Mister Baby Daddy (Bad Boys in Love Book 3)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  What about Penny? Whatever is up with her, I need to hear this.

  "Did you get my email?" I hear Penny ask. "I sent over a few more sketches and some tile patterns I think would look interesting on the back wall."

  Iris makes a series of excited yipping sounds and tells Penny she's going to open the email immediately. As Iris clicks around on her phone, Lexi carries on the conversation. "Hun, let me set up a consultation for you with Cannon. Just so you can go over your business ideas. Are you free one afternoon next week?"

  Business ideas?

  Alongside operating the family's real estate business, Kingston Holdings, Cannon and Lexi run a non-profit together. Something to do with helping the small businesses around town. They give all kinds of free services and advice.

  But Penny never mentioned she was opening a business. Not to me at least.

  My best friend gives Lexi her availability then sighs. "Thanks for being so supportive, guys. I'm taking a lot onto my plate and honestly, I'm not sure I'll be able to do it without your help."

  I feel a pang that she didn't come to me for help. Hell, she didn't even bother to tell me she plans to open up shop. And I wonder just how much damage I did to our friendship when I stormed out of her apartment last night with zero explanation.

  But it's the next words out of Iris's mouth that leave me shook. "You've decided to do the motherhood thing alone and we can't talk you out of it, so the least we can do is support you with anything you're going to need.”

  I watch the back of Lexi's head as she nods. "I know this artificial insemination thing is expensive so if you're serious about it, you’ll need Cannon to help you get as many clients as possible."

  "Guys!" Penny hisses and I can tell she's embarrassed. I can just imagine the pretty pink splotches decorating her high cheekbones. "Stop blabbing all my business, would you?!"

  Lexi shrugs off her friend's concern. "Don't worry about it. We're alone in here. Jude and Cannon are out grabbing firewood."

  I think I've heard enough. I back away from the door. My toes feel numb. Oxygen is not pumping to my brain fast enough. I'm not even sure I'm breathing.

  I sneak down the hallway and out through the kitchen door, snatching my hat and jacket off the hook. Heavy droplets of rain pound at my back. The path toward my cabin is growing dark, and I don’t even remember the walk home.

  The only thing on my mind is Penny.

  All these years, I've been afraid of losing her. I've been so damn focused on keeping her away from dumb idiots, terrified that she'd fall in love and I'd lose her for good. But I never saw this coming. I never considered losing her like this. Now that I know she’s seriously considering having a baby—on her own—I know I'll lose her anyway.

  As I walk through the rain, down the wet dirt path toward my tiny cabin, I know I won’t make it until morning without doing something stupid. Something reckless. I know I won't make it through the night without going to her.

  6

  Penny

  I’m curled up on my vintage suede sofa with my calendar, my colored pens and my trusty notebook in my lap. I’m grinding my poor fingertip between my incisors as I read through information on the fertility clinic’s website.

  “Note that, the use of washed sperm combined with fertility drugs greatly increases the likelihood of multiple eggs being fertilized simultaneously. When traditional artificial insemination is utilized, the probability of multiple births is higher than with natural pregnancies…”

  My stomach does a nauseating flip.

  Twins? Hol-ee hell.

  I never considered twins. I may be ready for one little, squishy, bouncing bundle of joy, but I don’t think I could juggle multiples at once. How do you even feed two babies at the same time? And diaper changes? Baths? Bedtime?

  I grab a celery stick from my plate and read on. I want to be as informed as possible when I go into the clinic. I need to have enough money saved and know every step of the procedure like the back of my hand. That’s just the type of person I am. I hate unwelcome surprises.

  To the outside world, my plan to be a single mother may seem reckless but I’m the type of girl who thrives on doing my research and having a well thought-out plan. This is super important to me, especially given my concerns related to my medical history. I don't want something going wrong. I've already marked-up my calendar, taking note of my upcoming ovulation cycles.

