Due Date_A Baby Contract Romance

by Emily Bishop

  But whoever had entered didn’t move. I felt their eyes on me, just behind the bar. A wave of fear grew up in my stomach, and I whirled around, pressing my ass against the sink. Ever since sleeping with Wesley, unprotected, I’d felt this strange urgency to protect my body. On some level, my body was an extension of this other human. Of a world that Wesley and I had created together. Potentially.

  “Wes,” I whispered, gazing across the bar. “What are you doing here?”

  Wesley gave me a half-somber smile, splaying his hands atop the bar. Although his smile was cocky and his body a force of muscle and thick black chest hair, I felt a darkness behind his eyes. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost.

  “Can’t I come by and see how you’re doing?” he asked.

  He sounded so much like he was trying to brew cockiness, arrogance in his words. But he lacked the strength for it, somehow. I held back from spreading my own hands across his. My tongue darted across my lips, suddenly hungry for his.

  “I don’t know yet, if that’s why you’re here,” I whispered, hating how fearful I sounded. So guarded. So ready for him to bolt for the door. I drew my chin higher, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

  “It’s not,” he said.

  “Oh? Then why?” I said. I sauntered toward the beer tap and poured him a frothy pint, setting it hard on the counter. I watched his strong hand wrap around it, forming thick stripes through the chill of the glass.

  Wesley swallowed sharply, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Again, a darkness fell over his eyes. He sipped the brew slowly and drew the back of his palm across his lips when he finally set the glass down. When he did speak, his voice was lower than I expected. Full of foreboding.

  “I just saw my father. At Hank’s grave,” he sighed. He fell upon the nearest stool, staring into the beer.

  In response, my heart lurched. Unable to resist this strange, maternal urge, I swept to the other side of the bar, drawing my hand across his shoulders. I felt at the tense muscles of his shoulders and massaged them, watching as the slow, even motions caused his eyes to close. His masculine features had always contrasted with these long, black eyelashes that swept down onto his cheeks. I longed to reach forward, to kiss his cheekbones. To make my way to his lips. To soothe the pain away.

  “Oh, Wes,” I sighed, knowing no other way to speak. “Running into him like that. Especially when you’ve hardly seen him in a year.

  “He demanded to know why I couldn’t love,” Wes stammered. His eyes popped open and he stared at me, almost aghast. “He demanded the very thing of me that I’ve been wondering of myself, for years.”

  Between us, a kind of truth hummed. I drew back, speculating. This baby. This world we were trying to build. Was it truly about the money, as he said? Or was it about belonging? About finding love in such desolation?

  I couldn’t be sure. And I didn’t have enough time to think. Suddenly, his lips were upon mine, hot and steamy, his tongue breaking his lips apart with a hungry thrust. I fell back against the bar, wondering at the salty tears he flicked away from his cheeks. As the minutes ticked past, his anger, his sadness, gave way to pure sensuality. I felt his chest rough against mine. His fingers burst open my shirt, hungry against my skin.

  * * *

  “You’re glowing, Remy,” he whispered, echoing what the woman at the bar had said. “You need to have this baby. It’s like you were fucking made for me.”

  With a slow, even motion, he stripped my clothes to the ground. I felt the release behind my back as he unhooked my bra, still holding my eyes with his. His lips gleamed, and his breath came in heavy gasps. I felt strangely safe, despite his hunger. Stretching back, I drew my legs around his waist, ripping his shirt from his muscled shoulders. My own fingers found the lines, the rivets in his chest, drawing little circles around his nipples. I realized, as we began to dive into one another, that I’d been fearful all week that this wouldn’t happen again. That he wouldn’t let it.

  My sweeping fingers found his belt buckle and dropped his jeans to the ground, bringing his throbbing cock between my legs. With it, my nostrils filled with the scent of his cum. I moaned slowly, guiding the tip of him between my wet pussy lips. As he entered me, his eyes held mine. But the chaos, the feeling of his cock pummeling deep within—drawing across my G-spot and making my nipples hard—cast my head back. Revealing the tender, white skin of my neck made his lips find solace against my skin. He hungrily kissed me in these soft places, his eyelashes drawing soft lines near my ears.

