Pregnant by the Playboy

by Jackie Lau

  I wonder if she’ll read several baby name books cover to cover.

  “I’d like to get some food, too,” she says.

  “You’re worried you won’t get enough to eat later? Trust me, there’s no need to worry. I’m taking you to a restaurant with large servings.”

  “Ooh, where are we going?”

  “It’s a secret.”

  “I don’t like secrets.”

  “Somehow this doesn’t surprise me, but I’m keeping it a secret.”

  It looks like she’s trying to shoot daggers at me with her eyes, but fortunately, she fails.

  Though she does succeed in looking sexy.

  “I’m still going to order food,” she says. “Those lemon-rosemary savory donuts sound amazing, and I think they’ll perfectly complement your drink.”

  She makes a compelling argument. When the waitress comes around, we order drinks as well as donuts. I don’t miss the appreciative glance that the waitress gives me, and when she walks away, Marissa makes another attempt to shoot daggers, this time at the back of the waitress’s head.

  A woman acting possessive. I never expected to enjoy it so much.

  “So, why engineering?” I ask. “Why did you decide to study it?”

  She seems momentarily disoriented, then says, “I was good at math and physics. I wanted a degree that was geared toward a career without spending ten years in school. The job market was a little rough when I graduated, but I found something eventually.”

  “It’s not a deep passion?

  She shakes her head. “I like it and it suits me, but I don’t love it. I’m okay with that. My passion is having a steady, secure, balanced life, in which I don’t have to overwork myself to pay the bills, or feel guilty when I get a latte instead of a drip coffee.”

  I find that fascinating. I guess I took some of those things for granted—security and not worrying about how I’d pay the bills.

  Steady and balanced? Not so much.

  Growing up, I knew many people whose families were all about more, more, more. There could always be more money, more prestige, and often it came at the expense of other things.

  Me? I throw myself headlong into a project and think about nothing else. I couldn’t tell I was burnt out until I was barely able to function.

  In the past few years, I relished cultivating as ridiculous of an image as possible. I played it up with my family, too. The outrageous youngest son.

  But in part thanks to Courtney, I’ve gotten a little better at considering my mental health and having some balance in my life, even if “balance” isn’t sexy.

  And I don’t think Marissa is ordinary or boring for how she lives her life.

  I think she’s amazing.

  The waitress brings over our mocktails. Marissa wraps her lips around her straw and sips her drink. “It’s delicious.”

  I try mine. It’s pretty good, but not as good as the ginger beer mocktail.

  “Let me try yours.” She reaches for my drink as soon as I put it down, and I can’t help a chuckle. “Mmm, that’s even better.”

  “Then we can switch, since I prefer the ginger beer one.”

  Funny how that worked out.

  Our donuts arrive five minutes later. There are four on the plate, plus a little dish of aioli. Marissa breaks one in half and dunks it in the aioli.

  “Good?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Though it doesn’t taste like a donut to me. More like a biscuit in a donut shape, not that I’m complaining. I can totally imagine myself getting cravings for these.” She takes another bite. “Mocktails and savory donuts aren’t what I expected tonight.”

  “What did you expect?” I stretch out on the chair, crossing one leg over the other.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Eating flambéed duck on a private boat or something like that.”

  “I did consider it,” I say, stroking my chin. “Glad I opted for this place instead.”

  A few minutes later, a young man and woman walk past our table. Well, the man passes our table; the woman is distracted by our donuts.

  “Those smell so good,” she says. “I’ve been craving them all week.” She pats her stomach—she’s quite pregnant.

  “I’m pregnant too!” Marissa says. “And I was just thinking that I might start craving them.”

  They laugh together and discuss their due dates, and when the other woman says, “I’ll let you get back to your husband,” Marissa doesn’t protest her choice of words.

  We stay for one more non-alcoholic drink, and then I drive to Roncesvalles for the next part of our date. We enter a Polish restaurant, a solid family place that has been around for a long time. It’s almost eight o’clock now, and there are fewer families and more couples than when I went here earlier in the week.

  I suggest we get the platter for two, which has pierogis, cabbage rolls, schnitzel, goulash, potato pancakes, and other things. Marissa nods briskly as she practically drools on the menu.

  “You must think I’m absolutely obsessed with food,” she says. “I promise, I’m not usually like this. Not to this extent, anyway.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  She does indeed enjoy dinner—especially the potato pancakes—and by some miracle, we finish everything on the large platter.

  The only issue comes at the end of the meal, when she tries to pay the bill and we spend ten minutes arguing about it.

  Eventually, I let her pay so we don’t stay here all night.

  “What else do you have planned?” she asks as we waddle out of the restaurant. “I’m not sure I can eat more, and it’s been ages since I felt this way.”

  “Well, we don’t have to go, but there’s an ice cream place nearby...”

  “You’re killing me.” She laughs. She’s laughed a lot tonight, and it makes me smile every time. “Alright, let’s go. We might have to share something. Not sure I could have my own.”

  We end up splitting a raspberry-balsamic sorbet, and Marissa keeps swirling her tongue over her spoon and generally driving me mad.

