I learned my lesson.
Since I convinced her to let me help with this insemination thing, she’s been buzzing with excitement, getting everything prepared. Day and night. She’s been going to doctor's appointments, doing her research and bombarding me with all her findings. She’s become a fanatic.
I’ve been trying to act unaffected but to be honest, I’m pretty high, too. Having a baby is one of the biggest decisions of my friend’s life and she's allowing me to be a part of it. Primal pride soars through my veins every time I think of that.
She could be doing this with some faceless jackass. But instead, she’s leaning on me. And although I have my reservations about the methods she’s using, although I’m not excited about having to hand over a cupful of my best swimmers, I know I’m the best man for the job of giving Penny a baby.
Even when I receive a slew of messages from her at the most inconvenient times of the day.
Penny: I have an appointment for 8 a.m. next Friday. That’s not too early, right?
Penny: Or, is that too late? I know your morning work is the biggest part of your day. I'll see if they can do a Saturday.
Penny: But you work Saturdays, too. Booo :(
Rolling my eyes, I quickly call her before she sends a dozen more messages. I let her know that her original appointment will work fine. I have a couple farm hands employed for things like this. They’ll be able to take over for me so I can accompany this crazy girl to her appointment.
Later in the evening, I hear from her again.
Penny: You’re fine with not being on the birth certificate, right?
Penny: I’m reading all these horror stories about legal fights, and I think it’s best to leave the ‘father’ part blank.
Penny: You’re not mad, are you?
It’s times like these that I wish I were better at texting. I’m on the tractor when those messages come through. Not the ideal circumstances for conducting important phone calls. So I send her a thumbs-up and a tractor emoji, hoping that’ll subdue her until later.
At three in the morning, she starts hitting me with more texts. More questions. More facts.
For someone who supposedly wants to do all this by herself, she sure includes me a lot. Not that I’m complaining. Being here for her makes me feel purposeful.
Penny: I’m so overwhelmed. Did you know there are four types of artificial insemination?!
Penny: Crazy, right?
Penny: Not sure which one to chose.
Penny: I’m leaning toward ‘intracervical insemination’. It doesn’t have the highest success rate but it’s the most cost effective. What do you think?
I groan, pulling my blanket back up over my head. She can’t be saying words like ‘cervical’ and ‘semen’ to me, not when it’s morning and I’m hard. Especially not after hours and hours of vivid, x-rated Penny-related dreams.
Lately, I’ve been dreaming about knocking her up the old-fashioned way. My subconscious mind fills in all the blanks, all the parts of my friend that I’ve never seen. The feminine flush of her erect nipples. The light dusting of curls framing her pussy. The glistening sheen of that tight, hot space between her thighs.
I’m starting to struggle with keeping those dreams separate from my waking hours.
I can’t tell her that. Any of it. She’d be mortified that her 'B-F-F' is picturing her naked.
I text her a thumbs-up emoji and shut my eyes, willing my body to ignore the explicit images in my mind and get another twenty minutes of sleep before my early morning alarm goes off.
We’ve always been close, Penn and me. I like to think that there haven’t been many walls between us throughout our lifelong friendship. But now that I've agreed to be her baby daddy, I’m discovering that absolutely nothing is sacred between us anymore.
I’m in the bathroom, dealing with my morning wood, when the next round of texts come in. I check out her messages and then go back to relieving another early morning Penny-induced hard-on so I can finally empty my bladder.
I swear, she can sense me ignoring her. A few more texts come in. Then a couple more.
Penny: YOU’RE NOT BACKING OUT, ARE YOU!?!
Fuck…
I don’t want her freaking out. I drop my dick and dial her number. I know she’s taking extra hormone stuff. Maybe that’s what’s got her so riled up. Though I’d never, ever dare say that to her out loud.
“Chill, woman,” I huff when she picks up her phone. “If you don’t hear from me right away, you need to relax. Sometimes, a man is just busy. Nothing more.”
