Prince's Secret Baby

by Riley Rollins

  "You'll stay the full month like Mr. Roberts said?"

  He groans. "If I don't have any other choice. But we have to end this marriage before I leave town."

  "Obviously."

  "You know this is fucking ridiculous."

  "I'm aware," I say.

  "I'll do the heavy lifting and construction," he says. "That's all I fucking know about running a restaurant."

  "You're good at cooking, too."

  "Grilled cheese isn't the same thing as rainbow fucking bagels."

  "Melts. And if you can make a melt, you can definitely make a bagel."

  Hunter groans like he's a 90-year old man, and I have to suppress a laugh. "I don't make fucking rainbow bagels," he says. "Not now, not ever."

  "Okay," I say, "Whatever. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. So, we're getting hitched then."

  "A paper marriage."

  "You have to propose, then," I say, just to get a rise out of him.

  He gets on one knee, dramatically, and takes my hand in his. "Oh please," he says, "Please marry me so the bank can pay you 250 grand."

  I jerk my hand back. That wasn't very romantic at all.

  "Well..." I say. "You tried."

  He frowns and stands back up. "So this is a fake marriage with benefits, right?"

  I raise an eyebrow. "Absolutely not. But I hope you're ready to win an Oscar for best performance of the year."

  I lean up against Hunter, pat him on the head playfully, and plant another peck on his cheek. I mean, he's an asshole, but part of him is being a real sweetheart for agreeing to this. I know how crazy it sounds—how crazy it is—but maybe, just maybe, this will be my chance to finally live my dream.

  And when I brush against him, I can feel his big, thick, hard cock against my thigh.

  He doesn't see, thank God, but I can't stop myself from biting my lip. I've got a lot of really good memories about that.

  Too bad I won't be reliving them.

  8

  Hunter

  Fake married. I'm getting fake fucking married.

  What is that, anyway? Devil take it. God damn. I am way too nice.

  Tess grins, pats me on the head, and pecks me on the cheek. My erect cock strains through my jeans, throbbing against her thigh.

  She has to notice. It's like a fucking flagpole down there. And I have to recall my SEAL training just to wrestle control of myself, because every fiber of my body tells me to get inside that girl's pants.

  But when she pulls away, her face betrays nothing. Either she's an Oscar-winning actress, or else she really doesn't want to fuck me.

  Damn. A fake marriage without benefits. I must be turning into an old ass mummy like Marnes, because the younger me never would've let this shit happen.

  After she persuades me to go through with this crazy scheme, she heads out for her weekly supply run at Wal-Mart. The whole damn apartment smells like a Michaels, a foul-ass craft store I've been dragged to a couple times. Shit, if this insane plan gets her to quit this bullshit soap and candle business, that by itself will be reward enough. Now I'm stuck in this damn apartment for another month, minimum. Longer, actually. For a month after the restaurant is up and running. And to think, I nearly got out of here scot-free. I could be halfway to Alaska by now.

  But when she leaves, I'm still hard as fuck. And even though I'm normally in full and confident control of myself, right now I'm so damn horny I can hardly think.

  Sitting on the couch, I unbuckle my jeans and take my erect cock out of my pants. It's a nice cock and I know it. It's the kind of cock that girls just can't help complimenting whenever they see it. And having it for one night is never enough for any girl, even though that's all they ever get.

  I spit on my palm, grip my cock, and slide my hand up and down my shaft. The only fantasy in my mind is Tess, and I fucking want to feel her tight, wet pussy sliding up and down me instead of my hand. I've had it before and it's still the best I ever had.

  Right now I want her bareback. I want all her juices and wetness on me, and I want to be inside her. All the fucking way inside.

  I breathe hard, my pace quickening, and I feel myself approaching the point of no return. I keep jerking until I explode, shooting a huge fucking load of cum all over my hands and abs. I don't slow down my jerking, because it feels too damn good imagining that I'm exploding inside her.

  When I come back down to Earth, I'm breathing hard. Damn. I need to get my shit together. Since when does Hunter Thorne get himself into a situation like this—engaged to a woman he can't fuck—jacking off on her couch while she buys bubble wrap at Wal-Mart?

