by Vivien Vale
“Hmmm. I don’t know about that.” Katheryn grins before taking a sip of her iced coffee.
“Watch it, Kath,” Jenna murmurs.
Katheryn nods with the straw still in her mouth, not letting up until well after she loudly slurps up the last few drops.
“Uh-huh.” With a self-satisfied smile, Katheryn leans happily back into her seat and pats her belly.
“What, you think little Hunter enjoys that?” Jenna asks accusingly.
“First of all,” Katheryn snipes back, “Hunter might be Chantelle. We’ll all have to see the cake before we know that.”
“Well, excuuuse me then.” Jenna rolls her eyes.
Unfortunately, while she looks ready to move past it, there’s no stopping Katheryn when she gets started. “Hold on, Steve Martin, I’m not finished...”
“Uhm, what kind of reference is that?” Sarah interjects, raising her eyebrows. Of course she doesn’t let Kath hog all the attention for long. “How old are you? Should you even be having a baby?”
“Hey, it was Jenna’s reference,” complains Katheryn.
“No, it wasn’t,” Jenna says quietly, giving me a quick, sly Don’t you just love our cousins? smile.
“I’m two years younger than you!” Kath is pointing, and her voice is taking over the whole tea shop. “And besides, I’m allowed up to two hundred milligrams of caffeine a day, and you bet your ass I’m gonna enjoy it.”
“Hope you and Joseph are setting up a Starbucks Fund for little Hunter-or-Chantelle. Kid’s gonna come out addicted!” Satisfied with her sass, Sarah lifts a humongous buttercream-frosted cupcake to her mouth and destroys half of it with a single chomp.
The little exchange all but forgotten at the sight of the cupcake, Katheryn asks, “Hey, are you making Marcos go to that cupcake ATM on the East Side?”
“Oh, hell yeah.” Sarah’s talking with a mouth full of cupcake, looking at the remainder of her treat with insatiable greed. “They’ve got fuckin’ whoopie pies there, too, now.”
“No shit,” Jenna remarks, eyes bulging.
“Yeah!” Sarah downs a gulp of chai latte, readying for her next bite. “I kicked Marcos’ ass out of bed at two a.m. last night to go get me one.”
“Just one?” Kath questions with a knowing smile. I notice she has a buttered scone on her plate.
“Well…he always gets extra.” Sarah’s ecstatically conquering the last of her cupcake without a care in the goddamn world.
“Oof.” Katheryn drops her scone and lifts herself halfway out of her seat. “My damn phone’s vibrating. I’m not used to keeping it in my pocket.” She reaches into her floral print stretch pants.
Wait, what?
Really, that’s what she’s wearing?
What the hell? This is a woman known to spend hours agonizing over which necklace to wear to a casual brunch, and here she is, out in public, and she just looks so...
Comfortable. And carefree. Like her pregnancy actually unburdened her of a lot of needless bullshit and stress while she focuses on what’s really important.
“Ugh, it’s just Joseph again, asking if I want or need anything.” Kath rolls her eyes.
“Want or need?” I ask.
“Yeah, he always specifies both, the old sap. Oh, look, he volunteered to hit up the cupcake ATM, too.”
“You’re making him go, right?” Sarah demands.
“I don’t know, I can’t go too crazy with the refined sugar. Maybe just some pickles, and bacon…and salt and vinegar kettle chips...”
“And lemons!” Sarah screams, prompting me to laugh loudly.
It takes a couple seconds for me to notice my cousins are not laughing with me, and they’re looking at me like I’ve gone batty.
“Lemons?” I ask incredulously to no one in particular. “Since when are you into lemons?”
“Ooh, good call, Sar.” Katheryn’s now typing the shopping list into her phone, ignoring me. “And maybe some dark chocolate with chili powder—not too much sugar in that…and…sent.”
Kath sits back down gracefully, knowing her husband is already on his way to fulfill her list of demands.