"I'm sorry for being a nag. It's just I'm scared and excited and nervous and—What is that?” she asks when I flush the toilet. I guess I underestimated how loud it’d be through my phone. I can’t say I’ve taken many calls while cleaning up after rubbing one out.
“What do you think?”
She’s silent for a beat. Then, “Oh, gross. Don’t call me when you’re doing that!” She hangs up on me.
I roll my eyes.
I try to convince myself that I’m annoyed by it all. But hell, I do like talking to that girl.
She makes me smile.
There aren’t many people on this earth who can boast that talent.
My phone rings a few hours later while I'm feeding the chickens. Instantly assuming that it's Penny, I feel a smile twitching my lips as I dig around in my back pocket for the device. But everything warm and fuzzy inside me immediately turns to ice when I see the name glaring up at me from my caller ID.
Bert Peters.
With a clenched jaw, I immediately reject the call and shove the device back into my pocket. But it's too fucking late. My good vibes scatter. I'm left here stewing in the jarring reminder of exactly why I've always been the bitter asshole that I am.
11
Walker
Cannon leans back in the styling chair and exhales as the barber unravels his hair tie.
I can’t help but chuckle. I swear, I’ll never get used to my brother's janky man bun. Dad and I made fun of his ass for the whole first year he started growing it out. Half a decade later, the bro knot is still going strong.
We’re all at the Rusty Razor, getting our monthly haircut. I’ve been coming here since the place opened up a few years ago.
I like the owner, Clinton Alvarez. He’s a cool guy, he gives a decent cut and most importantly, he minds his damn business. So, I’m more than willing to drive the extra distance to Copper Heights for my trim.
I don’t quite know how it happened, but gradually the haircut thing became a family ritual. Dad and I came together a few times, bringing Gramps along for his occasional trim. Then, Cannon started tagging along and then Jude.
Clingy fuckers.
Now, one day each month, the Rusty Razor becomes the Kingston Family sausage fest.
Anyway, Ma likes us all better when we’re fresh-shaven. And when Ma’s happy, there’s usually pie. So it’s win-win.
Cannon lived in New York since college. Jude spent most of his adult life playing football in Iowa. They both only recently moved back here to Crescent Harbor. Though we never see eye-to-eye, it’s been great to have my brothers around now that they’ve come back home. Yet, I still feel this hole that Eli left.
Eli and I used to be the closest. It drove Cannon crazy with jealousy growing up, especially since on the surface, Cannon and Eli have much more in common, namely their mutual interest in the business world.
Mom always attributed our closeness to our astrology signs, but I can’t say I put all that much thought into it. Eli was just the little brother who didn’t drive me quite as crazy as the other two suckers. He'd give me a hand around the farm whenever I needed it. I helped him when he was renovating his house. We had beers together every Thursday night.
I can’t help but resent him for screwing up his whole damn life. For getting his ass thrown in jail. For breaking up his happy little family. For ditching me.
Even though she doesn’t talk about it much, I know
how much this all bothers Ma. She wants to see her boys together every week for dinner. Or at the very least, for holidays. I heard my little brother didn't even manage to get a turkey sandwich in jail last Thanksgiving, while the rest of us feasted until we had to loosen our belts.
It sucks.
I hate knowing he’s in there, all alone, while we’re out here living it up. But I’m still pissed as hell at him.
“Earth to Walker,” I hear from my left. I glance over at Cannon where he’s sitting in his styling chair with his wet ends dripping down all around his shoulders. “Jude wants to know how your sperm count is looking.” Cannon chuffs.
I shoot Jude a glare. “Why? Is your woman looking for a specimen donation from the best-looking Kingston? She’s gonna need to get in line. My swimmers are in high demand.”
“You better watch it,” Jude threatens, his shoulders squaring for a fight, and I know he means it. That guy is fiercely protective of Iris. I can tell he’s just itching to pop the question to her and make it official. As far as I’m concerned, they’re practically married already anyway.
