Cowboy Baby Daddy (A Secret Baby Romance Compilation)

by Claire Adams

He leans in closer.

  “Pick me up,” I tell him.

  My limbs encompass him so tight, so completely, and he lifts me with ease. Being a true gentleman, he turns so I’m looking at the sky over his shoulder, and I kiss his neck as this beautiful man brings my fantasies to life.

  Part of me wants him to walk beneath the water, but the rest of me is so much more content right here in his arms with only my thighs and gravity to careen through this other plane.

  Through the open air to the side of the waterfall, I can see the trees swaying gently in a sightless breeze.

  “I want you to come inside me,” I tell him, my voice barely a whimper.

  I kiss his neck and then his lips, leaning back a little, but still secure in his arms.

  He gazes at my breasts as they heave with every ragged breath, and as I look out the side of the waterfall once more, I lock eyes with a woman standing on the bank.

  Adrenaline soars through my body, but the woman just stands and watches us, her hands at her sides.

  I don’t take my eyes off of her as I press myself again into Dane’s body, the warmth in my skin rekindled.

  Dane’s erection heats my core, and I imagine the mist as steam coming off our bodies, through which I can still perceive that woman as she sits on the dry ground and leans back, taking in what we’re giving off.

  It’s not an attraction that I feel for the woman, at least not a sexual one, but I lick my lips as I lean back once more, exposing more of my body to the open air.

  With both arms clasping each other behind Dane’s neck, I roll my hips, wondering just how much that dark-haired woman can see of us.

  It’s not attraction: it’s understanding, recognition between artist and subject, though I can’t claim to know who is who.

  Dane holds me with only one arm now as with the other, he guides my breasts, one by one, into his smoldering mouth.

  I tilt my head back, allowing him greater access to me, and my hair hangs down, heavy with water, behind me.

  The woman on the shore is still there, her eyes ever intent on mine, and I start to climb toward that threshold once more.

  Dane feels the quickening of my breath and he lifts me, his whole length entering and then retreating again and again, the sounds of our love crackling against the walls of the nook.

  “You’re slipping,” Dane tells me, and I immediately pull myself against him once more.

  The shock of his words, any words, delays my gratification, and I tell him to lie down on the towel behind me.

  He turns around slowly, every step deliberate, until he can sit on the edge of the rock. I lean forward as he leans back, and he rotates his body just enough for the whole of him to lie back.

  Every moment, he’s inside me.

  I let my hair fall to cover my face, focusing my gaze onto the man who brought me here to this place of trance and frenzy. As I rise and fall on his firm erection, I tense the muscles in my center, gripping him tight.

  My hips flip and rock against him, and I can see in his eyes that he’s going to come.

  I lean forward, putting my mouth to his ear and telling him once more, “I want you to come inside me,” and I ride him hungrily, the sun now well into the sky.

  Dane’s chest expands and contracts quicker now, and I can only hope to meet him there.

  His mouth comes open, and he gasps as I feel new warmth inside me as I skyrocket toward the stars we’ve discovered again together.

  His body is still jerking in and against mine as I fall into him, hardly able to breathe, barely able to move, and our muscles contract and release in a strange rhythm as I lay my body against his, exhausted and satiated.

  We lie here together for what seems like a jilted eternity, until he slips out of me.

  “Gotta tell ya,” I breathe, “I don’t know if I can move right now.”

  “Right with ya,” he says.

  I lift my head to look for that woman again, but the shore is bare.

  I’m still not sure if she was there or if I just imagined her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Backsliding

  Dane

  Tonight is Leila’s last night before the move.

  It’s not the easiest thing in the world, but we’ll make it somehow, I’m sure of it. These last days have been phenomenal.

  After bringing one fantasy of hers to life, we agreed to try again with another. I’m still not a fireman, but picking her up in a bar should suffice for now.

  I’ve been waiting here a while, though.

  That’s not wholly unexpected. She said that she had some errands to run before she’d be able to make it, but that anxiety over her leaving so soon after we really found each other is starting to grip my veins.

  “You good over here?” the bartender asks.

  “How about a tequila sunrise?” I ask.

  The guy gives me a bit of a look, but shrugs his shoulders.

  I’ve never actually had one, but they’re Leila’s favorite. It might prove to be a good icebreaker for when she arrives.

  The bartender makes the drink and hands it over. I pay him and take my first sip.

  It tastes good, no doubt, but it’s a little fluffy for me. I’m one of those assholes that likes to taste alcohol when I’m drinking alcohol.

  “Could I get a shot of vodka, too?” I ask before the bartender finds someone else to inebriate.

  He smiles and brings me the shot.

  I drink it down and take a look out over the dance floor.

  I’m looking for Wrigley just as much as I’m looking for Leila.

  Wrigley promised that she’d back off, but I know better than to simply take her at her word.

  I sat down at the bar next to her and ordered a drink.