  According to the article open on my computer, I learn that for my age, I only have about a 15 percent chance of the procedure working with each cycle. Gosh. Just 15 percent? I suppose that’s 15 percent higher than me getting pregnant by just staring at hot men on the internet, but still, that’s super expensive when I have to pay for each donor’s specimen.

  And—ugh—I don’t really like the word specimen. It makes me feel like I’m going to have an alien baby.

  I’m an anxious mess.

  Strong winds rattle my creaky windows. Heavy rain beats the glass. I sit on the couch, crunching on my celery and I can’t get the idea of twins off my mind. I really want to do this, but the whole thing makes me nervous. Maybe if I can find out the history of twins in my family, I’ll feel better about that part.

  Deciding it’s not that late, I pick up the phone and dial my mother’s number. As the call connects, I battle the urge to change my mind. Is it weird that the thought of speaking to my own mother makes me nervous enough to want to just hang up?

  But she picks up almost immediately. “Hello Penelope,” she says in that flat, dry, always-preoccupied tone of hers.

  “Hey, Mom. How are you?” I’m stalling already, not sure why I’m eager to share my baby-making plans with her. I know she wasn’t all that fond of having a kid herself.

  “Good, good.” Through the line, I can hear her fingers cracking away at her keyboard.

  My mother is the most driven career woman I know. Nothing matters more to her than her job. A few years ago, she was diagnosed with some obscure autoimmune disorder that necessitated a liver transplant. Mom’s announcement pitched the Merlini family into an upheaval when she came around looking for a donation. I did not hesitate. I was the first person in line to get my internal organs hacked and portioned to save my mother's life. The surgery knocked me off my feet for months. But her transplant barely slowed her down. Within days, she was merrily conducting conference calls and tapping away at her keyboard from her hospital bed.

  “Look, sweetheart, I’m in the middle of drafting a billion-dollar trans-national acquisition agreement right now. Can I call you back later?”

  Well, I know that my news is pretty important but it’s hard to argue when she phrases it like that. “Yeah, that’s fine,” I mumble. But Mom has already hung up.

  I hate the sting—the disappointment—that floods me. I don’t know why I thought today would be any different. My mother hasn’t had time for me since the moment the doctor snipped my umbilical cord. God knows I've gone above and beyond to make her notice me, to make her love me. I guess I'm sort of hoping that since she might be a grandmother soon, something would change. Somehow, she’ll be different.

  The two of us have never had a real relationship. Most days, she'd rather just write me a check and hope that I'll go away instead of actually taking the time to have a conversation with me. Even though she’s just an hour away in Chicago, I haven’t seen her in over two years. And that’s only because I made the short trip down to visit her at work.

  I call every month or three, and I think our longest running chat lasted just a hair over 60 seconds. She’s always in the middle of something and has to call me back.

  I’ve been waiting 30-odd years for my mother to call me back.

  As for my father, Mom claims he's just some mistake she made in law school. He signed me away in an instant. I wouldn't know where to start looking for him if I wanted to.

  My phone is still in my hand when a social media notification pops up from Lexi. I click on her post and it’s another sucker punch to my f
ragile emotions.

  “Family time! XOXO!”

  Her caption is followed by a short video and a couple candid photos showing the Kingston family dinner from earlier tonight.

  I feel a small, wistful smile on my lips as I swipe through the pictures. Walker would probably flip his shit if he knew these existed. He hates having his picture taken, even though he’s so freaking handsome. I chuckle to myself at his expression. I see why Lexi thinks he’s such a grouch. While he usually wears a perma-scowl, he seems extra annoyed in this image. It’s clear he doesn’t want to be there.

  But the rest of the family is all smiles. They always are. The Kingstons always looks so happy. The perfect family. Once upon a time, I used to dream that Walker and I would have our own happy family. But in reality, the opposite is unfolding...My friend and I are growing apart.

  Back in the day, I used to be at those family dinners. Walker always extended the invitation. But it’s been a few months since he invited me over, and now, seeing these pictures of Iris and Lexi blending in with the Kingston family, it really burns that Walker didn’t think to call me this time.