  And she knows exactly what she’s doing.

  The drive back is mostly silent, but I’m very aware of her sitting next to me, wearing that clingy red dress. When we get to her building, I help her out of the car, then immediately drop my mouth to her lips and slide my leg between hers. When I stroke my tongue into her mouth, she presses herself against my leg and circles her hips.

  My mind travels back to that weekend. I lifted her up and fucked her against my door. I remember how it felt to have her gripping me, and I groan.

  I want to slide inside her, and it has to be her, nobody else.

  “Why were you at Brian’s party?” I suddenly ask.

  I’d never seen her at one of his parties before, and I know it sounds silly, but now it feels like fate that she was there.

  “I’m friends with Carrie Lo.”

  “She seems different from the kind of friends I imagine you having.”

  “We met at a bachelorette party a while back—she was the groom’s sister—and we got along well. She started inviting me to things every now and then, and I liked hanging out with her. She prioritizes taking care of herself and doing things that make her feel good. She doesn’t think of herself last, the way women are so often expected to do. When I told her I was pregnant, a flattering maternity dress and a gift certificate to a spa showed up that week. Things for me, not for the baby.”

  I wish I’d been the one to think of the spa thing.

  I brush my fingers over her collarbone. “I’m glad you were there that night.”

  “If I’m honest, I really wanted to let loose after my mom’s health scare.”

  I stiffen. Marissa grew up without much family. Her mom is very important to her.

  “She’s fine,” Marissa says hurriedly. “I’d just gotten the good news. I was relieved and feeling indulgent, and Carrie told me about a party. You know the rest.”

  “No, I don’t believe I do. Tell me.”

  “
Dammit, Vince.”

  Before she can fling any more swear words at me, I kiss her again. I slip my hand under the neckline of her dress and fondle her breast. Her nipple pebbles under my touch.

  “Indulge yourself again tonight,” I murmur. “Let’s take this upstairs.”

  I push myself against her and show her exactly how ready I am.

  When she sighs—and not with pleasure—I immediately step back.

  “I can’t,” she says.

  “It wouldn’t hurt the baby. I’ve done research.”

  Her eyes flicker with amusement. I can see it, even in the poor lighting. I’ve become accustomed to looking for every nuance in her expression. Actually I don’t have to look; I just notice. I’m attuned to every little change in her.

  “Last time...” She looks down. “We told ourselves—and each other—that it didn’t mean anything. That it was just one weekend. But I won’t lie. It can’t be that simple now, and I’m not ready.”

  It’s been too long and my body is on fire, but I know what she’s saying. I won’t push, even though I am ready.

  I agree; it would be different this time. We know each other now. Okay, a lot of our interactions have been food-based, but still. We’ve exposed ourselves in ways that have nothing to do with bare skin.

  Tonight, though, was a straightforward first date in many ways, but it’s impossible to ignore everything that came before.

  “Can I take you out again?” I ask, trying not to let fear creep into my voice.

  That’s what I really couldn’t stand—if she wasn’t willing to give me a chance to be more than the father of her child.

  It terrifies me.

  Not that I’ll tell anyone, but I can admit it to myself.

  I need her. Not simply to fulfill the cute domestic fantasy in my head, the fantasy that will make me feel like my life has meaning, but because she’s Marissa, and she’s lovely, even when she’s scarfing down cabbage rolls like it’s the end of the world.

  I need her to return my feelings, and there are signs she might be heading in that direction, but what if I’m wrong? I don’t know much about these things and—

  “Yes,” she says. “We can do that again.”

  Once I’m back in my car, pulling away from her building, I pump my fist in victory.

  Why the hell are you happy? my dick asks. I’m in pain!

  “Oh, shut up,” I say.

  Now I’m really losing it, because I’m talking out loud to my dick.

  And yet all seems right with the world.

  Chapter 18

  Vince

  The morning after my first real date with Marissa, I’m frustrated with myself.

  I didn’t have a great sleep last night. I was rolling around in bed, wishing she was there with me. Wishing she’d wake up in the middle of the night and cuddle up to me, then wrap her lips around my cock and let me spend in her mouth.

  I jerked myself off to the thought of her.

  And now it’s ten in the morning...and here I am again. In the shower this time, the water washing over my skin, my dick in my hand. I close my eyes and tip my head back as I remember the way she bit into that savory donut. The way she licked her lips after eating raspberry-balsamic sorbet.

  If I have these foods again, I’ll inevitably think of her.

  I pump myself faster, wishing I was inside her instead of alone. I wouldn’t have sex with her in the shower—I’m too worried about her slipping—but we could shower together, and afterward, I could dry her off with a towel and sit her on the counter...and then I could slide into her. Heaven. She’d wrap her legs around me and urge me on, making noises at least as erotic as the ones she makes when eating cheesecake.

  I explode in my hand, then brace myself against the wall.

  Now that my head isn’t completely lost in thoughts of Marissa, I dimly recall that my dad plans to visit me this morning.

  And I just jerked myself off in the shower. Lovely.

