Two Wingmen and a Baby: A Wingmen Short (Wingmen Short Stories #3)

by Daisy Prescott

  Contents

  Blurb

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Other books by Daisy

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Hold onto your ovaries because this short features John, Tom Cat, and sweet Baby Day.

  Two alpha men can take care of a baby without anything crazy happening, right?

  TWO WINGMEN

  AND A BABY

  A WINGMEN SHORT

  DAISY PRESCOTT

  Copyright © Daisy Prescott 2016, All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Fiona Fischer

  Front Cover Photo: ©Wavebreakmedia/Depositphotos.com

  Proofreading: Marla Esposito at Proofing with Style

  Also by Daisy Prescott

  Modern Love Stories:

  We Were Here (prequel to Geoducks)

  Geoducks Are for Lovers

  Missionary Position

  Happily Ever Now (coming Winter 2017)

  Next to You

  A sports Rom-Com standalone

  Wingmen:

  Ready to Fall

  Confessions of a Reformed Tom Cat

  Wingmen

  (a boxed set of Ready to Fall & Confessions of a Reformed Tom Cat)

  Anything but Love

  Better Love (coming Fall 2016)

  Short Stories:

  Take Two (Maggie and Gil)

  Take the Cake and Run (John and Diane)

  Take for Granted (Jo and Ben)

  Take it Easy (Tom and Hailey plus John and Diane)

  Give and Take (a crossover between Modern Love Stories and Wingmen)

  Two Wingmen and a Baby (John with Tom and Hailey)

  Bewitched

  A magical Halloween novelette set in Salem, Massachusetts

  Spellbound

  A magical continuation of Bewitched

  Chapter One

  The sound of screaming slaps me as soon as I open my truck’s door in front of John’s beach cabin.

  I jump down and tense my legs. My blood begins to race as adrenaline fires. Fight or flight kicks in. I listen, trying to determine the source and which direction I should run.

  The sound shifts and becomes wailing. Very loud wailing.

  No one is getting murdered or attacked. No one is dying.

  Someone is crying.

  It’s the baby.

  From inside the house.

  Wow, she’s got some impressive lungs.

  I should’ve brought ear plugs. For me and John.

  Opening the front door, I brace myself as the volume increases tenfold. I’m cradling a six pack of beer on top of one of Dan’s pizza boxes. Both nearly crash to the ground when I reach the kitchen.

  A few feet away in the living room, Baby Day is squawking her little lungs out. Crying Baby Day isn’t anything new, so that’s not what makes me almost drop my beer and pizza.

  Baby Day, aka Alene, is currently sitting inside Babe’s dog crate.

  Basically she’s in a baby kennel.

  Not that there is such a thing as a kennel for babies. That’s probably frowned upon by parents.

  I’m pretty sure in a pinch you could use a dog kennel.

  Not that anyone would. Except John, evidently.

  All this is passing through my head while I quickly set down the goods and stride across the large room to rescue the baby from the baby trap.

  Okay, so I might be exaggerating.

  I know. Go figure.

  It’s not like she’s locked in a metal cage. The crate is more like a rectangular tent. Not unlike a portable play pen. I can see how from a baby’s perspective they’re the same thing.

  I scoop up Alene under her arms and she screams in my face.

  She’s not the first woman to do it.

  Her little fist flails and thumps my cheek.

  Not the first girl to slap me either.

  In fact, she’s the second woman today to be mad at me—who I know about. There could be more. With a fiancée, three sisters, a mom, and a grandmother, it’s highly likely one of them is upset with me on any given day. It’s a gift and a curse.

  Hailey and I got into a stupid argument this morning. She brought up the wedding and I suggested eloping to avoid “the monkey suit circus.”

  Sure, in hindsight I can see where I went off the rails with such a comment. Unless you’re certain your bride to be wants a circus themed wedding, never bring monkeys into any conversations about her special day.

  Hindsight sucks compared to knowing when to keep my mouth shut. Something I’m still working on. Gotta learn to crawl before walking, wisdom and all. I love Hailey more than anything in the world. She’s my life. Doesn’t stop me from saying stupid things.

  Speaking of crawling …

  As self-punishment, I’m now holding a crying baby. Not really. I’m not a masochist.

  John invited me over to keep him company this afternoon. “Company” is guy code for back-up reinforcements. In our younger days, that would’ve meant being his wingman to pick up women.

  Now it’s something entirely different, although there are still women involved. One miniature woman in particular, who is still crying in my face.

  “Hey now, Baby Day. It’s me. Tom.” I point to my face. “We’re buddies. Remember?”

  From truck to baby holding has taken about two minutes. Uncle Tom to the rescue!

  She hiccups and her crying dies down. Her whole head is red in anger.

  It’s easy to see all of her head because she’s completely bald. Even at six months. Shouldn’t babies have hair by now? Diane swears there’s peach fuzz, but you have to be in the right light to see it. As a blond, I look like a little old bald man in most of my baby and little kid pictures. Maybe Alene will take after me.