  She should be getting over her ex-husband, and I should be on my bike right now, heading to Alaska.

  I'm going out of my damn mind.

  "I can't believe we're actually doing this," she says, crossing Main Street next to me. "This is insane."

  "I happen to agree." We just had an appointment with Mr. Roberts, and we filled out the loan application. Now we're walking toward the Maple Ridge courthouse. To get a marriage certificate. Then we just have to fax a copy of it to the loan approval office, and wait.

  "Are you nervous?" says Tess.

  "Nervous for a fake marriage? About as nervous as for a dentist appointment."

  "Oh," says Tess, sounding disappointed. "Yeah, you're right, it's a formality, no big deal."

  We walk down Main Street in silence. I never much cared for this town, but on cool mornings like this, it's damn nice. Such a change from the sweltering fucking ball-boiling deserts of Iraq. All the little stores are opening their doors, and the antique lampposts that line the cobblestone street have just been turned off from last night. It makes me want to dip into the Sunrise Café up at the corner here, and sit on the patio eating pancakes and reading the paper. Just a nice, quiet morning like I'm going to have plenty of in Alaska.

  At the courthouse, an old-timey building with more interior wood paneling than a 1970s Buick, we take a number. There are only three people here in front of us, but with only one clerk working, we have to sit down and wait.

  One of the other folks here is Oscar. Tess and I take a seat on a wooden bench next to him.

  "What's up man?" I ask. "Didn't get a chance to catch up at the potluck the other week."

  "Man," says Oscar, "You won't believe the shit the city is hassling me about."

  "Oh?" Tess perks up.

  "Yeah," says Oscar, "Old fucking Mayor Wilkinson revoked my pawn license yesterday afternoon. Had to shut down early and try to get my ass here first thing in the morning."

  "Huh?" says Tess.

  Oscar shakes his head. "It's ridiculous. Says the police department got a couple reports of stolen tool serial numbers coming out of my shop."

  "Is that true?" I ask.

  "Hell no. Every damn serialized item I sell goes through a mandatory 30-day waiting period. As required by Tennessee state law."

  "So what's the problem?"

  "The problem is, Wilkinson is a corrupt old man who holds grudges."

  "He does?" asks Tess. I glance at her, and she looks worried. She always tends to worry like that, about things that she can't control, instead of just dealing with them if they happen.

  "Damn right," says Oscar. "This isn't the first time. It's all 'cause I had a little fender-bender with his daughter a couple years back. Even though she was at fault."

  I chuckle. "He didn't like that, huh? What a limp old fuck."

  "You're damn right about that." He pauses. "But enough about me. The hell are you two here for? He hassling you too?"

  I chuckle again. "Actually," I say, almost spilling the beans on our fake marriage before stopping myself short. "Actually, we're… tying the knot."

  Just saying those words is about as hard as deadlifting ten plates. Hope I managed to keep a straight face.

  "Aw, shit," says Oscar, "I knew it!"

  Tess laughs nervously. "Yeah, uh, the entire town had us figured out. We were, uh, keeping in touch while Hun
ter was gone. It was supposed to be a big surprise when he got back. Finally, it's happening!"

  I grind my teeth together and I'm on fucking edge. This is going to take some getting used to.

  "That's right," I say, trying to contort my face into an appropriate expression. "We're getting hitched! Finally. It's… thrilling."

  "Well, congrats, you love birds," says Oscar. Tess grabs my hand and puts it in her lap, holding her hand over mine. It feels both strangely familiar and completely foreign. It's definitely way too intimate, but I guess this is what she meant by acting. I brush my thumb over the back of her hand, just enough to sell it to Oscar, and then I stop.

  My heart pounds inside my chest and I wonder what the fuck is wrong with me. This shouldn't be having any kind of an effect on me.

  Then our number gets called, even though Oscar was here before us. He sighs. "I guess in this town, marriage is higher priority than business."

