Puck Me Baby

by Lili Valente

  “Listen…” I step closer, keeping my voice low in case the bum passed out across a line of pink chairs a few feet away is secretly a sports reporter looking for a scoop on one of the Badgers’ star players. “I realize this is a shock, but I want you to know that I don’t expect anything from you. At all. I mean, if you want to be a part of the baby’s life, that’s great. But if you don’t, that’s okay, too. I’ve already decided that I’m fine with going forward alone, so—”

  “Seriously?” His eyes flash with anger, making it clear I haven’t seen anything close to his scariest expression. “You expect me to turn my back on this baby? To walk away and pretend my kid doesn’t exist?”

  I blink fast. “Well, no, of course not, I just thought I—”

  “You thought wrong,” he cuts in. “I’m not that kind of man. I’m going to be a part of this child’s life every step of the way. From day fucking one.”

  “Okay. Good. Great,” I say, my own temper flaring. “But considering we met exactly once, and I was wasted at the time, you’ll have to forgive me for not being a perfect judge of your character.”

  “Are you saying I took advantage of you?” he asks, scowl deepening.

  “No!” My cheeks flush hot. “I’m saying we barely know each other.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head, lips tight with disapproval. “You still should have told me you were pregnant. I had a right to know.”

  “I tried to tell you!” I lift my hands in surrender, fingers spread wide, no longer caring if we’re making a scene. I feel guilty enough for getting accidentally knocked up by a stranger without the stranger in question heaping another soggy helping of shame onto my plate. “But I didn’t know your full name, I didn’t have your phone number, and I couldn’t find your house, okay? I swear, I drove around looking for that stupid nesting doll mailbox all over this stupid city, but I couldn’t—”

  “Some kids stole it,” he says, his brow unfurrowing the slightest bit. “I mean, I assume it was kids. Teenagers. I can’t imagine an adult stealing a mailbox.”

  “Oh, I can,” I say with a huff. “I’m a nurse. I’ve seen the things adults do to themselves before they come running to the hospital to beg a doctor to undo it. The objects I’ve helped remove from blocked anal cavities alone would shake your faith in humanity.”

  “My faith in humanity isn’t strong to begin with.”

  “That’s probably smart.” I nod for a little too long. “I mean, better to be pleasantly surprised than continually disappointed.”

  “I’ve always thought so.” Alexi’s mouth softens, drawing my attention back to his lips—those full, beautifully curved lips that, if my drunken memories are to be believed, are capable of delivering kisses so intense they literally made me weak in the knees.

  A fragment from our night together—me, confessing that he’d kissed the cartilage out of my legs, and him laughing as he scooped me up to carry me to bed, where he kissed the rest of me into a puddle of boneless, breathless, multi-orgasmic bliss—dances through my head, making my heart skip a beat.

  “I remembered that you were a nurse,” he says, a flicker behind his eyes making me wonder if he’s remembering other things about me, too. Things I may have screamed to the ceiling as he made me come, for example, or done with my tongue as I returned the oral favor with an enthusiasm I hadn’t realized I possessed until I was in bed with a man as generous and gentle as he was drop-dead sexy.

  Stop thinking about sex! Right now!

  I bite my lip, shaking my head as I study the scuffed tile. “I confess I don’t remember much about that night. I mean, I remember you were very thoughtful…” My cheeks catch fire as I hurry to clarify, “It was nice of you to have my car brought to your house so I could drive home in the morning. Super nice. So, that was good, and um…” My breath rushes out as my eyes slide closed. “I’m sorry. I’m not making any sense.”

  “Yes, you are,” he says softly. “And I’m sorry I lost my temper. This has been an unexpectedly stressful night.”

  I glance up with an I-feel-your-pain arch of my brows. “Tell me about it.”

  “Right. Of course.” He frowns again, but this time he looks more depressed than angry, a fact that sends sadness rushing through me.