  Wait, I’m not saying there’s any reason she would. For the record, Diane shot me down way before I could fully unleash the Tom Cat charms on her.

  “Where’s your dad? Huh?” I shift Alene’s solid weight so she’s sitting on my arm. Tears still run down her cheeks but she’s stopped shrieking like a banshee. Her little, fat hand grips the front of my flannel shirt. I pull the fabric away from my chest to protect my chest chairs. I don’t have much, but that phrase about having someone by the short hairs has a whole new meaning when it’s a freakishly strong baby hand doing the pulling.

  Our girl has a grip on her. I’ve learned that one from too many painful experiences. She can also kick her ham-legs hard enough to make a grown man see stars. Trust me. I speak from firsthand knowledge.

  “Daddy’s coming!” John rushes into the room. The button on his jeans is undone and he’s holding a folded newspaper.

  “I bet that’s what you tell Diane all the time.” I tuck my chin close to Alene’s head and whisper, “Your daddy is a pervert.”

  “Thomas Clifford Donnely, don’t be telling my daughter that kind of thing.” John bellows and storms over to reclaim his daughter.

  I step away and shield the baby from him. “Don’t interrupt us. We were having a nice moment after I rescued her from Babe’
s crate.”

  “The crate?” He falters and stops. “She was in the crate again? Diane’s going to kill me.”

  “What were you doing? You can’t leave a baby unattended.” I scold him like I don’t know what he was doing in the bathroom with a newspaper. Sometimes my best friend is an old man.

  “I didn’t leave her unattended. Babe was with her.”

  I scope out the room for John’s yellow lab. A tail thumps the floor from behind the couch near the door to the deck. “You left the dog in charge?”

  He rubs his neck. “I had to go to the bathroom. I had the door open. Everything was fine. I could hear her chattering away like she does. I was almost done with my business when she started fussing. I couldn’t exactly get up in the middle of it.”

  “Your fly is still down.” I gesture around his middle. “Why didn’t you take her in there with you? You could have laid a towel in the tub and put her down in there.”

  He zips up and goes to the sink to wash his hands. “I don’t know. Something feels wrong about having her in there with me. Plus, she was happily playing in her baby fun zone when I stepped away. How did she even get over to the crate?”

  We both look between Alene and the distance from her fun zone to the crate. It’s at least five feet away.

  “Are you crawling?” I ask the baby. She blinks at me, a few tears still stuck in her lashes. She smiles at me, but doesn’t give up her secrets. Typical woman.

  “She rolls over and also scoots like she’s doing the Worm. I guess it’s possible.”

  “Your days of pooping alone are over for now, my friend.” I slap John on the back with my free hand.

  Alene reaches out for her dad and I reluctantly hand her over. She grins at him and immediately goes for his beard.

  I laugh at John’s grimace when she pulls too hard. “Guess all chicks are unable to resist the power of the beard.”

  He frowns and holds her away from his body. “Speaking of pooping.”

  A distinct odor hits me. “Maybe it’s just gas?”

  We both watch Alene’s face. I don’t know about John, but I’m holding my breath too. Her little forehead crinkles and the loudest fart noise escapes her diaper. She giggles.

  Both Babe and I jump in surprise. Babe’s got a “don’t blame me” look in his eyes. He paws at the door to go outside.

  I’m happy to let him out and let John take over. “Good plan. Let’s escape while we can.”

  Babe runs out the door, shoving his dog shoulders through the narrow gap before I can even open it fully. He bounds down the deck steps and onto the beach. His tail sticks up above the tall grass before he disappears.

  John holds Alene above his head and sniffs her butt. When he lowers her, she grunts. He lifts her and she giggles. Lower. Grunt. Raise. Giggle.

  A smile spreads across my face. Who can resist baby giggles?

  Not this guy.

  “Does she need to be changed?” I’m still holding the door handle and have one foot resting on the threshold.

  “I can’t tell. Maybe.” He sniffs again.

  My laughing begins at a chuckle before it escalates to full blown belly laughs.

  “What’s so funny?” Both John’s and Alene’s eyes are focused on me. I swear she lifts her eyebrow exactly like her dad. This makes me laugh harder. I’m halfway out the door and trip over my own feet. Sprawling on the deck, my laughter subsides. Babe runs over to me and licks my face. I swat him away and he flops down on the decking next to my head, presenting his belly for a rub.

  John and Alene stand in the door above me. I cup my hand over my eyes to see them in the bright sunshine.

  Yep, she definitely has her dad’s eyebrow arch. His dark eyes, too. Thankfully she takes after her mother’s beauty. No beard, no mustache.

  The thought brings back my laughter. When I can breathe again, I answer him. “A couple of years ago you were chasing girls butts, not sniffing them.”

  He tilts his head to the side. Baby Day mirrors him. It’s a little uncanny, to be honest.

  “Well, two years ago you weren’t making out with a dog and giving each other mutual belly rubs.”