  We just kind of sat there for a few minutes, neither one of us even looking at the other. It was awkward, but finally she broke the silence.

  “What do you want?” she asked. “Have you finally come to your senses and realized that your Vestal Virgin doesn’t have all the appetites that you require?”

  “She’s not a virgin,” I said. “That’s really not the point, though.”

  “Hold on,” she said. “I don’t think either one of us is anywhere near intoxicated enough for this to be a comfortable, pleasant conversation.”

  “I’m really not planning on staying that long,” I told her, but she insisted.

  She ordered up a couple of shots, and before I could start talking again, she ordered up a couple more.

  We were about five shots in when the bartender told us to slow down, but that was the wrong thing to say to me. I have a tendency to take warnings like that as a challenge.

  In retrospect, I probably should have listened, but as soon as Wrigley told the bartender, “We’re not children. We can handle our shit. Now, pour, fucker!” I was set on not only out-negotiating Wrigley, but out-drinking her as I did.

  The next couple of shots came and went so quickly I don’t really recall whether there were two or three of them.

  Finally, as the liquor started to really sink in, I decided that I’d better say what I went there to say and get the fuck out before I started losing IQ points.

  “We need to talk,” I told her.

  “Yeah,” she said, “you mentioned that.”

  “What are you doing? It’s not very dignified, is it?”

  “Dignity’s overrated,” she said. “I’m just a woman who knows what she wants, and you just happen to be the man that has it hanging between his legs.”

  “Do you really think this approach is ever going to work, though?” I asked. “All you’re doing is making me never want to see you again under any circumstances.”

  “Well,” she said, “we don’t want that, certainly.”

  The bartender started to walk off, but I called him back, ordering yet another round for Wrigley and me.

  “Are you really that into her?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I really am.”


  “Then why were you so quick to go for having a relationship with me?”

  “I was confused,” I said. “I didn’t think that Leila even liked me, much less felt the same way that I did. After you stormed out of the car that night and went down on the cab driver in my rearview mirror, I went home and found her making out with a friend of hers. Then, while you and I were doing it on the roof, I don’t know, I guess I was just overwhelmed. Look,” I said, “it’s not that I don’t like you, and it’s nothing personal. Leila’s just who I really want to be with.”

  “What I don’t get,” she said, ordering another vodka, “is why that means you can’t be around me anymore.”

  “It’s not that I can’t be around you,” I tell her, “it’s that I can’t be with you, not in the way we used to be.”

  “Come on,” she said. “You’re not married. You’re hardly even with her. Besides, I have pussy seniority.”

  “You come up with some of the weirdest phrases,” I told her.

  I tried to order another shot of vodka, but the bartender informed me that we were both cut off.

  After he walked away, though, Wrigley leaned over the counter and grabbed the nearest bottle. It was dark rum, but hey, it was alcohol.

  After a stolen shot, I continued.

  “You’re a beautiful woman,” I told her. “You can have any guy in the city. I bet there are a ton of guys out there who are into the things that I’m not. That has to have crossed your mind.”

  “It’s not the same, though,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like I was telling your roommate, it’s a sexual compatibility thing. You can be with someone—”

  “When did you talk to my roommate?” I asked. Leila hadn’t told me.

  Wrigley shrugged and said, “You can be with someone who technically does all the things you want to do, but if you’re not sexually compatible, it’s never going to feel anywhere near as good. You, for as much of a pussy as you are, rub me the right way, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

  She poured a couple more shots and we drank them.

  The bartender, though, noticed, and that’s when we got kicked out.

  For a while, we just walked and talked.

  I told her, “I’m not the only person you’re going to be sexually compatible with.”

  “I know,” she said, “but until I find someone else who is, I don’t think it’s fair for you to just leave me hanging in the breeze.”

  “I’m sorry,” I told her, “but that’s just the way it is, and that’s the way it has to be.”

  We talked some more after that, and I do remember her apologizing for coming on so strong with Leila, though she didn’t really go into too much detail about what that meant.

  It wasn’t looking like I was going to make any headway until my liquid brain spat out an idea.

  “You know,” I told her, “Leila’s moving out of the city, and there’s a good chance that we’re going to break up when she does. I don’t know that for sure, but things aren’t looking like they’re going to last. If you keep doing what you’re doing, I’m never going to want to be around you again, much less back inside.”

  “And what if she leaves and the two of you stay together?” she asked.

  “If that happens, then that’s what happens. Truthfully, I hope that is what happens, but if you don’t back the fuck off, I can tell you right now that you and I are never going to be an option again, even if Leila and I do break up.”

  She thought about it for a minute.

  “I had all sorts of shit planned, though,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Never mind,” she said. “Just some ways to convince you that you were going to bed in the wrong vag, you know.”

  “Wrigley…”

  “Just tell me two things,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Is it love?”

  “Yeah,” I told her. “I really think it is.”

  She nodded.

  “What’s the other thing?”

  She looked at me. “What’s that like?”

