by Lane Hart
Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?
If I could rearrange the alphabet, I would put ‘u’ and ‘i’ together.
Well, here I am; what are your other two wishes?
Your lips look so lonely. Would they like to meet mine?
No shit, those are just a few horrible examples that would never work for any other man, but they, unfortunately, worked for me. So it sucks that I’ve never won a round and been turned down. I don’t like losing, especially to my own stupid self.
I’m not a complete dumbass. I know that the women who sleep with me are only using me, whether for my money, fame, or good looks. I’m simply an object to be acquired. They all have ulterior motives. Why else would they want to fuck me simply because of my name? I can be an enormous asshole or a complete sleazeball, and they’ll still lead me away by my dick and do all manner of naughty things to me.
It’s depressing really, not to have anyone just want me for me. Take away my millions, my superstar career, fancy cars and beach mansion, and I’m just a decent-looking guy of immense stature and below average intelligence.
But I do have millions, and I am a superstar, so, for now, I guess I’ll have to endure the meaningless fucks until I find a woman who refuses my sexiest pickup lines, calls me out for being an asshole, and finally presents me with a worthy challenge. There’s no fun in having a slut throw herself down and spread her legs for me without making me work for it. I want the thrill of wearing a stubborn woman down, one who fights me tooth and nail while I slowly chip away at her resistance until she finally submits.
“You’re disgusting, and one day your skanky ways are gonna catch up to you,” Lathan calls out.
He’s likely right, but there’s a ginormous chasm between my playboy ways and his celibacy, though. Instead of agreeing with him, I head to the door and simply reply over my shoulder with, “I think it’s time for you to lose the V-card, man. You’re almost thirty.”
“No, I’m not! I’m only twenty-four,” he calls back.
“Like that’s any better,” I mutter with a shake of my head.
If nothing else, a quick fuck is a helluva good distraction to take my mind off the anxiety before a game or the depressing loss afterward. Lathan sure as shit could use a distraction with everything in his life he’s currently dealing with. I get that he has self-esteem issues or whatever from his fat camp days, but that’s all in the past. I’m not sure how he hasn’t gone apeshit from bottling up the natural urges for this long. Men need to get laid, or they go crazy. I’m cranky if I go more than a week without a release, especially with all the stress during football season.
I don’t even have to make booty calls, they just appear like magic on my doorstep. And tonight’s unexpected guest will be a welcome relief to my oncoming panic attack.
As I approach the mostly glass front door, I don’t see any lust-filled beauties waiting for me on the other side, so I unlock it and open it wide in welcome, greeting tonight’s surprise romp before she disappears.
Unfortunately, there’s not a woman waiting for me with open arms.
No. Instead, there’s only a seat-looking thing on the cement stoop with a tiny, snoozing baby inside, next to a black bag. I glance back out over the yard and find the driveway empty except for Lathan’s truck. There are no cars coming or going on the silent street either.
Huh. Someone just rang the doorbell, so they have to be close by, maybe on foot.
I step outside barefoot in my jeans and gray Wildcats tee and walk to each end of the porch looking for who the hell is fucking with me, but there’s not a soul in sight.
Okay, so this must be one helluva prank. Lathan’s always harping about my manwhorish ways, just as he was only seconds ago, so he’s obviously the one fucking with me tonight.
Leaving the door wide open, I stomp back into the living room and ask him with my hands on my hips, “What did you do, man? Borrow someone’s baby to screw with me? Ha-ha. Hilarious. Now tell them to come back and pick it up.”
Rather than bust out laughing, Lathan simply stares at me silently for several long moments. “Huh?” he finally asks.
“Bravo,” I tell him with a slow clap of my hands. “Nice touch with the poker face and all, but seriously, dude, someone needs to come get their damn baby. It’s getting chilly outside.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Quinn?” Lathan asks.
I heave a heavy sigh. “Are you fucking with me right now?”
“I swear I don’t even know what the fuck I would be fucking with you about,” Lathan replies, getting to his feet. “Who was at the door?”
