One Flight Stand: A Bad Boy's Baby Romance

by Kim Linwood

  The hallway outside my door is surprisingly deserted. Hopefully Franco is around to go to the store with me, because otherwise I’m stuck with Montana, and he’s the last person I want to see. There’s only so much awkward I can handle right now.

  I slip through the kitchen, giving our housekeeper Millie a smile. She starts to say something, but I put a finger to my lips and she nods, throwing me a wink. The keys to Dad’s Alfa Romeo sit on the counter, and I can see it through the windows, parked by the guest house.

  Can I actually make it out on my own?

  “I will not take another day of this.” My mother’s angry voice is just around the corner. Someone—probably Dad—answers quietly. “No! I told you—” A door shuts, cutting off their conversation.

  I grab the keys and run.

  Just as my hand touches the car door handle, a discreet cough sounds from behind me. “Going somewhere?”

  I hang my head holding out the keys towards Montana’s voice. “Apparently not.”

  He plucks them from my fingers. “Dying people shouldn’t drive anyway.”

  “Not even if it was my final wish?” I turn around, giving him an artificially hopeful grin.

  Not buying it, he stares me down until I sigh and slump against the driver’s side door. I knew the coast had been way too clear. Expecting things to go my way this week is like asking for trouble.

  “You know, if you need to go out, you could’ve just asked.”

  “I shouldn’t have to ask to leave my own house.”

  Montana runs his hand over his short beard. I can see it in his eyes that he thinks he knows what I’m going through, but right now I don’t need his sympathy. He might already have given me more than I can handle.

  “Alright, get in.” He gives me a shove and opens the door.

  “Really? You’re going to let me go?”

  “Well, unless you’re smuggling a suitcase under your clothes somewhere, you don’t look like you’re planning a long trip. What do you want? A burger? Coffee?”

  “Ugh.” My stomach threatens to flip at the thought of a burger and coffee. “No, I was just going to run to the store. Gimme the keys.”

  “Not happening.” His fist closes around the keychain and he motions around the car.

  “Afraid I’m going to change my mind and head to Canada?”

  He doesn’t budge. “You want to stand here and argue, or get in the car?”

  “Fine.” I hustle around to the passenger side and slide in as he takes the driver’s seat and starts the car.

  “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but there’s a waiting period on guns in Illinois.”

  “I’m not—” I glare when I see his teasing smirk. “It’s girl stuff, okay? Is that detailed enough for you?”

  “Ah,” The engine roars as he guns the car out of our drive. “Drug store good enough?”

  “Yeah, and you don’t have to come in with me.” There’s no way I can get what I need if he’s following on my heels.

  “I’m not sure you understand how this bodyguard thing works. If I’m not near your body, I can’t guard it. And trust me, being near you is no hardship. Besides, no need to be embarrassed. I know how girls work.”

  I roll my eyes. That’s what got us into this whole mess. “Ever occur to you that it might bother me?”

  He pulls the car onto the main drag and reaches into his pocket. “Text your father. I don’t feel like dealing with the fallout of another citywide manhunt.”

  “Dear Daddy, Send help, the Caporossis have me.”

  “Don’t fuck with me, princess,” he growls.

  “Relax. I’m not stupid.” I hit send. “I just told them we’re going to Vegas to elope.”

  We pull into Walgreens and he yanks the wheel so hard we practically drift into the parking spot. I give a little shriek and grab the oh-shit handle.

  When my heart settles down enough to speak, I shoot him a nasty look. “A little less fast and furious, speedy.”

  “You make it really hard to be professional. You know that?” Montana reaches over the gearshift and grabs my wrist before I can open my door.

  “I didn’t know we were going for professional. Could’ve fooled me,” I snap, knowing it’s bitchy but my emotions are running hot and he’s the only one I have around to vent it on. Besides, he’s half the reason I’m freaking out, so he kinda deserves it even if he doesn’t know it.

  He pins me with a dark look. The interior of the car shrinks by the second. “Do you see me kissing that smart mouth?”

  “No,” I whisper, immediately wishing he was.

  “Are you sitting pretty in your own seat instead of grinding on my lap like I want?” His eyes go from hot to smoldering as my tongue slips out to moisten my suddenly dry lips. “You like that idea. Don’t you?”

  For a second I consider it. A really long second.

  “That’s what I thought.” He pulls back quickly, grabbing the keys from the ignition. “So yeah, this is me being professional.”

  I follow him into the store, planning murder. Once inside, I head straight to the tampons, and glare at him until he rolls his eyes and grumbles something about grabbing a drink.

  Not even looking, I grab a few packs big enough to hide my other items, and then practically rip three different pregnancy tests off their hooks. I have no idea what I’m looking for, but anything proclaiming itself fast or accurate has to be good, right?

  Standing in the aisle of a Walgreens, surrounded by the world going on as if nothing at all unusual is happening, it’s all I can do not to scream. The sheer insanity of my life comes crashing down and freezes me in place.

  At least until Montana sneaks up and scares the crap out of me. He eyes the pile of tampons in my basket. “Going to be a long week?” I panic and grab the first thing I can find. More tampons. “Two weeks?”