  "Sounds about right for this old hick village," I say. "Sorry to cut you in line."

  Tess and I walk up to the counter. I don't recognize the old lady working it, but she smiles wide at us.

  "Let me guess. Here to get married?"

  "That's right!" says Tess, sounding chipper.

  "Ohhh, congratulations," says the old woman, reaching over the counter to grab Tess's hand. "I just love it when this happens. There are so few young people in this town, it only happens a couple times a year! Hey Delores," she calls out toward the back room, "Come out here, we got a happy new couple!"

  Delores comes out, and we find out the old woman manning the counter is named Gracie, and then all the damn people waiting in line are smiling and buzzing over us and waiting to see us sign on the dotted line.

  I try to keep my face fixed in a permanent smiling position, and by the time we actually get the shit signed and notarized, I feel like my jaw is going to fall off my face.

  "Thank you everybody," I grunt, and I must not sound happy enough, because Tess elbows me in the side. Someone asks me about a reception. "No gifts necessary," I say, getting desperate. "We've gotta run!"

  Outside the courthouse, we're back on Main Street and Tess can't stop giggling. "The whole town is going to know about this by tomorrow."

  "Yep."

  "Oh, don't be such a grouch," says Tess, pinching my cheek and giggling. Then she stops short, and I whirl around to see what could possibly be happening now.

  "Did you get me a ring?" she exclaims.

  I groan. "Stop fucking around. Let's get back home before we get accosted by every old geezer this side of the Smokies."

  "Oh, lighten up," says Tess. "Have a little fun."

  "You're having too much fun."

  "Fine," she says, getting a little bit pouty. "I still want a ring."

  "Fine, I say, looking both ways before we cross at the light. "I'll get you a ring. Candy. Or maybe glass."

  Over the next week, things happen so fast it's a blur. The loan approval comes back in just under 48 hours, so the project is a go. We spend a few days with realtors, touring the available retail spaces in Maple Ridge. Eventually Tess sets her heart set on a little spot she calls "cute," an old, now-defunct donut shop right next to Eddie's Golden Dragon restaurant and Oscar's pawn shop. Before I even know it, we sign the lease, and I am officially a married co-owner of Maple Ridge's first-ever bagel shop.

  First-ever rainbow bagel shop, that is.

  And nobody will shut the fuck up about us. When we're walking back to her apartment after signing the lease, a random woman I've never met in my life stops us on Main Street.

  "Oh, it's the happy new couple," she says, and I just smile like I know I'm supposed to.

  She leans into Tess, and whispers loud enough for me to hear, "You bagged yourself quite a hunk of man."

  Tess blushes and I just grumble. "If only she were so lucky," I say. The woman laughs, thinking I'm making a joke.

  We're standing next to a statue of John Ruth, one of the immigrants who originally founded Maple Ridge.

  "I'd just love to get a photograph of you two kissing by the statue," says the woman.

  Tess and I look at each other, and we have an "oh-shit" moment. Don't get me wrong, I still can't stop thinking about sinking my cock into that mouth, but a kiss on the lips?

  That's more than I bargained for in this fake marriage. A whole hell of a lot more than I bargained for.

  And I'll never fucking admit it, but I'm a little concerned about what a kiss might mean. But we have no fucking choice. We have to act, and Tess knows it just the same as I do.

  "Sure," I say to the woman, clearing my throat. "Perfectly happy to do that for you."

  Tess and I pose by the status, while the woman takes her camera phone out of her purse and holds it up. "Ready?" she asks. "Say cheese and kiss!"

  I look down at Tess, and say through clenched teeth, "It's an act."

  She nods.

  I wrap my arms around her and press my lips to hers.

  Her scent floods me, and all of the sudden everything else is blocked out, and I crush my lips into her.

  She kisses me back just as hard.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  9

  Tess

  "I can't believe this is mine," I say, standing on the sidewalk. I clutch the door keys in my fist and beam like the sun. In front of me stands the retail space for a new restaurant.

  My new restaurant.

