by BJ Harvey
I don’t think I could want this woman any more if I tried. “Leave it to me. It’ll be the best first date you’ve ever had with the man who impregnated you.”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “So, McDonald’s and a movie then?”
“Oh, I’m aiming for the stars, sweetheart. I can do so much better than that.”
“You can? Be still my beating heart,” she says with an exaggerated drawl.
“Yep. It’s high class all the way. A hot dog and a trip on the L.”
She puts a hand on my chest. “Stop,” she says with a laugh. “I don’t think I can handle that level of romance. Take me now!”
I grin but make sure she understands just how serious I am when I talk again. “Trust me, Gilly. You’re never going to be unsafe with me. You don’t have to be anything except yourself. We may have done this all kinds of backward, but I wouldn’t take a chance like this if I didn’t want it to work. Okay?”
“Now that kind of talk will get you laid. Just saying,” she says, reaching down onto the floor and pulling out the third pack of Oreos, this time birthday cake-flavored ones.
“Duly noted. Are you going to share those with me?”
She sighs. “Oh alright, but only if you finish that foot rub you started earlier.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I carefully slide her off my lap and back onto the couch, moving to the other end so her outstretched legs can rest in my lap.
“And Italian.”
I frown at her. “What?”
“Italian. Your baby has a taste for pasta on her parents’ first date.”
“I’ll make sure I cater for his needs too.”
“Good,” she says, wiggling her toes. “I’ll give you a cookie for every five minutes of foot rubbing. Two if you make the mac ’n’ cheese for me as well.”
“Slave driver,” I muse, but there’s absolutely no complaint in my tone.
“No. It’s baby mama. Get it right.”
Gilly
A week of work crawls by. Never have I been looking forward to a date more than I am mine with Ezra tonight.
I’m hoping to get out of the office early so I can slip into Nordstrom on the way home, but my father appears in my doorway, not bothering to knock before letting himself in.
“Gillian, have you got a minute?” In Keith Nelson speak, that means “I’m going to talk regardless.”
“Sure,” I say, dropping my pen and leaning back in my expensive but well-worth-the-money desk chair.
I catch a whiff of his cologne and the faint scent of a tuna sandwich coming in from down the hall. I scrunch my nose up as my stomach lurches and my father’s eyes narrow.
“How’s the Madsen case going?”
“We have two associates scouting through eight boxes of discovery the prosecution sent over, and I’m meeting with the forensic accountant later this week.”
He nods. “Good to hear you’ve got it handled. Suzy told me you left early again yesterday.”
God, give me strength.
“Yep…” I say, accentuating the P. “I’ll save you the trouble of checking up on me and tell you I’m also packing up now to go home.”
My father’s head jerks back. “Is there a reason you’re working fewer hours?”
I hold up my hand to stop him before he annoys me even more. “Firstly, need I remind you I’m an equity partner. Therefore, as long as my billable hours stay consistent, I can work whenever and for however long I want to.” He opens his mouth, but I beat him to the punch. “And secondly, my schedule is available for you to check whenever you’d like without you needing to use Suzy to do your dirty work for you.”
“Gillian,” he says, arms now crossed, face tight. “It’s not a good look when the managing partner’s daughter is coming and going as she pleases.”
“Keith,” I reply, mimicking him. “You also know that when I accepted my partnership, you agreed that there would be absolutely no additional stipulations on what I can and can’t do.”
We stay locked in a silent standoff for quite a while until my father shakes his head. “You’re too much like your sister,” he mutters. Oh, no he didn’t.
“Thanks for the compliment. Ronnie is amazing, and I can only hope to be as strong-willed and independent as she is.”
“And look where that got her. Married in Vegas and a baby on the way.”
She’s not the only one. “She is the happiest I have ever seen her.”
He shakes his head. “Both of you have so much potential. At least you haven’t let a man distract you from your career.”
“I thought you wanted me to find a man. Why else did you try all those setups with your friends’ sons?”
