Unexpected Daddies

by Lively, R. S.

  “I mean, a bar ain’t a place for a baby, but maybe we can take that back room and set it up for her while ye working, if it helps. She’ll be safe.” I scratch the side of my head, wondering if those words really just came from my mouth.

  “I don’t know. It would be too loud and rowdy. I appreciate it, though. Does this mean I’m fired?”

  Like I’d be able to fire a man with a baby that was left on his doorstep. “No. Ye aren’t fired.”

  He leans his elbows on his knees. “Thank you so much.”

  “I’d like to meet the wee lass, though. What’s her name?”

  “Emma Lynn,” he beams, puffing out his chest with pride.

  I nod my head, matching his smile with mine. “That’s a pretty name. Bring her by sometime. I want to talk to the lady that keeps making my barkeep late. Give her a piece of my mind.”

  “Alright. I can do that.”

  “Alright, so I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I’m going to give you a raise. You’re going to be more responsible for the bar. Can you handle that? There are going to be changes around here. I’m going to get a cook, and there will be food, so it’s possible there will be more people, too. And I’ll hire a waitress.”

  “A raise? Really? But I’m late… All the time.”

  “For a good reason. I like ye, Brock. You’ll figure it out. I can’t imagine what it’s like having a wee one. I’m sure it’s an adjustment.”

  He takes off his hat, running his hands through his hair. “Yeah, it’s hard, but it’s worth it. She is amazing. I don’t know what I’d do if her mom ever returned and demanded I give her back.”

  “Do ye know her name? Maybe you can put a restraining order or something against her.”

  “No. I can’t do that. Emma's her kid, too. It depends on how she goes about it but considering she up and left me with Emma without a word, I don’t have much hope that she’ll try to take Emma away from me.”

  “Ye aren’t alone, Brock. Remember that. If you ever need anything, come to me, okay? I’ll do what I can to help ye. I’m also going to be… Uh… Shutting the place down for a few weeks. You’ll still get paid, but I’m going to be renovating.”

  His eyes bug out. “What? Really? But part of the charm of this place is how—”

  “Shite it is?” I interrupt.

  Brock barks out a laugh that turns into a snort. “Yeah. Lucky would say the same thing.”

  “Well, I don’t like how much it resembles a dive bar. I want to fix it up.” I’ll just use all the damn money my grandpa gave me. Hopefully no one questions it.

  “Alright. It’ll be a paid vacation, though, right? I have a little girl to look after, Reilly. I can’t be missing work.” His legs bounce as he wipes the sweat from his forehead.

  The thud of the front door slamming interrupts our conversation. I stand up, and Brock follows suit. “How about you go get the bar ready. I’ll deal with whoever just came in. And yes, paid. Don’t worry about money. I got your back.”

  He nods, but I see his shoulders settle a little, like a weight had been lifted off of them. “Alright.”

  We both walk out of the office and head to the front of the bar, at which point I stop dead in my tracks. Gwen is standing in the middle of the bar with her friend Camilla. Her friend is loud, and everything else that Gwen isn’t, which I guess is why they get along so well.

  “Hi, Gwen. Camilla,” I say, nodding at them and wiping my hands on my jeans. I wasn’t expecting this. “This is a surprise. How can I help ye ladies?” I ask without taking my eyes off of Gwen.

  She’s wearing a green tank top that reveals the tops of her breasts, making my tongue twitch and want to lick her olive skin. The dark red skinny jeans hug her hips, showing the curve that my hands melded to last night. Goddamn, she looks beautiful. Her hair flows down her shoulders in soft waves, and her big blue eyes stare at me with an intense heat. She wants me.

  And damn, that feels fucking good.

  Her hips sway as she strolls forward. I can’t take my eyes off her. They’re swaying to their own beat. She doesn’t even need any music. I could watch her all day. All night. Forever, really.

  “I was wondering if you were hiring,” Gwen explains. “I know Lucky usually kept a low-staffed bar, but I’ve looked all over the town and no one is hiring. Now I remember one of the reasons why I left,” she chuckles sadly, crossing her arms over her torso, as if she’s unsure about herself.

  “What were the other reasons?” I ask, taking a step forward.

  She clears her throat, stealing a glance at her friend before looking back at me. “So, are you hiring?”

  Avoidance. How interesting.

  “Perfect timing, actually. I’m hiring a cook soon, so I’ll need the extra help. Can ye bartend?” I ask, picking up a chair and putting it on top of the table.

  “Well, no.” She circles around me while I prepare the place for a sweep.