  It's such a cute little space, tucked right in between Eddie's Golden Dragon restaurant and Oscar's pawn shop. Somehow I never noticed it before, but now that it's mine, I think it's absolutely the perfect spot. And I don't know how I ever missed it.

  "It's good," says Hunter, standing next to me, "but you overpaid on the square footage, and the kitchen installation work is a complete rip-off."

  I grit my teeth. "You know, can you just let me have this? For once?"

  Things moved fast over the last week, and Hunter put a lot of work into helping, but he keeps pissing me off. Little disagreements keep blowing up into big ones, and he just has to be such a damn perfectionist on everything. He spent almost six hours cataloging every defect he could find in the interior, and in the end, it barely saved $50 a month on the $2800 rent.

  I wonder if it was a mistake to think we could work together. When he signed on to be a co-owner, I thought he was going to step back and let me take care of everything. But he's taking an active role. Too active. He's supposed to be in charge of researching industrial bagel boilers for the kitchen, but he refuses to keep me in the loop. He just tells me to "trust him."

  The most annoying part is, I feel like he's always one step ahead of me, even though this is supposed to be my project. He just doesn't know when to back off.

  No. That's actually not the worst part. The worst part is that despite all of it, I still can't stop thinking about that kiss we shared for the camera. It's been a week and neither one of us have talked about it, but I can still taste him on my tongue.

  "You know," he says, "you need someone to take a hard line. To point out the flaws, and push for tougher negotiations. That's what business is about."

  "That's one way of doing business," I say, my face turning red. "Remind me which one of us has a business degree?"

  He grins, and I can just barely stand looking at that cocky face. "Maybe there are some things you can't learn in school."

  "Maybe there's more than one way to skin the cat," I say. "Maybe friendliness and cooperation is an equally valid strategy as hard negotiations and conflict."

  He shrugs. "You think your way is better, prove it."

  Ugh. He just can't help turning everything into a competition.

  I roll my eyes at him and fix them back on the lovely store facade. He's not going to take the wind out of my sails. No matter how annoying and sexy he may be.

  "Free sample?"

  The girl hands me a small white paper cup full of divine-smelling chili and a tiny plastic spoon. I taste it and it's incredible. I want another o
ne right away.

  Free samples have always been my favorite part of shopping at Costco, and that's where Hunter and I are now. We rented a van and drove it into Springville here to pick up a bunch of supplies for the restaurant.

  "And you, sir?" The girl smiles and hands Hunter an identical cup. He grins and winks at her as he takes his chili, and a pang of self-consciousness hits me. She can't be more than 21, and everything about her is so smooth and perky. I realize that a man like Hunter could easily have a girl like this, and I can't help feeling a little jealous. Even though I'm the one married to him. Well, technically married.

  "Let's go," I grumble, pushing the cart away from the free sample table.

  We fill the cart with bulk supplies like disposables, condiments, and cleaning supplies. We even get a cash register for the store.

  In the checkout line, I cringe a little at the total. $1345.50. Even though I have a $250,000 credit line from the credit union, I know it's going to go fast. Opening a business involves even more expenses than I thought.

  I pull out my business credit card, and I'm taken aback when Hunter pushes my hand down and pulls out his own wallet. "I'll get this," he says.

  I frown. "What?"

  "You have a lot of expenses. I've got more money saved up than I'm ever gonna need. This is a gift."

  "No," I say. The cashier, a young kid who can't be more than 18, looks uncomfortable. "If I wanted a hand-out, I would've taken Meg's money."

  The people behind us in line shoot us impatient looks.

  "A one-time thing," he says, and he hands his card to the cashier. "Put it on mine." The poor cashier is practically sweating bullets. I snatch Hunter's card back out of the cashier's hand and thrust it into Hunter's chest. His very muscular, sexy chest, which looks infuriatingly delicious under that jersey knit t-shirt he's wearing. I hand my business card to the cashier.

  "Put it on this one," I say, my voice hard, and the cashier barely squeaks out a "Yes, ma'am."

  Hunter laughs, sliding his card back into his wallet and jamming it in his back pocket. He shakes his head.