  I know it’s lame but I can’t help but feel left out now. Everyone’s moving on. No one remembers the girl who spent her days chasing around after Walker like her life depended on it. Sometimes I think I’m fading completely from my friend’s memory, too.

  I click out of the social media app. These pictures just solidify my decision. The most Walker and I will ever be is just friends. I need to get over him and move forward with starting my business and having my baby. I need to take matters into my own hands. That’s the only way I’ll ever have my own family, my own life.

  I darken my phone’s screen, not wanting to torture myself further. Ready for bed, I bring my empty bowl to the kitchen sink and wash up. Then, it’s off to the bathroom for my night routine.

  Makeup remover. Cleanser. Moisturizer. Brush and floss.

  Once in my bedroom, I reach over to plug the device into my charger for the night. With heavy eyelids, I slide beneath my sheets. There’s no sense in waiting for my busy mother to call me back tonight—or any other night.

  But right before I flick my lamp off, I hear a knock at my front door. I pause. A moment later, I hear the knocking again.

  I’m most certainly not expecting anyone over at this time of night. This isn’t a normal time for visitors.

  I glance at the wristwatch sitting on my night table. It's booty-call o'clock. But no one is chasing this booty so I don’t have the faintest clue who it might be.

  I tiptoe across my apartment and quietly approach the front door. I peer through the peephole.

  “What the hell?” I murmur, then flip the locks one by one. I fling the door open.

  Broad shoulders fill up my doorway. Stormy brown eyes leer at me from beneath a strong, male, always-furrowed brow. Six feet, three inches of Walker Kingston stand there on my doorstep, wet and ruffled and handsome as ever.

  7

  Walker

  Penny opens her front door, her beautiful face marred with confusion and her body barely covered in her thread-bare sleep shorts.

  Why in god’s name am I standing here?

  “Hey,” I say dumbly, shifting my weight as I drip water on the welcome mat.

  I’m already thinking this was a bad idea—a really moronic idea—but she’s stepping aside and inviting me into her apartment. There’s a reason why I try to never be alone with Penny at night, and those long legs in those tiny shorts are 90 percent of that reason.

  My gorgeous friend frowns at me, making me wonder what the hell I must look like. “I’ll grab you a towel,” she says, spinning around to her narrow linen closet.

  I step inside and shut the door behind me. I watch her lean into the linen closet. I'm unable to look away from her gorgeous body as she bends over. Christ. I abhor the idea of some other man’s baby inside of her. The thought makes my blood boil. Artificial insemination or not, no other man is worthy of that body.

  She returns, handing me a towel and leading me to the couch. She’s close. Too close but not close enough, at the same damn time. I grunt out a 'thank you' and run the fluffy terrycloth over my damp hair.

  Despite the rough state of her apartment building, she’s transformed her little abode into something stylish and cozy. There's throw pillows covered in loud, crazy colors and vibrant art hanging from the walls and wildflowers brightening up her small dining corner.

  “It’s late,” Penny points out softly. “What are you doing here?”

  I absently rub the back of my neck. "I heard you’re looking for clients to build up your decorating side business.”

  Her eyebrow lifts in surprise. Then, she bites her lip. "That's what you 'heard', huh?"

  I lean an elbow on the arm of the couch. "Yeah, that's what I heard."

  Her pretty cheeks are pink now. I don’t know why she’s embarrassed about this. I’m proud of her for going after what she wants, even if I’m not crazy about the reason why she’s doing it.

  She drops her gaze to the throw pillow in her lap. She tugs absently on the fringes. “I think it’s time I focus on the future...” She has no idea I already know about the future she’s referring to.

  “Well, I need some help with redecorating my cabin,” I tell her. “I’ll pay you.”

  Penny's eyebrow goes higher. “I’ll do it for free,” she says, her words slow and suspicious.