“A baby.”
“A babe? Do you need me to go ahead and leave then?” he asks. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m gonna lose my virginity to some random jersey chaser.”
“No, man. A bay-bee. Baby.”
With a creased forehead, Lathan walks past me and toward the open front door. I follow behind him.
“Holy shit! There’s, like, a baby out here!” he turns around and exclaims while pointing back at the kid. That’s when I start to believe he didn’t set me up. “Why is there a baby on your porch?”
“No clue. I thought you were fucking with me,” I tell Lathan.
“Shh! Watch your mouth!” he scolds me, holding a finger to his lips. “You can’t say fucking around a baby.”
“Um, dude, you just said fucking in front of the baby,” I point out.
“Shit,” he mutters, running his fingers over his Mohawk. “Dammit, I probably shouldn’t say shit either.”
“Or dammit,” I opine with a sigh.
“Why is there a baby on your porch?” he asks again.
“Now you sound like a broken record,” I tell him, throwing my hands up in the air with exasperation. “I have no clue why there’s a baby here!”
“Be quiet before you wake it up,” Lathan steps back inside the house and lowers his voice to warn me softly.
“Forget waking it up. Should we bring it inside?” I ask.
“I guess,” he answers with a shrug. “We definitely can’t leave it out there.”
“Okay then, pick it up.”
“Nuh-uh. You pick it up,” Lathan argues, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “It’s on your porch!”
“Fine,” I grumble.
Marching over, I bend down and lift the bottom of the seat in my arms and carry it into the living room where I place it in the middle of the hardwood floor.
“Now what?” I ask Lathan after I hear him shut and lock the front door.
“Oh shit,” he mutters. When I look over, he’s holding the black bag that came with the baby in one hand and a white sheet of paper in the other.
“What?” I ask, going over to stand beside him so I can read over his shoulder. It’s a handwritten note that says, “I can’t do this anymore. He’s yours, I’m certain of it. You would have known about him sooner if you read your mail.”
Two words stand out more than the others.
He’s yours.
“Fuckkk,” I groan while squeezing my temples as I try to think. “That’s impossible, right? I mean, I haven’t knocked anyone up! I’m not stupid. I always use condoms. Always!”
In response to my rambling, Lathan bends over at the waist and just starts laughing. When he eventually recovers enough to straighten, he says, “I believe the words I’m looking for are, told you so!”
“There’s no way. He doesn’t look anything like me,” I reply, gesturing toward the tiny, sleeping baby.
“He’s a baby. Babies don’t look like anyone but babies,” is Lathan’s unhelpful response.
“What the hell are we gonna do?” I ask him frantically, my chest tightening with a lack of oxygen in what I know from experience is the makings of a full-blown panic attack.
“You mean, what are you gonna do?”
“Yes, what the fuck am I gonna do?” I ask while pacing in front of the sleeping kid, breathing in through my nose and out
through my mouth to try and calm the mounting anxiety.
“Oh shit, man,” Lathan whispers. “Now it’s looking at us.”
My pacing stops at his words, and then the two of us start inching closer to the seat. Pale blue eyes blink open and stare up at us, right before the face scrunches up and turns red, its mouth opening in a loud wail.
“Shit. Now, look what you’ve done. You’ve got to pick it up!” Lathan declares with an elbow to my side.
“I’m not picking it up. You pick it up,” I tell him.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he says while pulling out his cell phone.
“I thought you said we shouldn’t say fuck,” I remind him.
“I’m calling Roxy,” he tells me over the increasing cries. “She’ll know what to do, right?”
“Maybe. Hopefully”
“Shit, she’s not answering,” Lathan informs me. “Let me try Kohen. Maybe they kissed and made up or whatever.”
“Maybe,” I agree with a wince as the crying grows louder
“Yo, Kohen! Do you know where Roxy is?” Lathan shouts into the phone, his index finger pushed into his free ear so he can try to hear. “Yeah, does Roxy know anything about making them, like, stop crying? Can you and her come over to Quinton’s? There’s a…situation.”