  Why couldn’t we have done this the right way? If we had, we could both be as happy about Baby as parents are supposed to be about welcoming a new life into the world. But instead, we’re stressed. And sad. And for the first time since the day I learned I was expecting, I want to cry.

  I take a deep breath, but the aching, sinking feeling remains.

  The strained silence stretches on—during which I assume he’s mourning the end of his easy, stress-free existence, and I’m regretting stepping into that dance club with a fervor matched only by my regret for drinking that third margarita—until he clears his throat and motions toward the exit. “Let me take you home? I went back to the arena to get my truck while you were getting checked out.”

  “It’s nice of you to offer, but I can call a car.” I cross my arms as a woman carrying a little girl with flushed cheeks hurries through the ER’s automatic doors, sending a gust of cool autumn air through the waiting room. A moment later, a man clutching a diaper bag hurries into the hospital behind her, clearly worried for his wife and daughter, making my heart squeeze painfully in my chest. “Really. It’s not a big deal. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

  Alexi makes a cough-growl sound it takes me a moment to realize is a laugh.

  When I do, I nod and sigh. “Point taken.”

  “I wasn’t trying to make a point.” He shakes his head as he runs a hand through his hair. “I just want you to know I’m here, okay? To help. With the pregnancy and the baby and everything else. You’re not alone in this anymore.”

  And just like that, the lump in my throat becomes a fist, and tears surge into my eyes. Before I can even attempt to control myself, I’m sobbing like a baby, shoulders heaving, tears streaming as I mop my face with the backs of my hands and search for a tissue in my purse at the same time.

  “I’m sorry.” Alexi rests a gentle hand on my back that makes me cry even harder.

  “Oh my God, you’re so nice,” I sob, abandoning my search for Kleenex. “You’re so nice, and I’m so sorry.”

  Making soothing, shushing sounds beneath his breath, Alexi guides me out the door into the night, away from the prying eyes of the adorable, normal family at the checkin desk and the bum waking up from his nap with a burp so loud I can feel it reverberate through my chest.

  “There’s no reason to be sorry.” Alexi rubs his hand up and down my back as he guides me, blubbering, across the parking lot.

  “Y-yes, there is.” My breath hitches as I struggle to suck in oxygen between sobs. “I must have missed a p-pill or something. I swear, I thought I was covered for birth control, but I guess I—”

  “We used protection.” He stops beside a vaguely familiar white truck and turns to face me, adding in a softer voice, “Every time. I made sure of it.”

  I sniff hard, tears subsiding in the wake of this surprising news. “We did?”

  He nods, holding my gaze as he says, “Trust me, I’m not the kind to take chances. And to my knowledge, none of the condoms broke.”

  My cheeks heat again, proving I’m not even close to ready for this conversation. You would think a woman mature enough to have a wild, passionate, one-night stand would also be adult enough to discuss the consequences of that one-night stand without blushing like it’s her job, but in my case, you would be wrong.

  My tongue slips out to wet my lips as I ask in a tiny voice, “Then how on Earth did this happen?”

  “I don’t know.” He brushes my badly-in-need-of-a-trim bangs from my forehead. “We just got lucky, I guess.”

  Now it’s my turn to huff-snort in laughter. It’s not a pretty sound, but it makes Alexi smile, which makes me smile, too. As scary as he is when he’s glaring out at the world with his stormy
eyes, he’s equally lovely when he smiles.

  So very lovely…

  As we stand smiling in the cool light of the streetlamp from the next row of cars over, I suddenly remember why I went home with this man after an hour of dancing and however long we chatted at the bar. I remember why he was my first one-night stand—ever—and why I felt absolutely no fear when he picked me up in his arms and carried me to his bed.

  His smile is irresistible. So irresistible that when he leans in, bringing his lips closer to mine, a foolish part of me hopes that he’s going to kiss me. Sure, kissing will make this crazy situation even crazier, but I’m dying to know if his kisses are as knee-weakening as my margarita-blurred memories assure me they are.