  It's no secret that I'm not the most style-conscious guy so my sudden impulse to fancy up my shabby little cabin is clearly out-of-character. I threw a big, ol' mantrum the last time she tried to change my living room drapes and add a few fancy pillows to my couch.

  “No, I said I’d pay you, Penn.”

  “I already owe you a zillion favors so I’m happy to do it for free. You’ll make a good reference for my next client.” Despite her tight smile, I hear the distrustful tone in her voice. She knows I'm up to something. “You okay?” she asks, scanning my face with those perceptive green eyes.

  Penny knows me too well. There's no point in playing games. So, I go straight in for the kill.

  There's no hiding the bitterness in my voice when I speak. “I will pay you since you need to save for your pregnancy.”

  I expected silence. I expected shit to be awkward. But Penn never does what I expect her to. She jumps up from the couch, pointing a long finger at me, like I’m the criminal here.

  “I knew it! I knew you were acting weird!” She paces a few steps on her modern rug, shaking her head. “Lexi and Iris really talk a lot, don’t they?”

  “I overheard your little videocall,” I grunt out. I glance up and I meet her wide green eyes, the pretty eyes I've been in love with my whole life. Suddenly, I realize what I felt earlier this evening when I heard the news while eavesdropping on the girls' conversation.

  It hurt. I…hurt.

  When Penny moved in here, we binged on pizza and beer while painting the living room teal blue. When she bought the shelving unit from hell, I spent an entire Sunday afternoon trying to figure out how to put the thing together. When a window gets jammed or when a cupboard door falls off, I'm the one she calls.

  I've always been there for her. That's why I'm pissed she didn't even talk to me about this.

  She's having a baby.

  “So, you weren’t even gonna tell me? You were going to plan a pregnancy—by yourself—and not tell me? Some best friends we are.” I sound bitter as fuck.

  Penny looms over me and I slouch like a woeful, discontented teenager. Her hands fall to her hips, and I know I’ve pushed her over the edge. “First of all, Walker, this is my decision, and you don’t have the right to be mad.”

  Fuck, she's absolutely right. And I don’t know why that bothers me so much. I shift my head to try and hide the scowl I can feel on my face.

  She pauses. Her voice softens. “Secondly, I would have told you, once I’d done all my research and figured everything out.”

  It’s wrong
for her to be doing this whole pregnancy deal alone. It’s too much for one person. Not only is it expensive, it’s emotionally draining and physically exhausting, too. I don’t know if I can watch her go through it on her own.

  That’s just the thing with Penny. She’s never needed nobody. Probably because of all the times she's been let down by her mom. After being repeatedly disappointed by the person who's supposedly biologically programmed to have her back, my friend got used to depending only on her own damn self.

  "I just don't understand why you want to do this," I grumble. I fold my arms across my chest.

  "Of course you don't understand." She shakes her head. "You come from the perfect family. You have parents who love you, siblings who have your back. You don't understand what it's like to be me. How fucking alone I feel. I am all alone in this world, Walker. So maybe I'm selfish for wanting a baby but there is no doubt in my mind that I can love this kid. I will love him...or her...or them."

  I rise to my feet, now towering above her. Her breath hitches. Her gaze slowly rakes up my body until she finally meets my eyes. She may be tall, but I’m still a head taller. She moves to step back, but without thinking I grab her by the waist.

  “You're smart. Funny. Beautiful." Her skin pinks up when I utter that last one. I know I'm toeing the invisible line between us. "You shouldn't have to do this."

  Her gaze drops to the floor. She mutters, all snarky. "Well, thank you very much but being 'beautiful' doesn't keep a girl warm at night..."

  I lower my face to catch her eyes and force her to look at me. "You deserve a good man by your side, starting a family. Not some faceless college student jizzing into a specimen cup for a few dollars so he can fund his next drunken rager.”

  She's still giving me that attitude of hers. My cock loves when she gets all sassy like this. “Let me tell you something, Walker. This is the twenty-first century, and not every woman has the luxury of being swept off her feet by Prince Charming.”