While he talks, I collapse into my leather recliner as the reality of the situation starts to hit me. Someone actually thinks I’m the father of this kid, which is insane and impossible, but now it looks like I’m stuck with it.
“Yeah, you won’t believe this, but someone dumped a freaking baby on Quinton’s doorstep with a note saying it’s his,” Lathan continues to explain to Kohen. “Tiny little guy. We were just watching it sleep in its plastic seat thing, and then all of a sudden it woke up and started wailing. Now it won’t stop!”
What the hell am I gonna do with a baby? I’ve never even held one before, and someone thinks I’m the appropriate caretaker for this unknown kid?
“Thanks, Kohen!” Lathan shouts into the phone before hanging up, and then says to me, “They’re on the way.”
“Thank God,” I grumble.
The crying continues, increasing in volume and intensity while a continuous loop of mostly hazy female faces flash through my mind. All the one-night stands that were fun but fleeting. I don’t even remember all their names, only recognizing them by the idiotic things that came out of my mouth before we ended up naked.
Now it’s not so funny.
Did I fuck up and not use protection? Did a condom fail me? I can’t count all the times a woman has tried to slip it in without wrapping it up, because it happens so often. Getting knocked up with my baby would mean more than just a big-ass child support paycheck. It would mean owning me.
Never gonna happen.
I always refused sex when I realized what those women were up to, usually pushing their pretty little heads down and coming in their mouths just to be safe.
This kid’s mama has to be mistaken.
When the doorbell finally rings a few minutes later, I jump up to answer it, but Lathan reaches it first with me right behind him. Fuck, I just hope it’s Kohen and Roxy and not another kid.
The blonde woman standing before us in a blue dress should be deemed a goddess as relieved as I am at the sight of her.
“Help?” I beg.
“Why me?” Roxy asks. “Do you just assume that I know what to do with a baby because I’m a woman?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. Our team’s new kicker, the first female in the league, tries to be tough, but I know she’s a softie on the inside and isn’t really upset.
“No. Maybe. Yes!” I shout, covering both of my ears with my palms to momentarily drown out the noise, so I can think. “You’re the only one I trust not to break my son,” I say, and then my jaw falls open when I realize my slip. Just because someone dropped him off on my porch doesn’t mean he’s really mine. I’ve always been careful. “I mean if he really is my son. Even if he’s not, it wouldn’t be cool to break someone else’s baby, right?” I ask Roxy.
“Explanation accepted,” Roxy replies before pushing past us and moving further into the house. Kohen is right behind her and nods at Lathan and me in greeting.
Kohen and I haven’t exactly been friends since I joined the team and accidentally slept with his fiancée, but I think we’re working on it. He’s learning to trust me more since I’ve had the opportunities but haven’t made any moves on Roxy. Never will, because while we may be good friends, it’s clear that Roxy started falling for Kohen from the first day they met, as shitty as that was when she ran Kohen over. In fact, it’s good to see Roxy holding Kohen’s hand, which I take to be a sign that they’ve officially made up. The two had their own trust issues to work through, and I’m glad Kohen pulled his head out of his ass to fix things with Roxy.
“Whoa. So this is, what, like official now?” Lathan asks Kohen in reference to their relationship while we all make our way to the screaming in the living room.
“Official,” Kohen yells to be heard.
“And Quinton said you both get to stay on the team?” Lathan asks him.
“Yep. And Roxy’s starting tomorrow,” Kohen tells us with a smile.
“Congrats!” Lathan yells to Roxy as we reach the living room.
“Thanks,” she raises her voice to reply. “Has he been in that seat the whole time?” she asks, gesturing toward the gray baby car seat with blue trim still sitting in the middle of the floor.
I nod in the affirmative.
“That’s at least one reason he’s crying. He wants out; wants to be held,” she informs us.
When Roxy steps around to the front of the seat, she gasps and falls to her knees despite the fact that she’s wearing a dress.