  But instead of kissing me—because that would be insane, and I’m clearly the only person who’s out of her mind around here—he reaches for the passenger’s door to the truck. “No more apologies. Okay?”

  “All right. No more apologies,” I agree. He opens the door, and I start to climb in, but stop with my foot on the step rail, realizing that there’s a very important question he has neglected to ask. “It’s yours, though. I promise.” I look up at him, heart tha-thumping hard in my chest as our eyes meet. “I hadn’t been with anyone else for months before that night with you, and I haven’t been with anyone else since, so…”

  “I know it’s mine.”

  I shake my head, struggling to ignore the electricity charging the air. “How?”

  “The look on your face in the ambulance when you realized I was there,” he says. “You must be a terrible poker player.”

  “Awful,” I confirm, pulse fluttering. “But that’s okay. I’m not much of a gambler.”

  “Me, either,” he says softly. “When I can help it.” And then he turns away, circling to the driver’s side, leaving me to scramble into the passenger’s seat and wonder what I said wrong.

  Though, I guess it doesn’t really matter.

  I don’t have to learn how to please Alexi Petrov, how to make him laugh or smile or lift him up when he’s feeling down. We’re going to be partners in parenting, not partners in life, and the sooner I get that into my stupid, hormone-addled brain, the better.

  I buckle in and fold my hands in my lap, determined to keep things purely friendly until I get home, where I can crawl into bed and sleep off the insanity.

  We’re quiet on the way to my apartment, apart from my murmured directions and a brief conversation in which we exchange phone numbers, Alexi assures me my car will be fine parked overnight at the arena, and I confirm that I’ll have time to talk more tomorrow. Alexi steers through the nearly abandoned streets in my definitely not up-and-coming part of the city without comment, past the church where a group of homeless men are huddled on the steps, sharing a bottle wrapped in a paper bag, and into the potholed parking lot of my no-frills apartment building. He escorts me around a woman with a zippo lighter who’s smoking something in a glass pipe as she gathers bottles and cans from the recycling bin near the stairs—multitasking: it’s not just for sober people anymore!—and waits patiently as I punch in the security pad combination, the one that never works until I jab it in at least three or four times.

  I’m starting to think my less-than-desirable living situation maybe isn’t as bad as I’ve feared—or that Alexi is simply too polite to comment on the squalor-and-danger features of my new neighborhood—when he turns to me in the elevator and says flatly, “You realize you’re living in one of the worst parts of the city.”

  “Oh, well…I didn’t know it was one of the worst. Knew it wasn’t great.” I laugh as I pull my keys from my purse and lead the way down the dimly lit hall to my door. “But it’s cheap. And cheap is good. At least until I find another full-time position. I’m doing temp work for a pediatrician’s office right now, but the woman I’m filling in for will be back in a few weeks. I’m not sure how steady work will be after that. I’m guessing employers won’t be in a hurry to hire someone who’s going on maternity leave in a few months, so keeping overhead low seems like the best call.”

  With a noncommittal grunt, Alexi stops beside me at my shabby front door with the black scuff marks along the bottom and the crooked 56 tacked above the peephole. His big hands stay tucked into the pockets of his jeans as he watches me turn my key and step inside.

  “So, talking tomorrow…is there a time that’s better for you?” I drop my purse on the entry table but don’t reach over to hit the lights, not wanting him to see how bare my apartment still is. I sold almost everything I owned before I left Eugene—wanting a fresh start free of anything that reminded me of the years I spent with lying, cheating, secretly-married Arnold—and I haven’t had the time, or the funds, to buy new things just yet.

  “I have the day off. Any time is good,” he says, a grim set to his mouth. “Call me when you’re ready, and I’ll come pick you up. If you feel up to it, we can go get your car after we talk, though I assume you realize how dangerous a dizzy spell could be if it happened while you were driving.”

  I nod. “I do. They usually happen when I’m standing up or walking too fast, but I’m extra careful when I’m driving. Just in case. I always call a car or ask a friend for a ride if I’m not sure I’m okay to drive.”