  More like nine months, Daddy.

  No, I can’t let myself think that yet until I know for sure. “It’s a very good discount.”

  “Mmhm.” He’s not even paying attention, too busy checking out the hundred different varieties of condoms. Stupid, useless condoms.

  “Slim? Pass. Cherry?” He looks at me curiously.

  “What?”

  “How do you feel about cherry?”

  “I feel like you’re being very optimistic right now.”

  “That’s not a no.” He grabs a pack and goes to throw it in my basket but I swing it out of the way fast and make a beeline for the front of the store. “Separate tabs, gotcha,” he calls to my back.

  There are two registers open, with a few people in line at each. Montana emerges from his condom quest with about six packets—make that stupidly optimistic—and a half-finished bottle of Coke. He gets into the line next to mine.

  I stare straight ahead. “Let’s just pay up and get out of here, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  We stand there practically next to each other in silence as the soft rock remix Drunk in Love never needed pipes from the speakers. I shuffle forward. A few seconds later, he does too.

  “Not exactly the Indy-500. Wanna race?”

  I smother a laugh. If I wasn’t feeling like jumping out of my own skin, I might actually find his attempts at being playful fun.

  He moves forwards again before I do. “I’m winning,” he mouths.

  Would he still feel that way if he knew the lottery we’re about to play?

  18

  Andrea

  Two fuzzy pink lines.

  One.

  Two.

  Again.

  I slap my third test down next to the first two, whacking my fingers on the marble countertop in the process.

  How did this happen? Well, aside from the obvious.

  Montana.

  There hasn’t been anyone else since our time on the plane, and before that it’d been ages, thanks to an ever vigilant Franco.

  Stupid.

  Useless.

  Condoms.

  I’m a
finance major. I know low odds doesn’t mean no odds, but come on, really? I go a little wild once, just once, and it had to be with Virility von Super-Stud?

  Judging by the dark blue bags under my eyes, you’d think I’d been out on a weeklong bender. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in days, and a glance in the mirror is all it takes to prove it. My sexy memory of flying the friendly skies has turned into one of the biggest screw-ups of my life.

  Sinking down onto the toilet seat, I drop my head in my hands.

  I’m pregnant.

  With Montana’s baby.

  Our families are going to love this. As I sit here in shock, the reality of my choice starts to sink in. I could have a baby, or I could… not.

  I slide a hand over my still-flat stomach, raising goosebumps at what’s already forming inside. What does being pregnant feel like? Right now, I’m just empty and queasy, but the chances of three different positive tests on top of everything else? No denying it.

  Somewhere in there is a small bundle of rapidly dividing cells.

  My little bundle of rapidly dividing cells.

  Whether it’s low blood sugar, latent maternal instinct or just plain desperation, I can’t help shaking the feeling that Team Andrea just went from one player to two. “We’re in this together, baby,” I whisper, the words strange on my lips.

  But I can’t do it alone.

  If I don’t talk to someone that actually talks back, I’m going to explode. I sweep the tests into the trash and rush into my bedroom to double check that the door is locked before picking up my phone.

  Pacing the space between my door and my dressing table, I listen impatiently to my cell phone as it rings and rings on the other end.

  “ ‘Ello?” Evie’s groggy voice is the sweetest music I’ve ever heard.

  “It’s not even midnight over there. Did you turn into an old lady as soon as I left?”

  “Andie, love!” She perks up right away. “You know me, just loading the battery before we hit the pubs and paint the town puce.”

  “You mean puke,” I tease.

  “Nah, I never mean puke. It’s just an occasional side effect.”

  My stomach twists. Ugh, talking about puking was a bad idea. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Sure. Just waiting on Rog to come ‘round and you know him. Could be an hour, could be next week.”

  “I’m pregnant.” And incredibly bad at breaking things slowly. The line goes so quiet that I’m not sure we’re still connected. “Evie?”

  “Hold on, I must still be asleep, because I know you didn’t just say—”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR BLOODY YANK MIND?”

  I wince. “Now tell me what you really think.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, pretty sure,” I say softly, sitting on the end of my couch.

  “Okay, first things first. Who, when and where?”

  In the background, there’s the familiar sound of a chair dragging across our cheap linoleum floor. Just hearing her voice—even if it’s mostly to yell at me—already makes me feel better. She sounds like home, and I know she cares about me. Which is more than I can say for most of the people around me at the moment.

  Even Montana, who probably wants to care quite a bit, but whose situation is nearly as screwed up as mine.

  And then the words tumble out of me. “There was this guy I met in the airport when I was on my way back to England, but you have to promise to keep your mouth shut. You can’t tell a soul.” I love the girl to death, but she’s a hopeless gossip. “I mean it.”

  “I can keep my trap shut when I have to.”

  “Jeremy’s surprise party? Cate’s infection? This is serious.”

  “Give me a little credit, Andie. If you think you’re the first girl in the flat who’s been in this situation, you’re wrong.”

  “You’ve—”

  “Mine was just a scare, love,” she says, voice full of compassion. “If this is the real deal, I’ll be there to hold your hand through whatever you decide to do.”