  Babe’s paw is resting on my bare skin that’s exposed between my shirt and my jeans.

  I get my feet under myself and jump up. “I’ve seen you let him lick you on the lips, so you’re not one to talk.”

  When I stand, Alene extends her arms toward me.

  “Same with you and Nameless.” John hands her to me. “You ever going to pick a name for your puppy?”

  “Nameless is a name. He answers to it.”

  “He bite you lately?”

  I rub my arm in memory. “No, the puppy bitey phase seems to have passed. He growled at me from my side of the bed the other night. Hailey thought it was cute and joked I should just sleep on the couch.”

  John snorts. “How’d that go over?”

  “The puppy spent the night in his crate. Downstairs.” Damn dog. “He’s more her dog than mine. Follows her everywhere and lies at her feet in worship.”

  Hailey gave him to me for Christmas. She said he was better than a fish, which had been my idea.

  The dog ruined my big proposal plans.

  Let’s not re-live that night again.

  What counts is that it all turned out just fine in the end. Hence the monkey and circus comment getting me in trouble this morning.

  Still haven’t set a date or really planned anything.

  Baby steps.

  No pun intended.

  Another impressive sound escapes Alene’s diaper.

  “I’m ninety-percent certain that wasn’t a simple fart.” I hold her out in front of me. She kicks her feet and squirms.

  “We have a house rule. Whoever is holding her or is closer when she needs changing, wins.”

  “Wins? Wins what?”

  John backs away. “You’re it!”

  “You aren’t seriously going to make me change a diaper?” I try to give the baby back to him. He runs away. Like a little girl.

  No offense, Alene.

  He flings a diaper bag out the door. It lands at my feet. “You have more experience than I do. All those Donnely nieces and nephews running around the island. At some point your sisters probably made you change a diaper.”

  “Have you met my sisters? They make me sit at the kids’ table.” I made a face at Alene and she smiled, happy as a piglet in shit. “You want me to change her out here in the open?”

  “Better than unleashing the kraken inside the house.” He closes the door and gestures for me to get on with it.

  “The kraken?” I ask, staring at Alene.

  John’s voice is slightly muted by the glass. “That’s what we call it after one memorable explosion.”

  I shudder.

  Eyeing Alene, I roll back my shoulders. I can do this. I’ve changed maybe five diapers in my life. How bad can it be?

  Chapter Two

  I gag.

  For the third time.

  “What are you feeding this baby?”

  I have the diaper changing pad-blanket-tarp spread out on the deck. Alene lies in the middle of it. Her baby jumpsuit is open and pushed out of the way of whatever toxic sludge is making my eyes water.

  John opens the door and leans against the jamb. Smartly supervising from a safe distance. “Breast milk and a little rice cereal.”

  “Okay, then you need to seriously change Diane’s diet.” I’d hold my nose but I need both hands free. Instead I try breathing through my mouth like I do when I gut fish.

  If I’m being honest, gutting fish is a lot less disgusting than what this innocent baby has in her diaper.

  I’ll skip the details, but it takes a lot of wipes to deal with the bio-hazard. Alene laughs and tries to hold her feet the entire time.

  I gag again. “You should’ve named her Helena.”

  John glares. “I know you think Helena Day is hysterical, but puns don’t make good names.”

  “I mean
t after your aunt.” No I didn’t. “Come on. Hell in a Day is an awesome baby name. She could grow up to be a superhero or in a roller derby with that name.”

  “She can pick her own derby name.” He says this without even questioning Alene doing roller derby. If she ends up with his giant height and Hulk shoulders, she could be a derby queen someday.

  I wrestle a clean diaper on Alene as she squirms. The past couple of minutes have felt like trying to catch Nameless as he runs around the house with one of my shoes. I’m exhausted and I might be sweating. I wipe my brow with the back of my hand that hasn’t been cleaning up fluids.

  “Does she always poop this much?” The dirty diaper must weigh at least two pounds.

  John laughs, but doesn’t move to help. “It’s good practice for you.”

  “Practice for what? Dealing with shit?” I snicker. “I mean actual shit, you know.”

  “I figure now that you have a dog, that’s probably already true.” He nods at the tiny human currently playing with her own toes. “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “No way. Not happening any time soon. We’re taking care of that.”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  I blink up at him before deflecting. “You grow a vagina? Cause you sure are sounding like one of Hailey’s girlfriends right now.”

  Alene must think this is a terrible idea because she begins fussing. I quickly snap her jumpsuit closed and pick her up.

  “Don’t worry. I was kidding about your dad.” I raise my voice into a falsetto. “He’d make the ugliest woman ever. Wouldn’t he? Yes, he would.”

  I’m rewarded with a drooly grin. I continue smiling at her and doing my best Mrs. Doubtfire impression. “Who’s a lucky girl she looks exactly like her beautiful mommy?”

  She makes a happy chirping sound right before she head butts me. I bite my tongue. Pain shoots through my mouth and a string of expletives follow.