“Excuse me, ladies.” The tall waiter materializes from behind me, carrying a large plate. “These are compliments of the management, and I’d like to personally congratulate all of you on your three new bundles of joy.”
All of you.
What am I, invisible?
The tall waiter reaches over me to plunk a plate of chocolate-chocolate chip cookies on the table.
Okay, he’s forgiven.
“Why, thank you,” Jenna says gracefully.
“I’m sure you’ll all make wonderful mothers.” With that, the tall waiter recedes into the background. Katheryn and Sarah can barely hold in their laughter until he’s out of earshot.
“He’s so serious,” squawks Sarah.
“He’s always like that,” Katheryn discloses in a hushed, gossipy tone.
“I thought it was sweet.” My interruption causes my cousins to look at me.
“You just get used to hearing it after a while, Rose,” Jenna offers, shrugging.
Huh. Maybe that’s true. Maybe it gets tiring to hear people congratulate you and compliment you for months on end. I wouldn’t know.
One thing’s for sure, though: I would never get tired of walking around in stretch pants all damn day.
I mean, shit, nobody judges my cousins for it. They’re all wearing fucking stretch pants.
God, that sounds nice.
I can’t be too jealous, though. In any case, the tall waiter’s right―they’ll make wonderful mothers. In Jenna’s case, she’s already a wonderful mother to her son Jayden.
Would I make a wonderful mother? I wonder.
What’s stopping me again?
Oh, right. That whole significant other thing.
“I want a baby.”
My eyes go wide with surprise when I hear the words, even though it’s me saying them. It’s a thought that just came out, all on its own.
I’m not used to my three cousins, all of them my BFFs, silent and staring at me.
The stunned silence stretches out for what feels like forever, but I don’t retract my statement.
As my cousins stare at me, looks of delight dawning on each of their faces―I realize how much I really do want a baby.
The sound that comes next is like a chirpy, manic Greek chorus, with Jenna, Katheryn, and Sarah all shouting in unison.
“OH MY GOD!”
That exultant screech is followed my cousins excitedly trying to talk over each other. After a few seconds, they calm down just enough to yell fragments of advice at me semi-coherently.
Figuring that I might actually learn something from them, who all have at least some experience with pregnancy, I hurriedly dig out a pen and a small notepad I always carry with me.
“Hold on, let me try to get this all down.” This silences the three for a second, and I find a fresh page and ready my pen at the top line. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“We can totally find you someone,” Jenna bellows.
“Uh, not really something I can write down, but, thanks?”
“The guy that cleans our pool—Jack.” I see a familiar, dreamy look in Katheryn’s eyes. “I could hook you up with him. He’s hot!”
“Ten inches,” Sarah says pointedly.
“What?” Okay, this is getting crazy. Are they actually giving me pointers on that?
“Whoever it is, make sure he’s well-hung.” Sarah points at my notepad. “Write this down: he must have a ten-inch dick, at least.”
Oh, well. I do as she says, scribbling frantically, unwilling to incite the wrath of a pregnant woman.
“And he must be six feet―no, cross that out―over six feet tall,” Katheryn adds.
“If you’re going to have a baby, you’re going to need money―lots of it,” Katheryn pipes up while I’m still scrawling down the height requirements. “Whoever it is, make sure he’s loaded with tons�
�and I mean tons of cash. Don’t settle for anything less.”
“And he better be sexy as hell, don’t forget that,” Katheryn adds excitedly.
“Oh, and with a really nice apartment,” states Jenna.
I compile the list as my cousins dictate requirements, drawing empty checkboxes next to each item.
Well…this is totally unconventional advice about having a baby. I mean I wasn’t exactly thinking along the lines of how…tall my sperm donor should be, but now that I’m getting their advice…it doesn’t sound half bad.
Having a baby with someone who can tick off each of these checkboxes is sounding like a very nice idea indeed.
I don’t know who that could be, or if he even exists, but as the list grows, I’m getting more and more eager to find out.