  “Can ye waitress?”

  She sighs in defeat. “No.”

  I lean against a booth, crossing my arms over my chest. I don’t miss the way her eyes roam over my biceps, taking note of each detail in all of my tattoos. I flex, making them seem bigger than they really are. “I don’t have time to train ye, Gwen.”

  She hurries around the table to stand in front of me. “I’m a fast learner, Reilly. Come on. Please. I need this. I’ll work any and all shifts. I’ll even cover anyone that needs to call out of a shift.”

  “There’s only Brock.”

  “I’ll cover for Brock whenever he needs me to.”

  “Really? Because Brock has something that might keep him away, so don’t say that unless you mean it.”

  “I swear. Any time, any day,” she begs. I can hear the desperation in her voice.

  Like I could ever say no to her. She had the job the moment she asked. “Alright. Be here Friday at six. Brock will teach ye a few of the main drinks that we sell the most. It’s mostly pouring beer, but every now and then, ye get a Jack and Coke, and maybe something fancier, if you’re lucky enough. Ye might know those drinks. Since ye lived in the city.”

  “Are you teasing me?”

  I toss my head back and laugh. “Ye kidding? You’re going to help the bar with all that city knowledge.”

  Her hands go to her hips. “Are ‘ye’ making fun of me?” she asks, mocking my accent.

  “I wasn’t, but if ye going to make fun of me, I don’t know if I have a place for ye here.” I click my tongue, lifting another chair.

  “Like you don’t know,” Camilla chips in, shaking her head.

  “Know what?” I ask, grabbing the broom from the closet.

  “Mills,” Gwen warns.

  “Like you don’t know her knees shake every time your accent falls off your lips. She turns to freaking goo,” Camilla comments. She stares at her nails like she’s bored out of her mind. “It’s annoying to hear about it after all these years.”

  “Mills!”

  “What? I’m just saying what he already knows.”

  “Is that, right?” I ask, staring at Gwen. I bite my bottom lip and let my eyes roam her voluptuous body. She acts peeved, but her blush gives her away every time.

  “Please. Like all women don’t drop their panties around you every time you speak.”

  A glass shatters behind the bar. I glance over at Brock, who just stands there, staring at us. He doesn’t say anything at all. He just drops to the ground and disappears behind the bar. The shards of glass clank against each other as he cleans up the mess.

  “I don’t know about all that, but there’s only one pair of panties that concerns me.”

  She does that thing with her eyes that tells me she’s in a daze. She stares at my shirt without blinking. I’ve seen her do that over the years, but I never knew what she was thinking. But it always intrigued me because it’s such an odd thing to witness. I love it, though. It’s a quirk, and I doubt anyone else notices it.

  Gwen swallows, bringing her eyes up to
meet mine. I start sweeping, and the bristles of the broom rub against the hardwood floor, scratching the worn and warped flooring.

  “Wear a green T-shirt and a pair of jeans. The uniform is pretty informal. I don’t give a shite. Hair has to be up, though. You know, health code stuff.” I have no complaints, though. I always want to see the flawless back of her neck.

  The brightest smile spreads across her face, lighting up the room. She throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” Gwen exclaims.

  She leans back, giving me a big kiss on the mouth. I’m shocked, but I don’t have a chance to return the gesture because she pulls back immediately and places her hand over her mouth. Her eyes are wide, like she’s just realized what she’s done. “Oh.”

  My cock starts to bulge. I want to take her in my office, throw her over my desk, rip the material of her shirt, and suck on her pink nipples. Are they pink? They could be a light brown for all I know, but I do know that I want to find out. I clear my throat, shifting my weight to my other foot.

  “Oh, this will be interesting. There will be work sex, for sure,” Camilla cracks, grabbing a dart and throwing it against the board.

  Bullseye.

  “Impressive.”

  “I know.” She turns around and heads toward the door. “Come on, lover girl. We have a house to hunt for.” Camilla opens the door, letting it shut on its own behind her. I look back toward the bar and Brock is still on the ground, leaving us alone—somewhat.

  “I’ll see you Friday at six.” Probably before then too, I think to myself.

  “In the evening?” she asks like she isn’t sure.

  “Shite, woman. Ye see an Irishman up at six in the morning, then something’s wrong.” I laugh, leaning the broom against the table. I take a step forward, smelling that damn perfume that drove me out of my mind with lust. “Unless we are having sex. Then something is most definitely right.”