“So, in all seriousness, when’s the big day?” Cannon asks. “When do you go in for your sperm dump?”
Shit—did he really just bring that up? I throw a glance at Dad. I haven't discussed the sperm donation thing with him and Mom yet. But from the expression he sends me, it's clear that my brothers have already filled him in. I'm pretty confident that Ma doesn't know, though, because she wouldn't be subtle. She'd be stirring up all kinds of trouble all over town, meddling and probing and giving unsolicited advice.
Anyway, Cannon is still looking at me, waiting for my response.
“Soon, I guess.” I shrug uninterestedly, as if it all means nothing to me.
I’m lying my ass off.
I know all about the tests they’re running to ensure the procedure takes place in the most opportune window. I know about the hormone pills Penny’s been popping religiously. I know about the risks, the statistics, the potential timelines. I’ve consumed all the medical literature my friend has shared with me and I’ve done some research of my own. I got three separate STD tests just to make sure that the only thing I transmit to her is a cupful of the healthiest swimmers around.
I’m invested. More than I’d ever admit to being.
“What’s the hold up, man? They still waiting for you to man up and find your balls?” Jude cackles at his cheap one-liner.
I really don’t want to get into details with these guys. It’s personal. It’s sacred. And, I hate that my brothers think this is a joke.
But that’s the thing with Penny being best friends with my sisters-in-law. That gang of girls talks so much. Each and every one of them, Penn included. There’s no way to keep private information from trickling down to my brothers.
“You’ve got to see this for what it is, right?” Jude pipes up again. “This is like some fucked up movie. You've been in love with the girl your whole life, and now, you’re just gonna jizz in a cup for her? Fucking hell! Claim the woman already!”
I take a glance around the room. Clinton's got his head down, diligently focused on my haircut. His other barbers follow his lead.
Gramps could care less about this conversation. He sits in a chair with his fresh haircut, arms folded tightly as he stares straight ahead and frowns.
Dad, on the other hand? He glances at me but again, says nothing. Still, his narrowed eyes tell me that he has one hell of an opinion on the matter and I'll get an earful of it the minute we have some privacy.
Cannon's face goes serious. He furrows his brows. "You're more than your specimen, bro. You're more than some awesome Kingston genes to pass on to a kid you'll never get to take to soccer practice or teach how to drive a car. You're a great guy. I don't understand why you'd settle for this."
They just don’t get it.
I've always had a hard time making friends. A lot of the time, I just don't give sufficient fucks to sustain a friendship. But with Penny, our connection was instant. The moment I stretched out that half tuna sandwich to her, the second she grinned that missing-toothed, freckle-faced grin at me, I knew I wanted her to be my friend forever.
Everything is easy between us. It always has been.
I'm a complicated guy. I know that. Yet, Penny gets me. Always. It's borderline weird. I’m not risking that. I won't lose that once-in-a-lifetime connection just to get my dick wet.
“You know Penny is super independent. She’s not the kind of woman who needs a man to have a child. If she wants to be a mom, she’s going to make it happen. We’re friends, so I just want to help her out. I don’t want her having some kid that grows up to be a freaking weirdo,” I add with a shudder.
“Right. Friends,” Cannon mutters.
“Don’t you think we would have gotten together by now if there was something more here? Fuck. We are well into our thirties now. I think that ship sailed long ago.”
Both brothers share a look that says they're calling bullshit. Dad eyes me skeptically, but keeps his mouth shut. I don’t know why no one in my family will believe me.
Even the barber makes a judgmental, non-believing sound in his throat.
Penny is the perfect woman. But she’ll never be mine. This sperm donation is the closest link I’ll ever have with her, and I’m okay with that. I have to be.