Chapter 3
Daniel
I can’t fucking tear my eyes away as the sexy girl over the next table bids farewell to her friends. They’re like clucking hens or some shit―loud, friendly, and full of excited chatter.
I smile to myself as the place quiets down somewhat, following the departure of two of them. The noise fades significantly after that whirlwind of fun I’ve been listening in on for the last half hour.
A sudden urge hits me to use any excuse I can find to flirt with the girl. She’s too goddamn cute, and I need to meet her. I overheard her friends say that her name is Rose, which is quite the fitting name, if you ask me.
One of her cousins is still there, helping her clean up and talking animatedly with an almost electric buzz.
I study Rose as she moves around the table, skirting to the other side to pick up the bill.
There’s my chance.
I fucking take it, ready to swoop in and make contact with her for the first time. Make a fucking impression. Engage her in a charming way that’s totally my style, diving right fucking in.
Letting a charismatic, sexy smile settle on my face, I flash her my perfect pearly whites.
“Excuse me, miss?” I stare right at her, unleashing the full force of my trademark charm.
She turns to face me, blushes, and then glances at her last remaining friend. The friend shakes her head and shrugs, as if to let her know that she has no fucking clue why I’m talking to her.
Then she turns back to face me. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, in fact, you can. Do you mind if I steal the sugar off your table for a second? I promise I’ll give it right back.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. That’s fine with me.” She smiles and waves a hand dismissively, as if to let me know it’s no trouble. “We’re done with it anyway. Most of our party has left, and we’re just finishing up.”
“Lucky me,” I say with a wink.
Her boisterous friend laughs as she watches the interaction. Her cackles practically fucking bellow through the small tea shop.
“Oooooh, honey,” she says and dances around in a circle, her rounded pregnant belly leading the way. “We’ll give you all the sugar you want.”
Rose blushes and covers her face with her hands like she’s trying to physically shield herself from the embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” she mouths to me in a whisper and shakes her head, walking away to pay the tab at the bar.
I just grin wider and chuckle, taking it all in stride. If I’m gonna be bold and daring enough to put myself out there and break the ice, surely I’ve got the balls to allow myself to become the brunt of some playful flirting.
Especially when there’s a hot girl involved.
I do have to confess that I have a bit of an ulterior motive for distracting the hot girl, though: I want to swipe that little list she made, the one about what she looks for in a guy and how she wants to find one to father a baby for her.
Because let’s be real―it’s a pretty fucking crazy idea, right?
But what can I say? She’s piqued my curiosity. I need to see that list.
Grabbing the list is a crazy idea, too, I know, and I’ll probably get caught, but the risk is part of the fun, after all.
As soon as she has her back turned to me, I grab the sugar and pick up the list in one smooth move, subtly placing it in my pocket while the remaining girl goes to retrieve her purse off the backs of the seats.
I watch as she struts over to Rose and says goodbye. They’re too far away from me now, over by the bar, so I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I stand back and watch as they say goodbye and hug.
The girl waves to Rose and then winks as she passes me again. I lift my hand in a small wave, watching her walk out onto the bustling, always busy New York City streets to hail a taxi.
I spin back around, directing my attention to Rose as she talks with the bartender as she pays the bill.
I have to respect a woman who’s willing to go so far to foot an entire bill like that for her friends. I like how she kept her cool under pressure from them, too.
I quickly give the list an once-over, laughing at the boxes I can check off so fucking easily, and then I shove it back in my pocket.
A few seconds later, Rose appears again, but she’s seemingly forgotten all about the sexy stranger: the dream hunk sitting right across from her at the next table. Huh.
She begins shuffling things around on the table, packing up and tidying some of the dishes to stack neatly on top of each other.
I wonder if she’s been in the restaurant business before because of the way she’s deliberately trying to make the serving staff’s lives a little bit easier. Or maybe she’s just nice?