  We made love in the darkness of the bar, my ass pressed against the counter. Just outside the window, the Mission District barreled on till midnight and beyond—its people shuffling, drunken, blind to the magic that Wes and I created within. Our skin burned with sweat. His cock filled me, veiny and rock-hard and thick, straining against me. When we finally did come, he stared deep into my eyes, his cock throbbing wildly within me—letting go, falling into me. If we hadn’t already made a baby, I felt sure that this was it. It felt too meaningful to have no repercussions.

  In the silence that followed, Wesley lifted me into him and swept his hand through my hair. Our hearts continued to beat wildly—two adults, filled with teenage love and lust. Slowly, we returned ourselves to normal time, drawing our clothes back over our bodies with sheepish movements. I hoped, I prayed, that he wouldn’t leave me. My fingers twitched, wanting to reach out to him, to hold him close.

  But I knew I had to be stronger than that. Wesley would come and go as he pleased. And I had to respect that.

  “Want to get some sleep?” he asked me, his eyes full. “Just for tonight.”

  I nodded, lacing my fingers through his. With soft steps, I guided him down the block and into my apartment, slipping beneath the sheets and burrowing my cheek against his chest. Just one night, I echoed over and over again in my mind. I could appreciate it for all it was. For one night.

  13

  Remy

  It was three weeks later when the waves of nausea began, jolting through my stomach and causing me to nearly double over at the bar. Quintin’s eyes were heavy, watching me over the top of his beer. He grunted, drawing up from his seat and snapping his inventory notebook closed. “I can’t fucking believe it,” he said. “That asshole really did it.”

  The morning after Wesley had slept at my house, we’d spoken about it. We sat in the drenching sunlight, steaming in from the window, and said that, for the good of the contract, it was probably best that we didn’t see one another for a bit. That we allowed our hearts to grow outside the boundaries of what was happening—so that we could fuel up for our separate identities. “Rem, I know you need to work on the script. That’s your heart and soul, baby. You can’t get bogged down with me. You know I’ll disappoint you. I always disappoint you.”

  My heart had been heavy, hearing it. I’d wanted to verbalize to him that all I wanted was to care for him, to raise our baby alongside him. To sleep beside him in bed. But I’d felt myself nodding, whispering, “You’re right. All we have is a contract. We’ve signed it. It’s with the lawyer now. Love—or whatever we’re trying to do—would complicate it.”

  It was true. I needed to fight these urges. I knew they were primal, from a different time. I was a creative, an artist, a woman of the world. I had to rise above my emotions.

  “You haven’t seen him, have you?” I asked Quintin now, at the bar. Again, a wave of nausea pummeled through me. I drew my hand over my mouth.

  “You’re literally green, Rem,” Quintin sighed. He reached into the side cabinet, drawing out a bucket of antacid tablets. “Take one of these?”

  * * *

  I chuckled slightly at his lack of understanding. Tilting my head, I took the bucket of pills. “I don’t think these help, if there’s really a baby in there.”

  “Well dammit, Rem, I don’t know how to help,” Quintin sighed, collapsing at the edge of a stool. Just beyond him, a few mid-afternoon drunks gazed up at the television, watching a game show. We we
re of no worry to them. Our lives didn’t glitter like the screen. “If you just tell me what to do,” Quintin said, his voice lowering.

  “I’m going to take the test tonight,” I told him, my chin set. “And then I’ll contact him. Do you—um.” I paused, hating the hesitation in my voice. “Do you know if he’s still in town? Or did he go out traveling?”

  “Sure, I saw him a week ago,” Quintin finally muttered, tilting his head from side to side. He looked so much like a younger version of himself, trying to amble through a lie. He’d clearly attempted to keep this information from me, perhaps not wanting to worry me. Perhaps not wanting me to think that Wesley had abandoned me all over again.

  I began to speak, but Quintin interrupted me, his hands firmly planted on the bar top.

  “You can’t trust him, Rem. You know you can’t. If you’re really going to have his baby, then you have to do it for the money. Take it and run.”