“That was business.”
I push up to my feet. I’ve had enough. I also don’t know how long I can hide the fact I want to throw up all over my desk right now, thanks to whoever is enjoying fish in an air-conditioned office. Assholes.
I gag but manage to cover it with a cough. “Sorry, Keith. I really need to leave.”
“Are you feeling okay?” he asks in a rare display of parental concern.
I must suck at hiding how I’m feeling.
“Yeah. Just a headache.” The lie comes far too easily, but I chalk it down to necessity.
“Alright,” he says with a nod. “Divert your calls to Suzy and just send me through an email with any updates you think I need to be apprised of.”
I’m trying so hard not to breathe through my nose that I don’t even think before agreeing with him.
I bend down, lift my laptop bag onto my desk and start packing up. Grabbing my phone handset, I quickly lift it, divert the calls, and hang it up again before hooking my purse over my shoulder, followed by my satchel.
“I’m available on my cell or by email,” I say, hurrying to the door. It seems it doesn’t matter if I’m at the end of the first trimester. My body and my ‘can-happen-any-time-of-day’ sickness is still calling the shots.
I’m nervous for tonight—but in a good way. I’ve seen charming Ez, sexy Ez, alpha Ez, and swoony, caring Ez. I’m looking forward to seeing him in a dating capacity. He hasn’t told me anything about what we’re doing, and I know we’re restricted from most physical activities, so I’m anticipating dinner at a nice—hopefully Italian—restaurant.
A quick glance at my watch tells me I have four hours before I find out.
Walking out through the firm’s lobby, I come up with a new plan, given the way I’m feeling; I visit the nearest restroom to throw up, shop for a new outfit—because even if I’m feeling sick, Ez deserves to have his socks knocked off—then head home for a nap.
Then I’ll be ready for whatever tonight brings, good, bad, or ugly—especially if I smell tuna again.
I swing open the door and have to brace myself against the wooden frame when I lay eyes on my date for the evening.
I’ve seen him clothed and naked as the day as he was born, and he’s always been hot, but right now, standing on my front porch with a vase holding two purple Gerberas in his hand, he’s the very definition of temptation. My gaze drops to his black suede sneaker-clad feet, to his dark denim jeans, a maroon sweater, and a charcoal coat. When I reach his face, his gaze is full of amusement as he repays the favor, lazily roaming his gaze down my body and back up again.
Ezra groans and hangs his head. “Fucccck.”
The frustration in that one word is gratifying.
He pushes me forward through the door and gently moves me sideways. Closing the door behind him, he places the flowers on my side table before crowding me back against the wall.
He dips his chin and moves his body in close while scanning my face, my throat, and down to my now rapidly rising and falling chest.
“Lace,” he murmurs, lifting a finger between us and tracing the neckline of the cream floaty blouse and lace camisole peeking out from underneath.
“Always,” I whisper.
His gaze slowly returns to my face. “You look beautiful, b
aby mama.”
My lips quirk up. “So do you, baby daddy.”
“Actually, you had me wondering whether we needed to go out for the date.”
That makes my grin widen. “You promised me Italian.”
“I did,” he says, his forehead resting on mine. He sighs but doesn’t move. “But let me just have a moment to enjoy this. Outside, I have to be on my best behavior.”
“Why?”
“Because you deserve the best, and that’s what I want to be for you.”
My chest seizes so tight it’s a wonder I can still breathe. No one has ever said anything like that to me. I’ve never anticipated having such a strong reaction to something I never knew I wanted to hear.
He pulls back, his warm, gentle eyes watching me.
I open my mouth to say something—anything—but nothing comes out. Ezra’s smile widens, his one lickable dimple popping out and tempting me. “You smell like peaches and sunshine.”
“I wanted to smell like something nice and edible,” I say with a wink. “But also, anything is better than the tuna someone had at the office today. I swear that scent decided to seek me out and stick to me like glue.”