  “I know.” And I do. It’s why I called her.

  And then I catch her up.

  The line goes quiet again, so I nudge her. “So?” Grabbing a pillow, I hug it close.

  “Give me a minute. I’m still letting it sink in that Ms. It-Needs-To-Mean-Something shagged some random bloke in the first class loo. You… you had a one flight stand!” She laughs at her own joke.

  I don’t have the heart to tell her that I’d already thought of that pun a month ago. “He wasn’t completely random.”

  Evie snorts. “I don’t mean mathematically, dearie. Could you measure the length of time you knew him in minutes without a calculator?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Did you know his last name?”

  “Not exactly.” In retrospect, that might’ve solved a lot of problems.

  “Then it counts as a random fuck. Blimey. Did you get his number? Do you know anything about him? This guy doesn’t know, does he?”

  “I didn’t at the time, but we’ve sorta… reconnected.”

  “Oh, thank Christ for small miracles.” She sucks in an excited breath. “Unless he’s an arsewipe.”

  “He’s not.”

  “Wait, how did you reconnect?”

  “Short version? He’s my bodyguard.”

  She pauses. “Right, I think I’m going to have to ask for the long version.”

  “I can’t really tell you everything, but my family is a little more complicated than I’ve led you to believe.” The urge to spill my life story wars with twenty-two years of conditioning to keep everything quiet. “We’re sort of… locally famous.”

  “Needs a bodyguard famous? Is your da a movie star?”

  “Not exactly. Maybe infamous would be a better word.”

  “Oh, a politician?”

  I burst out laughing at the idea of my father, the public servant. “Closer, but we’re on the other side of the law.”

  She gasps. “Breaking Bad, The Sopranos or Sons of Anarchy?” Evie’s love of gossip is second only to her love of books and American TV drama.

  “Um… the second one.”

  “Get out.”

  “I mean it, Evie, you can’t breathe a word of this.” Even just talking about it makes me glance around my room like someone is going to hop out and yank away my phone. “I got called home on family business and they want me to marry some guy I’ve met like, four times in my life. And two of those were in the last couple days.”

  “But… you’re preggers.”

  “They don’t know yet. I’ve only known for about a half an hour.”

  “Andie, love. You’re arse end up the middle of shit creek and the paddle is headed right for you.”

  I pull the phone away from my ear and glare at it for a second before answering. “You’re supposed to be helping.”

  “I’d’ve helped you buy a bloody condom! This might be over my head.”

  “We used one! And you know what’s worse?”

  “I honestly don’t even know how you can top what you’ve already told me.”

  “My bodyguard-slash-baby daddy is my future fiancé’s half-brother.”

  Evie laughs so hard she squeaks. “Oh, you really had me going there. So when are you coming back?”

  At least one of us is amused. “I’m serious.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “Forget shit creek, you’re in the middle of a tsunami sized fuck-nado.” In my mind’s eye, Evie’s face is screwed up in concentration, as she summarizes. “Okay, let me see if I’ve got this. You’re an undercover mafia heiress, who’s been freezing her tits off in a shit flat in Durham for the last couple years, but you had to fly home to emergency marry some bloke because—I don’t know, important mafia reasons—except you accidentally got yourself knocked up by his brother who is now your bodyguard.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Don�
�t take this the wrong way, Andie, but that is gold right there. You aren’t going to let anyone write this but me.”

  “Excuse me?” Is she serious? “This is my life, not one of your trashy books.”

  “I know. That’s what makes it so amazing. I can be there by… four thirty tomorrow. Does that work for you?”

  “Wait, what?”

  “You didn’t think I’d leave you to face this alone, did you?”

  “But your exams are coming up.” Please come. Please don’t listen to me and do something sensible like stay as far away as you can.

  “It’s just papers at this point and I can do that from anywhere. All Dr. Taylor will know is that it’s a family emergency. Andie, love,” Evie’s voice goes soft, “We might not be sisters by blood, but you’re my girl, right? No way am I letting you do this alone.”

  “Thank you.” There’s no way words can tell her how much her friendship means to me, but I think she knows.

  “No need for that, just name the squirt after me and we’ll call it even. Oh—”

  I laugh, and it feels good. Life really will go on. “What?”

  “This bodyguard daddy. On a scale of one to ten, how hot is he?”

  “Evie. I had sex with him in a bathroom. One to ten doesn’t even cover it.”

  She sighs like it’s the most romantic thing she’s ever heard. “You’ll probably make beautiful babies.”

  “You’re crazy.” I rub my palm over my stomach. “Text me when you have your arrival info.”

  “Will do.”

  Beautiful babies.

  Holy shit.

  19

  Andrea

  “Doctor Alston.” I hold the line while the receptionist looks up my information.

  “And this was for a pregnancy confirmation? Are you experiencing any pain or discomfort?”

  “No. I mean, I’ve been tired and feeling off, but nothing else.”

  “Okay, that shouldn’t take long, so you’re in luck. We had a cancellation right after lunch. Is one o’clock too short notice for you?”

  “That’ll be great, thank you.”