“Oh my goodness!” she squeals. Letting go of Kohen’s hand, she starts unbuckling the straps over the crying baby’s chest. Once she’s done, she scoops him up in her arms with zero hesitancy, telling me that, thankfully, she has taken care of babies before. The kid even dials back the volume of his screams when he’s resting in her arms. The woman’s a miracle worker, as evidenced by the three men she has crowding around her on the floor in awe.
“Did he come with a bottle by chance?” Roxy looks up and asks us.
“I think so,” Lathan says. He gets to his feet, goes over to grab the black diaper bag from the sofa and brings it over before retaking his seat on the floor.
“Wow, he’s little,” Kohen says. “No bigger than a football.”
“Yeah, he’s probably just a few days old,” Roxy tell us.
“That can’t be my kid, right? I mean, my baby would be, like…ten times his size,” I point out since my mother likes to remind me that I was over ten pounds when I was born, requiring her to have an emergency C-section.
“Actually, genius, even big men start out as little babies, otherwise how would women push them out?” Roxy explains.
“Got a bottle, but it’s empty,” Lathan says, holding a little one in the air before I can respond. “Can’t you, like, you know, whip it out and let him eat?” he asks Roxy.
“Oh my God,” she mutters, rolling her green eyes in exasperation. “My jugs are empty. Only having a baby fills them up. Jeez.”
“Ohhh,” we all mumble in understanding. You would think that with as many tits as I’ve sucked on I would already know that.
“Okay, Lathan, look through the bag and see if there are any containers that say infant formula,” Roxy tells him slowly.
“How do you know all this baby stuff?” Kohen asks her.
“I babysat in the offseason around our neighborhood when I was a teenager,” she explains, looking down at the baby who is already a little mack daddy, rooting around the top of her dress in search of her titty. Okay, so maybe he is my flesh and blood. “Babies were my favorite,” Roxy says to Kohen. “I mean, I don’t want one. Well, not right now or anytime soon because my kicking career would be over, but someday…”
“Yeah, me too,”
Kohen replies, his eyes on hers.
They’re so sweet I could puke. Nope, that’s probably the anxiety.
“Found it!” Lathan shouts, holding up a small canister. Unfortunately, his loud voice makes the baby start fussing again. “Shit, sorry.”
“Okay, all we need now is water. Quinton, you got any filtered or purified water?” Roxy asks me.
“Ah, yeah, the kitchen faucet has a purifier on it,” I tell her.
“Good. Why don’t you do the honors since you’ll be here alone with him tonight?” she suggests with a smile.
“What the fuck?” I exclaim. “No, you guys can’t leave him here with me! I don’t even know how to, like, pick him up or whatever. He’ll just scream, and we’ve got our first game tomorrow! I need to be rested and ready!”
We can’t lose the first game, or it will haunt us the entire season. My rookie year we lost not only the first game but the first six. It was awful to try and stop that cycle. By the time the team got our shit together, we were out of playoff contention.
“Calm down,” Roxy tells me. “I’ll show you how to do everything you need to know before we leave. Then we’ll come back over in the morning to check on things before we go to the stadium, okay?”
“Who’s gonna watch him during the game?” I ask since I sure as fuck can’t play with a baby strapped to my chest.
“Guess we’ve got a few calls to make tonight,” she answers with a shrug. “First, take the bottle to the kitchen, put four ounces of water in it and then however many scoops the container says to add for four ounces. Easy, right?”
“Um, yeah,” I mutter as I get to my feet. Grabbing the bottle and canister from Lathan, I take them into the kitchen, reading the label on the formula as I go.
First, it tells me to wash my hands. I figure the bottle needs to be washed too, so I take the lid off and clean it. Now for the tricky part. Since the bottle has a four on the side, I fill it up with water, assuming it holds four ounces. The instructions say that I need two unpacked scoops of powder shit for that amount of water, so I pop the top on the canister and measure the powder out with the little plastic scooper before screwing the lid back on the bottle.