Clinton pulls off my styling cape just in time because I’m officially done with this conversation. “Sorry to cut off your entertainment, brothers, but I don’t have it in me for the banter today.” I clap Cannon on the shoulder as I’m getting up out of my chair. “Quit worrying about me and Penny and focus on getting those split ends trimmed off your hair? I’m sure your woman is sick of having to share her fancy shampoo with you.”
Jude starts chuckling. Cannon scoffs. “There’s nothing wrong with a little self-care. You assholes are just insecure about your masculinity. If you weren’t, your hair wouldn’t define you.” He lowers his voice and leans over so only I can hear. “And besides, Alexia can’t get enough of my man-bun. Gives her extra leverage when she’s riding my face.”
I’m gonna need some brain-bleach to scrub that disturbing visual from my mind’s eye. “That is too much fucking information, bro.” I shudder and head in the direction of the cash register.
I’ve got Penny on the brain.
The day is drawing near. Our first appointment at the clinic together is right around the corner. She has already texted three times today to remind me. She's excited as heck but I’ve been getting more nervous, the closer it gets.
Talking to my brothers has given me cold feet. To be honest, this whole damn thing just feels unnatural to me.
But there’s no way I’m backing out of this. Penny’s counting on me and there’s no way I’ll let her down like everyone else has all her life.
When I get to the register, Dad is standing there next to Gramps's wheelchair. I greet my grandfather with a gentle clap on the shoulder and he responds with a blank stare before looking away.
Mom's father has lived at a local nursing home ever since he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. It has taken a major toll on our family, having to sit by helplessly as the disease slowly eats away at his mental capacity. Most of the time, he has no idea who the fuck any of us are. But we definitely don't forget about him. We make frequent visits and family outings like this a priority. We just want the man to know that he's loved, even on the days when he can barely recognize us through the fog of the disease.
It's my turn to pay for the haircuts so I pull out my wallet. But Dad has his credit card in hand. He's already beaten me to it, covering the bill for himself, Gramps, my brothers and me. I pat him on the back in thanks.
He was quiet throughout the whole discussion but I caught him observing my reaction more than once. My dad is a man who never wastes words. Wise as hell, too. I'm acting like I've got this Penny situation figured out but honestly, I wouldn't mind hearing his take on the whole thing. Dad never had a good re
lationship with his own father. He made sure not to repeat the cycle with my brothers and me.
Right now, he looks like he wants to say something, but he’s holding back. “You gonna give me your opinion on all this? Seems like everybody’s got an opinion.”
He waits until the barber walks away from the cash register. Then he squares his shoulders toward me and speaks. "You're helping your friend out by giving her a baby. That's noble, I suppose."
To a stranger, his words might sound encouraging but I recognize that judgmental look in his eyes. "I just want Penny to be happy," I say to justify my decision.
Dad lifts a brow. "But do you really, truly think that getting probed by doctors at a fertility clinic while the man she loves is on the other side of a wall jerking off into a container is her idea of a fairytale? You think that going through a pregnancy and raising a child by herself is what she dreamed about as a little girl?"
His words strike so hard. I hate it. "Penny doesn't love me. She and I are just friends. I can't be the man to give her the white picket fence, Dad."
"Then, make her love you," my father insists. "Because you sure as hell love her. You always have. Why do you deprive yourself of the things you want? You've done that your whole life. Just because of—"
"Don't say it..." I flinch before he's even uttered the words, the truth about me. I glance back to make sure Cannon and Jude aren’t listening in.
"You deserve happiness just as much as your brothers do, son. It kills me that after all these years, you still can’t see that. And it'll be a damn happy day for me when you finally stand up like a man and take what's yours." His wide chest rocks when he sighs. “In any case, make sure you know what you’re doing with Penny. I know she’s important to you. I know that if you lost her, it would tear you apart. That’s not something to play around with.”
On that, he turns on his heel and wheels my grandfather out the door. And I'm left standing there, stewing in a truth I'd rather ignore altogether.
12
Mister Baby Daddy (Bad Boys in Love Book 3) Page 7