  * * *

  My dad rarely visits me by himself. Usually, my mother is with him.

  I can’t help worrying. What does he want to talk to me about alone?

  Once I get out of the shower and put on semi-respectable clothes, it’s ten thirty-five and my dad was supposed to arrive at ten thirty.

  Dad, like Julian, is usually punctual. But a couple years ago, he arrived right on time at my penthouse...and let’s just say, he saw some stuff that we both wish he hadn’t seen. Ever since, he’s made a point of coming exactly fifteen minutes late when he’s meeting me at home.

  Sure enough, he arrives at ten forty-five. I usher him inside and offer him tea, but he refuses.

  We sit on couches in the living room, and when he doesn’t immediately say anything, I glance out the window. One thing I love about this place is the view of the lake to the south. Every day, the sky and lake are slightly different colors. I’d never realized the lake could be so many different colors until I moved here.

  I turn back to my dad. “So, what did I do this time?” I ask with a lopsided smile.

  He’s still quiet.

  This is alarming.

  “It’s about Marissa,” he says at last.

  I grip the sofa. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. I’m just a little worried... Vince, you’re wealthy, and that’s no secret. There are some people who might take advantage of you.”

  I lean forward. “What are you saying?”

  “You’re not stupid, even if you act like it sometimes.”

  “Thank you?”

  “I’m sure you were using birth control, but do you think it’s possible she tampered with it? She could be looking for a big child support payment. And are you certain the child is yours?”

  Okay, now I’m seeing red.

  “Dad, this is absurd.”

  “But there are people who will do such things.”

  “Not Marissa.”

  “How well do you know her?”

  “Reasonably well.”

  “I know you’re excited about being a father. I just want you to be aware of the possibility. I got to where I did in business because I didn’t let people take advantage of me.”

  “Marissa would never do that,” I say. “We haven’t talked directly about support payments, but I offered to help her financially so she could stay home with the child until they start school, and she said no. It’s important to her to be financially independent. She grew up without much money.”

  “So perhaps she wants the security of having yours.”

  “I offered to marry her, and she said no. Hell, I tried to pay for dinner last night, and after a ten-minute argument, I gave up and let her pay.”

  “I thought you two weren’t together?”

  “We’re dating now.”

  “When you proposed to her, did you mean it?”

  “Of course! Why else would I have done it? What do you take me for?”

  But perhaps I shouldn’t blame him. I’ve always been the not-so-serious, troublesome youngest child. Even when I was working 24/7, I acted that way with my family.

  He frowns. “You love her?”

  “I’m not answering that question.”

  I want Marissa to be the first person to know how I feel, not my dad when he’s questioning her integrity.

  “Has there been a paternity test?”

  “You can do those before the baby is born?”

  “There are ways, yes.”

  “I don’t need a test to know the baby’s mine.”

  There’s no doubt in my voice. I know, in my bones, that she’s not lying. She might tell little lies, like saying she only finds me a tiny bit attractive, but she would never have tampered with the condoms or tried to make me support a baby that isn’t mine. She said there’s no one else who could be the father, and I believe her.

  The fact that my dad could think that of her...it makes me feel gross.

  “You should leave,” I say.

  He nods. His calmness inf
uriates me

  I follow him to the door.

  “I’m just looking out for you,” he says.

  I sigh, a bit deflated. “I know.”

  And with that, he’s gone.

  * * *

  That afternoon, I head to Brian’s, and we relax in the glassed-in room at the back of his mansion with some fine merlot. I’m not in a great mood after my dad’s visit—though the wine running through my veins does make me feel a touch better—and Brian picks up on it.

  “You’re still not yourself,” he says. “Can you tell me what’s up yet?”

  I take a deep breath. “I’m going to be a father.”

  The look of horror on Brian’s face is amusing.

  I’m pretty sure it’s not the idea of me being a father. Brian absolutely does not want to be a parent himself, as he’s told me before, and he had a vasectomy last year. This would be his worst nightmare.

  “Who’s the mother?” he asks.

  “The woman I met at your party in January.”

  “Which party?”

  It’s true. Brian had multiple parties in January.

  “Her name’s Marissa,” I say. “She’s Carrie’s friend.”

  “That explains the cryptic comment Carrie made the other day.” He sips his wine. “Though I’m still not sure why you’ve been weird and broody, uninterested in sleeping with women and...” He drops his voice, as though he’s about to say something truly shocking. “Leaving parties before midnight.”

  I smirk, but then I say, “Brian, I’m going to be a dad. It changes things.”

  “It doesn’t have to change much. Or are you worried about this happening again? You can get snipped.”

  “Nah.”

  “It doesn’t make you any less of a man.”

  Anyone who thinks that is an idiot.

  No, the thing is... I might want to have more kids?

  Though I should probably wait to see how the first kid goes before I consider it.

  It also requires Marissa to actually want to be with me. I doubt she’d want to make a second baby together otherwise.

  Two sounds like enough, though.

  “I’m not going to be the kind of dad who sees his child a few times a month,” I say. “I want to be there for much more than that. I’m not going to keep partying all the time.”