  I smiled. I very clearly remember smiling.

  “It’s the most wonderful feeling in the world. Everything is better. It’s like being on ecstasy all the time, minus the comedown and health implications. It’s something you never want to let go of, and it makes everything else in the world seem so small, so trivial.”

  “Huh,” she said. “That sounds nice.”

  “Have you ever been in love?” I asked.

  She scoffed. “No.”

  “You should try it sometime,” I told her. “Find someone who drives you insane in the best possible way, someone who you drive insane in the same way. There’s really nothing like it.”

  “Maybe I will,” she said.

  We walked another half block before she spoke again.

  “All right,” she said. “You’re off the hook.”

  “Thank y—”

  “For now,” she said. “But if you and your little honey biscuit end up going splitskies, I want to be the first one you call. I’m seriously getting blue ovaries over here.”

  I laughed so hard I lost my balance. That, of course, only made Wrigley start laughing.

  We spoke for a few more minutes before I hailed a cab. I thanked her for finally understanding, and we actually shook hands before I got in the taxi.

  I look at the clock.

  Leila said she wouldn’t be any later than 8 o’clock, but it’s already 9:30.

  I pull out my phone and call her number, but it just goes straight to voicemail.

  Maybe we miscommunicated somehow and one of us ended up in the wrong bar.

  I don’t know, but I don’t like what I’m feeling. It’s the kind of heaviness that makes it a little hard to breathe.

  The thought crosses my mind, but I dismiss it before it has a chance to fully form. I’m nowhere near ready for that.

  I order another shot and ask the bartender if they sell any gum.

  He says, “Sorry,” and pours me my shot.

  I pay him and drink it down, watching the ice cube melt in my tequila sunrise.

  It doesn’t make much sense, but I kind of wish that Wrigley was here right now. Despite her general lunacy, she actually does have a way of cutting through the shit and giving some pretty solid advice from time to time.

  I’m not ready to make that phone call, either, though.

  Leila and I have been talking about how we’re going to find a way to spend time with each other after she leaves, but neither one of us really wanted to take that conversation too far.

  I know, on my end, that’s because I simply don’t want her to go, much less admit the reality that there’s nothing I can really do about it without guilting her and being the biggest asshat on the planet.

  Another shot of vodka finds its way into my stomach, and I’m really starting to get worried.

  That’s when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

  I smile and turn around.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask.

  “Now that’s not the way to greet someone,” Mike says. “How are you doing?”

  “Half-drunk,” I tell him. “Where’s Leila?”

  “That’s why I’m here,” he says.

  “What happened?” I ask, and am instantly on my feet.

  “Sit down,” he says. “She’s already gone.”

  * * *

  She’s gone. She’s actually gone.

  After Mike found me at the restaurant, he saw me back home. He even paid for the cab.

  His car, he told me, was somewhere in New Jersey, carrying Leila and all of the stuff she wanted to take with her. Or, to be more accurate, all the stuff she wanted to take that the movers didn’t take themselves.

  About the last thing in the world I ever wanted to do, especially in the presence of that guy, was cry, but there I was, sobbing.

  When we got up to the apartment, there was a note on the
table. Mike said he’d be downstairs, smoking a cigarette, and that he’d press the buzzer in a few minutes.

  I heard him, but I didn’t answer. I was engrossed in the note.

  It read:

  “Dane,

  I can’t begin to tell you how much our time together has meant to me, but I think we need to be realistic. Yes, I have feelings for you and yes, it might even be love, but you’re not ready to leave New York, and I can’t stay there. I really hope you understand.

  It’s been so long since I’ve had a glimmer of what we’ve shared, and I thank you for that. I know this isn’t going to be easy for either of us right now, but it’ll be the best thing for both of us in the long run.

  Thank you for making my fantasies come to life. I will never forget you.

  —Leila”

  And that was it.

  And here we are.

  Mike’s still downstairs smoking. I don’t know, maybe he left. It’s been about half an hour.

  I don’t know if I’m sober or drunk. I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now, only that it’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt.

  This is the worst day of my life.

  The buzzer snaps me out of my trance for a moment, and I walk over and press the button.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hey,” Mike says, “it’s me. Mind if I come up for a few minutes?”

  I don’t answer, but I do press the unlock button.

  Really, I don’t want to talk to Mike right now.

  I get why he did what he did; she is his friend, and he was doing what he asked her to do. I can’t hate him for that, but I hate the situation. Right now, that situation is embodied in him.

  There’s the knock on the door. I just call out, “It’s unlocked.”

  Right now, I’m trying to force an answer to the question of inebriation.

  Thank God I remembered to go to the liquor store.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Did you read the note?” I ask.

  He’s quiet.

  That’s a yes.

  “How long have you known that this was how she was going to do it?”

  “She left most of her stuff,” he says. “Well, she took her personal stuff, but she didn’t want to just up and leave you with an empty apartment.”