She fumbles around, and almost instantly, she looks panicked. Her cheeks flush red as she picks up items randomly and places them back on the table.
“Looking for this?” I pitch my voice low, sauntering closer to her. I pull out her beloved little list and wave it in front of her.
Her face flashes with horror, and she turns as white as a sheet.
“Give that back,” she orders. “Now.”
I merely grin and size her up. I want to keep playing the game. Playing with Rose.
She reaches over to grab it from my hands, but I’m too quick for her. I swat her away playfully and keep the list out of her reach.
With amusement, I run through the list again in my head while laughing…and then I debate whether I should read through the rather unusual criteria out loud or not.
I mull it over for a second or two, then decide for my new acquaintance’s benefit that I’ll just keep the requirements listed here to myself. It is, after all, a fine dining establishment.
I glance down at the paper again and grin devilishly as an idea pops into my head. I give her a saucy wink as she continues to stare at me in horror, as if she wishes there were some way for her to melt to the floor.
I pull a fountain pen out of the breast pocket of my jacket and click it on, my eyes never leaving hers.
“Um…what are you doing?” Rose fake-laughs with obvious anxiety and apprehension.
I glance at the list then back up at her. “I’m helping you out, of course.”
What else would a gentleman do?
I look at the first item on the list.
Must have thick cock…like, ten inches at least.
I smile oh-so-slowly at Rose, knowing I look as fucking charming as ever, before writing down a check mark with a dramatic flourish.
Rose places her head in her hands, covering her eyes, and groans. “Oh god, this isn’t happening to me.”
I peer down at the next item up for debate.
Must have fat stacks of cash.
Done and done…I check that one off the list and wink at her.
I deliberately power through the rest of them, making sure to be as ridiculously over-the-top sexy as possible—whether to make her laugh or to make her swoon, I don’t know—although I think for now, she’s simply humiliated. Perhaps when she has time to reflect on the situation alone at home later, she’ll come around.
Must be over six feet tall…check.
Must have a really nice apartment�
�check.
Must be sexy as hell…well, I don’t mean to brag but…check.
Each time I check an item off her list, I make sure to give her an enthusiastic grin, as if there’s nothing more important to me in the entire world right now than fulfilling the items on her wish list.
“Are you finished yet?”
She puts on a brave front, but her cheeks give her away with a flush of embarrassment. I’m totally fucking getting to her.
“Not quite,” I tell her as another fresh idea comes to me. “Very close, though,” I say teasingly.
“Well, good, because now I need to begin planning my funeral for next week,” Rose mutters.
Ah, so she has a sense of humor about this after all. I like it. A whole fucking lot.
“Oh, come on,” I retort. “I think your list is very reasonable. Practical, even. This day and age, you need to make sure you get what you want before you seal a deal.”
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Whatever. It’s not like I’m buying a couch.” She attempts to play it nonchalantly, but she’s too fucking adorable to pull it off.
Ignoring her, I jot down my name and phone number in my neatest handwriting at the end of the list.
Standing up, I finally relent, much to her relief, and hand her back the beloved piece of paper. “Call me if you ever want to talk more or make any negotiations.”
She stares up at me blankly. “Huh?”
I point to my name and number and she blushes again.
“Oh…okay…” She trails off and continues to stare at the paper.
I throw some cash on the table to pay my bill and walk out, back to the loud streets outside. I can’t help but smile as I climb into the waiting town car.
At the very least, I’ve extended a mode of direct communication―a lifeline that won’t exactly guarantee that I’ll ever see her again, but that gives me hopes she’ll take up my offer and give me a call.
At the most…well.
The truth is, it’s not like I really need a heir―but at the same time, it’s not a bad idea to keep my options open, either.
Much as I hate to admit that my mother is right, I’d rather have a child to raise as my own heir to the company than pass the torch begrudgingly to one of my wild siblings—no way will Prada or Fendi or Chanel take care of the family fortune like they should.