“Are you feeling okay now though?” he asks, his brows bunched together, his concerned expression endearing.
“If you don’t want me to make you misbehave, then you’ll stop being so sweet and thoughtful.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen.”
“Behaving or not being sweet?” I ask, my lips twitching.
“I’m on my best behavior because it’s our first date, and I want to make a good impression.”
“You’re well on your way,” I murmur. Moving in close, I slide my hands up his chest and loop them behind his head. “But surely a kiss is allowed. I mean… it’s the polite thing to do, right?”
His eyes drop to my mouth. “It would be,” he murmurs, his voice so low and rough it has the power to make my clothes vanish into thin air.
I give him a beat to take the lead, and just when I decide to say fuck it and do it anyway, his fingers tighten in my hair and his lips are on mine, his tongue is in my mouth and I’m moaning like the hormonal pregnant woman I am.
It’s over as quickly as it started and with a frustrated growl, and my purse in his hand, I’m being led—read: dragged—out my door and down the path toward Ezra’s silver Audi parked in my driveway.
I stop, stunned and awed at not only his self-control but also his determination to see this date through. “Uh… Ez?”
“Yeah?” he says, holding the passenger door open for me.
“Thank you.”
His does a double-take, his brows narrowing. “What for?”
“For caring so much about tonight that you’re willing to behave. But just so you know…” I lean in and brush a gentle kiss against his cheek. “I’m a first date kind of girl. Especially when I know what’s beneath those clothes and just how good you are in bed.” I step back and grin at his parted lips and blown pupils before taking my seat in the car.
A few moments later, he’s sliding behind the steering wheel, and we’re pulling out of the driveway to a destination unknown.
I’m going on a date with my baby daddy, and so far, it’s the most fun date I’ve ever had.
I should’ve known Ezra would surprise me. We walk hand in hand into an old meatpacking factory converted into a giant bar, restaurant, and adult playground. He has definitely earned points for creativity.
We stop at the reception desk and confirm our reservation, then Ezra leads me to a wall of lockers lining the side of the room.
“Your coat?” he asks, placing his hands on my shoulders. I shrug it off, and Ezra hangs it up inside the locker alongside his own. He shuts the door and locks it before leading me across the expansive space to the bar.
I look around the room, taking in the eclectic mix of a sports bar complete with a wall of big-screen TVs lining one wall, leather booths reminiscent of an old fifties diner, and then a huge area filled with a group of people playing games like bocce, foosball tables, pinball machines, pool, and shuffleboard. “This place is amazing. What a cool idea.”
Ez beams at me. “I kind of had a hand in designing the refit, but I haven’t seen it since it was finished six months ago.”
I snuggle into his side, and he wraps his arm around me. “I’m glad I could see it for the first time with you. I like seeing places you’ve worked on.”
His eyes turn molten, and he kisses me soft and slow until a throat being cleared kills the mood.
“Hey. Can I help you guys with drinks?” a grinning, perky female bartender says, appearing in front of us.
I check out the non-alcoholic options on the drinks menu, deciding on a virgin mojito, and telling Ezra accordingly.
He looks over my shoulder at the drinks menu. “Do they have a virgin blow job?”
I snort, remembering back to the bar in Vegas and our dirty cocktail conversation. “It’s been a few years since I’ve given one of those, so I’m not sure that’s on the menu,” I tease.
Ez sighs despondently. “I guess a mojito is acceptable then. It is a first date, after all…”
“And I’m a lady.”
“You’re something, that’s for sure.”
“Beautiful, intelligent, the best woman you’ve ever knocked—”
His palm covers my mouth, his eyes dancing with humor at the same time as they flash with heat. Such a sexy combination on the baby daddy, too.
Ezra drops his hand and orders our drinks, hooking an arm around my waist as he hands over his credit card and pays the tab.
I turn to face him, tilting my head, and batting my lashes. “So, did you make sure they have pasta?”