  His words echoed through my brain. But immediately, I fled back toward the bathroom, collapsing over the toilet. Wave after wave of nausea punched me in the gut. But I clenched my eyes closed, my stomach already empty after a morning and afternoon without food. The money, I told myself. It was important.

  * * *

  But this potential baby? This baby brewing inside me, with Wesley’s eyes, his boyish curly dark blond hair? This baby with my sharp wit, with a life of creativity and zeal in front of him?

  It filled me with hope.

  I emerged from the bathroom minutes later, darting toward the sidewalk. On a Saturday, the streets of the Mission were brimming, wild. Girls in heels clattered in front of me, their short skirts easing along their upper thighs. At one time, I would have been jealous of their youth. Of their vitality. In the business of acting, that had been my only currency.

  But now, I had something more.

  Racing toward my apartment, I brought my phone from my pocket and splayed it against my cheek. Sam picked up on the second ring.

  “If you’re calling to ask about my date with Chad last night, I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, her voice shiny, almost too bright in my ear. “You told me over and over again that the sex wouldn’t get more exciting unless I offered my own, erm, insights. But you know what? Chad doesn’t like butt stuff. Said he wants to keep things simple. Do you think that’s a reason to get out?”

  I snickered, sweeping up the steps of my apartment building and bolting through the door. In the bathroom cabinet, I’d already organized four pregnancy tests, still stuffed in their packaging. I’d been too anxious to take a test too early, knowing it could reveal an incorrect result. It had been like waiting for Christmas. Waiting for the New Year to come.

  “I think there’s a whole lot of reasons you should never see Chad again,” I said, tearing open the bright pink box and gazing down at the sterile-looking stick.

  * * *

  “I mean, he makes more money than I’ll ever see in my life.” Sam sighed. “And it’s not like I’m going to get any more commercial work, Rem. I have to think of my future. And how many cruises I want to go on. You know I love a good cruise.”

  “Sam, listen,” I said, tearing a knife through her strange dating banter. “What if I told you I might have made a huge and wonderful mistake?”

  “I’m… intrigued,” Sam said, her voice darkening. “You didn’t get bangs, did you?”

  “Just get over here,” I said, pacing back and forth in front of the bathroom door. The toilet awaited, a bright orb beneath the sunlight, streaming in from the window. “I need you here, OK? As soon as you can.”

  Sam arrived within fifteen minutes, anxious, her cheeks scrunched up in a curious smile. She bolted through the door and threw her arms around my thin shoulders, her red curls quaking. But as she held onto me, I slipped the still-bright-white pregnancy test into the air between us, shaking it. Immediately, her smile faltered.

  “What the hell?” she asked, her voice quivering. “What the hell happened to ‘always use protection’? We swore we’d be safe. That we wouldn’t have any surprises,” she said.

  I clicked the door closed behind her, pressing my arms tight against my chest. Sam collapsed against the wall, swimming a finger through her curls. “Who’s the guy?”

  “Before I say anything,” I began, “Just promise you won’t lose your cool. OK?”

  “My cool?” Sam asked. Her eyes seemed electric, the whites showing on all sides. “Jesus, Rem. Who did you fuck?”

  * * *

  I pressed my lips together, waiting. As seconds ticked along, Sam’s face scrunched tighter. We’d known each other so long, she felt the information swirling in the air. “That bastard.”

  “No. It’s not like that,” I said.

  “He knocked you up and now he left town, didn’t he?” Sam demanded. “Jesus, Rem. I thought you had a better head on your shoulders now. We’re not eighteen years old, for god’s sake. What about your script? What about getting back on your feet after Tyler—”

  “He’s paying me,” I stammered. “To have his baby. To extend his father’s line. And honestly…” I felt a wave of emotion fill my stomach, my heart. I couldn’t suppress a smile. “Sam, I’ve wanted to have Wesley’s babies since I was a teenager. This could be my last shot at motherhood.”

  “Your last shot? You’re really thinking of motherhood this way? Like some kind of—of acting gig?” Sam demanded, smacking her fists on both sides of her waist.