  “Good. Now you can call me, too,” he says. “Anytime. Even if I’m at work or out of town, I can always find someone to come get you.”

  I nod again, both warmed and strangely saddened by the offer.

  But maybe it’s not so strange to regret that this considerate and seemingly rather awesome person and I couldn’t have met again under different circumstances. “Thank you,” I say softly. “Truly. I appreciate how wonderful you’re being.”

  “No thanks needed.” His shoulders hunch as he steps away from the open door, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment. “See you tomorrow. Sleep well.”

  “You, too.” He turns to leave, and I close the door, a wave of restlessness rushing through me as soon as I slide the deadbolt into place.

  On the drive over, I couldn’t wait to crawl into bed and pass out, but now that I’m alone I can tell sleep isn’t coming anytime soon. I’m exhausted by the emotional rollercoaster of this evening, but I’m also wired.

  I found Sexy Stranger. I finally found him—or he found me—and he’s taking the news that we’re going to be parents far better than I ever expected.

  Almost too well, the pessimistic inner voice offers as I brush my teeth and change into pajamas. Wonder how long the sweet, supportive act is going to last?

  I wrinkle my nose at my reflection.

  This is what I hate most about the way things ended with Arnold. I hate that the everything-will-work-out voice in my head has become so jaded and cynical. But finding out your boyfriend is a married man with children by two different women—one of whom was an affair, just like you—tends to put a person off the Pollyanna routine.

  Arnold wasn’t just a manipulative jerk who toyed with my emotions for years. He was a liar who had me completely fooled. I never for a single second suspected that he was keeping secrets, let alone that every word, every deed, every “business trip” to Arizona was a lie to conceal his secret life and secret wife.

  He messed with my head. I admit it.

  I swore to Diana that I was going to get back on the dating horse as soon as I finished licking my wounds. But I honestly don’t know how long it would have taken for me to work up the gumption to get involved with someone again after realizing the man I’d loved, trusted, and slept next to for years was a con artist.

  “Now you’ll never have to find out.” I flick off the light with a sigh and crawl into bed.

  Yes, I know that single mothers do date, and many go on to marry and have lovely families, but I can’t imagine dating right now. It’s not even on my radar. I’m so focused on getting my life in order before the baby comes that until tonight I’d assumed my sex-drive had gone into hibernation until sometime postpartum.

  Like when my daughter turn
s three or four. Or when she starts kindergarten. I hear childcare for school-aged kids is significantly less expensive than for babies, so I might be able to stop working overtime to pay for it by then.

  Though if Alexi is serious about being there for his daughter, things might not be as dire as I’ve been anticipating. He’s certainly not strapped for cash, and between the two of us, we should be able to make childcare work. Heck, we might even arrange to swap custody every other weekend, giving us both time and opportunity to date.

  I roll over, curling into a ball on my side and squeezing my eyes shut. Just the thought of the dating game makes me queasy.

  I don’t want to date. I don’t even want to think about dating. Relationships are scary, and my sketchy neighborhood, unpredictable body, and the bottle-rattling and cussing emanating from the building’s communal courtyard are all the scary I need right now, thank you very much.

  Though sex might be nice…

  At least I’d know I wasn’t going to accidentally get pregnant.

  “No.” I pull my pillow over my head, smashing it into my stupid face. “You’re knocked up. Sex is not on the menu for you, preggers.”

  Especially not with the broad-shouldered, stormy-eyed sex god flitting around in my head, tempting me to slip my hand between my legs and indulge in a little memory-fueled fantasy. I can’t remember everything about that night with Alexi, but I can remember enough…

  I remember his kiss and his big hands cupping my breasts and the way his features twisted with pained pleasure as he pushed inside me for the first time, sliding deep, deeper, until there was nothing but him. Nothing but this man who made me realize why people say sex is a drug. The way he made me feel—high and free, beautiful and powerful, and so desperately, breathlessly desired—was enough to hook me in one shot. The moment we finished, I wanted to go again.