His fingers pressing into the small of my back flex, his body going still. “What?”
I giggle, and his eyes narrow in a way I hope means he’ll get me back later.
“This is just the first stop for our date,” he explains. “A bit of fun and casual conversation before we go to Spirelli’s to feed you and my baby Chicago’s best pasta.”
I beam up at him, fisting his sweater and dragging his mouth down to mine. “You had me at pasta,” I say against his lips.
He lifts his head ever so slightly, his intense gaze so hot I swear I’m going to burn out before even getting a chance at after-date sex.
“Glad I’m hitting home runs right off the bat.”
I open my mouth for a dirty retort about what exactly I’d like to do with his bat when our drinks appear in front of us.
“Virgin mojito for the lady, and a pop for you,” the bartender says with a grin. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you,” Ez replies, handing me the closest thing I’ll be having to a cocktail for a while.
Lacing his fingers with mine, he leads me over to a high table with two stools. On one side is a giant wall of what looks like painted washing machines from a laundromat, and the other is an available shuffleboard table.
“You could’ve had a beer, Ez. Just because I’m on the wagon for the foreseeable future doesn’t mean we both have to be.”
“Giving up alcohol isn’t a hardship, sweetheart.”
“Speak for yourself,” I muse. “I’ll deny it if you tell anyone, but I never thought I’d miss a glass of wine as much as I did that first week after I found out. I was so stressed and worried about telling you, and what your reaction would be, I would’ve killed for just a small taste to settle my nerves.”
Ez leans an elbow against the table and takes a long sip of his drink. “What did you do instead?”
“Watched The Notebook, drank far too much cranberry juice, and ate my body weight in popcorn.”
His brows lift, and he nods. “Ryan Gosling fan?”
I study him closely. “You’ve seen The Notebook?”
“Well,” he says, pretending to twirl his hair, “I much prefer Pretty Woman and Richard Gere, but Ryan will do in a pinch.”
I bust a gut laughing. “Richard d
oes have his good points. Who would’ve thought you’d be into OG romance movies?”
“I’m a man of many surprises.”
“That you are,” I murmur. Taking in his big brown eyes and cheeky smile, I have a flash of what a little boy with that same grin would look like. Maybe a rambunctious bundle of energy like Axel.
A hand on my bicep draws my attention. “You still with me, sweetheart?”
I shake myself out of it and lift my straw to my mouth to take a drink.
Ez looks past me, nodding toward the shuffleboard table nearby. “You want to play a game?”
I turn and look over my shoulder then back at my date for the evening—my very handsome, funny, and thoughtful baby daddy who continues to surprise me with every new layer I uncover.
“Okay,” I say with a sly smile. “But I’ll warn you, I’m a pretty sore loser.”
He steps in close. I tip my head up to look at him. “I guess I better not win then.”
“Or I better not lose.”
Ez arches his brow. “Care to make a wager?”
Now it’s getting interesting. “Okay. Winner buys dinner.”
His eyes near on fall out of his head and roll along the floor. “Never going to happen, Gilly.”
“Then I guess you better win,” I say with an exaggerated hair flip. He holds out his arm for me, and after grabbing my glass, I place my hand in his and let him lead me over to the game. “Ladies first.” He waves his hand out over the table.
I grin at him. “You better bring your A-game, Mr. Baker.”
He crooks his fingers in a ‘come get me’ motion. So, after another quick drink of my mocktail, I leave my glass off to the side and get ready to kick some Baker ass.
I tilt my head and study him. “Are you sure you’re real? Because I don’t know many guys like you who wouldn’t gloat after beating my ass so thoroughly.”
His lips curve up on one side. “Maybe I’m just looking forward to you paying up.”
“See? You’re like a male unicorn. I should snap you up before word gets out,” I tease.
He shakes his head. “Many have tried and failed.”
“And your ex-wives are obviously idiots for not realizing just how good they had it,” I say, absolutely no humor in my voice because I truly believe it.