  “I don’t even know for sure yet. Let me just—Let me just find out. I didn’t want to be alone.”

  My eyes drew back toward the waiting bathroom. With slumping shoulders, I swept across the room, closing the door with a click. Outside, Sam continued to rattle on about my irresponsibility. About “not bringing another Wesley Adams into this godforsaken world.” But I crouched over the toilet, my eyes pressed closed so tightly I saw bright orange and pink and yellow spots.

  After peeing, I clicked the test closed and placed it on the sink, linking my fingers together. Outside, I could feel Sam on the other side of the door, finally silent. Her shadow shifted back and forth just beneath the doorframe. Despite her anger, her confusion buzzing through the air, I still felt her partnership. Love was a confusing, at times volatile, thing. She just wanted the best for me.

  After just a minute, the two lines were sure: bright pink jolts against the white. Immediately, tears streamed down my cheeks. Reality smacked me in the face, and yet I felt open to it, welcoming it. I imagined telling Wesley the news. Would he wrap his arms around me and hold me against him, the vessel through which he’d bring a baby into this world? Would he understand just how intimate this was?

  As much as we told one another it wasn’t intimate. As much as we told one another that this was “just a contract.”

  It couldn’t just be that. Could it?

  But it had to be.

  Sam rapped her fist on the door, clearing her throat. But instead of sounding like an angry mother, her voice was meek, questioning.

  “You know now, don’t you?”

  Instead of answering, I opened the door. Sam’s thin arms cranked around me, on cue, holding me against her. I shivered, pressing my cheek against her shoulder. It felt so much like those days back in Los Angeles, when one of us either did or didn’t nab a big acting gig. When we either felt the grandness of the world opening up for us, or felt the brunt of the door being closed in our faces.

  I swiped my fingers over my cheeks and gave her a half-smile. “I have to tell him,” I said. “And I don’t want to do it over the phone.”

  * * *

  “You know where that asshole is, you mean?” she asked, her voice heavy with a sigh. “Seems like it’s hard to pin him down.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure he’s still here,” I whispered. I took quick, rabbit steps toward the door, slipping my feet into sandals. “Quintin saw him a week ago. I think he’s been hiding out. Waiting for this.”

  “And you really don’t think he’s just wherever
he is, sleeping with whatever girl comes his way?” Sam asked, her eyes rolling back. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, babe, but this guy. You know you can’t trust him.”

  “Sam?” I said, my voice clear. I held my hand against the doorknob, poised to crank through. “I love you. I really do.” I swallowed sharply, feeling the weight of my Adam’s apple. Every second that pulsed before me felt so sure, filled with love. This baby. This human. He actually existed. “But you can’t possibly understand what this means to me.”

  “Maybe I do,” Sam whispered. “Maybe that’s why I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  I gave her a small smile. As I slid through the crack in the door, I called back to her, my voice muffled. Still, tears flecked my cheeks. “I know that, Sam. But everything’s about to open up for me now. I’ll have this baby. I’ll make my film.” With a jolt, I spun back toward her, my eyes swimming. “And I think I know who I want to make the lead.”

  “Don’t do this,” Sam sighed. “Don’t promise me the lead in your movie, just because you want to get me off your back.”

  “If you aren’t careful, I’ll make you the godmother as well,” I teased, unable to constrain my wild, brimming smile. I felt I was crawling from my skin with happiness, that the sunlight had opened up, almost angelic, onto my shoulders.

  * * *

  “Now, wish me luck. I have to go tell this baby daddy he’s stuck with me, according to the paperwork we signed and sealed together.”

  “As if that would keep him around” were the finally words Sam tossed toward me as I raced toward my crooked red car, scraped up against the curb.

  I couldn’t listen to her fear, despite its wisdom. I had to churn forward, to grab at whatever life thrust at me. I had to choose this path. Because before—when I’d been part of a “team,” sleeping beside Tyler against our thousand thread count sheets in the ritzy area of Los Angeles—I’d felt more alone than ever. With Wesley’s baby, I was something more. I was a mother. A woman who’d been chosen to create life.