace, and that’s because she lived through it with me.

  “I wish that was the reason,” I say. “But if I’m being honest, it’s not. I have… hang-ups.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My mom was a bit of a religious fanatic.”

  That’s the understatement of the century. She was a bipolar addict who had a lot of ideas about purity and chastity being the only paths to heaven. It got worse as Grace and I entered puberty. She made us ashamed of our own bodies, and we were scared to death of boys.

  Even when I rebelled and started dating Chance, I wasn’t able to go all the way with him. He never complained, though. He always said my beautiful face was all he needed.

  “That’s too bad,” says Kelsey. “Maybe your break-ups are some sort of trigger for your anger with her? You blame her for not being able to seal the deal with a man.”

  Whoa. That’s kind of a revelation.

  “I never thought of that,” I say. “But you’re probably right.”

  “That doesn’t explain today, though,” she says. “You didn’t break up with a guy today, did you?”

  “Well, therein lies a tale.”

  I tell her about the crazy coincidence of meeting up with Chance again after all these years.

  “Wow,” she says. “That is crazy.”

  “Right?”

  “So how did you feel about it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You run into the only guy you were ever really close to, and he’s hotter than ever – that’s gotta spark a few thoughts, girl.”

  I frown. “Are you trying to tell me I’ve been beating up on you because I’m horny?”

  Kelsey shrugs. “You tell me.”

  I’d really like to tell her she’s out to lunch, that there’s obviously another explanation. But do I even believe that?

  “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter,” I say. “Chance made it abundantly clear that his boat sailed a long time ago.”

  “Oh, come on,” she says. “You’re hot, sweetie. How do you know he wasn’t just playing hard to get? Ex-flame doesn’t want to let on he’s still interested – it’s a tale as old as tim
e.”

  “I doubt that very much.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  In for a penny, in for a pound. Might as well tell her all of it.

  51

  14. SARA

  “Chance is a lot more than an old flame,” I say. “He and I had been best friends for years before we finally realized we loved each other in senior year. We both grew up in shitty circumstances – he was in and out of foster care and got into a lot of trouble as a kid. My dad used to beat on me and my sister before he finally left us alone with my mom.”

  Kelsey nods, but says nothing.

  “Chance and I were sort of each other’s soft place to land, if you know what I mean. He held me through so many nights where I thought the only way I could stop the pain was to jump off a bridge. He literally saved my life when we were fourteen. He happened to stop by one night when my dad had been drinking. Dad came after me with the poker from the fireplace and Chance stepped in and beat the hell out of him. Imagine, a fourteen-year-old taking out a full-grown man.”

  “Jesus, Sara,” Kelsey breathes. “I had no idea.”

  “Chance was my hero,” I say simply. “We were inseparable, or at least as inseparable as we could be with parents like mine. Things got a little easier for a while after Dad finally walked out, but it didn’t last long.”

  “What happened?”

  “I finally decided right before our prom that I wanted to go all the way with Chance. So I planned for a special night at a friend’s place who was out of town for the weekend. I bought candles and made a mixed tape of love songs and everything. It was supposed to be perfect.”

  “So what went wrong?”

  I sigh. “Grace found the stuff in my room right before I was going to leave. She told my mom, who promptly lost her shit and interrogated me about it. I ended up confessing what I had planned, and she told me never to see Chance again.”

  Kelsey’s eyes are soft as she reaches out to take my hand.

  “That must have been so hard for you.”