  Gwen stumbles into the table behind her, sending the chair falling to the ground. “Oh, jeez. I’m sorry. I need to go. I've got to go. I have sex to hunt—houses. Houses to hunt,” she smiles, shaking her head. “Houses. Camilla is my roommate. No sex to be had. None.”

  “Yet,” I say, scratching my beard.

  She opens the door. “What?”

  “No sex to be had yet. I’m looking forward to it.”

  She hurries out the door, leaving me with a damn erection and endless images of her naked.

  “Anthony’s sister, huh? He is going to freak when he finds out,” Brock laughs as he dries a pint glass.

  I stomp forward, pointing my finger at him. “He ain’t going to find out, is he? Not until her and I are damn well ready. Ye got that, Brock?”

  Another glass shatters as it slips through his fingers. “I got it.”

  I walk back to my office, needing room to breathe. “Clean that up. We have the regulars coming soon.” I slam my office door, pressing my palm against my cock. I shut the blinds because I need a moment to decompress. “Damn lass is going to be the death of me.” I plop into my grandpa’s old leather chair, looking down at the outline of my cock. Poor lad hadn’t had any attention lately, and unless things with Gwen go beyond my wildest dreams, he probably won’t get any soon, either.

  “Out of all the women in the world, ye had to go pick her, huh?” I ask myself in the cluttered, paper-littered room. “Crazy bastard.”

  I sigh, holding my head in my hands. My thoughts circle around to Anthony finding out. And he will, because secrets always end up revealing themselves in the end, for better or for worse.

  And I am really hoping it will be for better in this situation.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gwendolyn

  “I like the kitchen,” Mills comments, standing in the middle of the living room of the third place we’ve looked at so far just today. The last few days have been exhausting as we continue our seemingly never-ending house search.

  I take a look around. It’s nice. It’s right above the old theater in town, which is right down the street from Lucky’s pub. That’s a big perk, not because of Reilly, but because I could walk to work.

  “I like it,” I reply. “The bedrooms are nice and big, and I like this nook by the window. It would be a perfect place for a hot cup of tea before bed. And how many other places have we looked at where the bedrooms have their own bathroom?”

  She whines, stomping her feet like a child. “But this carpet? Look at it? This stain looks like someone got shot,” she explains, pointing to the big red spot on the floor. “It’s probably blood, Gwen. We can’t live here. What if it’s haunted?” She shivers, wiggling her entire body. “We would have to buy sage and exorcise all the demons.”

  I hold my stomach, laughing deeply. I laugh so hard that my muscles start to hurt, and my cheeks get sore. I wipe my eyes, still imagining Mills walking around with a priest and a bouquet of burning sage. “Or… Or…” I hold up my finger, telling her to give me a moment as my laughs intensify.

  “Or what, Gwen? This is serious. It’s blood.” She taps her foot with impatience.

  I straighten up and stare at the popcorn ceiling. I start to count the dots to calm myself down. “Or someone could have spilled wine or juice, which is way more likely in a town this small.”

  “It’s towns this small that you have to worry about, Gwen. Do you ever hear about anything that happens around here? Besides Bobby getting another speeding ticket.”

  “Well, no—”

  “Exactly. You know the saying. It’s the shy ones you have to watch out for. I believe that about towns, too. It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for,” she whispers.

  “Why are you whispering?”

  “I don’t want to offend the spirits,” Mills hisses. She aligns her back against the wall and places her hand on one of the bedroom doors, slowly pushing it open. She pops her head in, checking it out.

  “There aren’t any spirits here, Mills. You’re overreacting. I think this is our place, and we can just ask the landlord to replace the carpet.”

  “Replacing the carpet doesn’t get rid of the evil spirits, Gwen. But okay, I’m up for the challenge. I’ll bring a Ouija board, sage, and candles. Maybe I can ask Father Mike to bless the place before we move in.”

  “Whatever you want, Mills.” I open the front door, almost running into the landlord, who just so happens to be Mom and Dad’s neighbor, Jack Hopkins.

  “Hey, Mr. Hopkins,” I call. He’s an older man in his fifties, with a slight beer belly and a head full of grey hair. He is as kind as could be. He has rosy cheeks with dimples that appear when he smiles. It’s hard not to like him.

  “Ladies, what did we think?” he asks as he rubs his hands together, excited that he may have finally found tenants for the place.

  “What happened to the last tenants?” Mills asks.

  “Oh, their family grew a bit too large for this place and they had to move out.”

  “Likely story,” Mills mumbles. I stab her in the side with my elbow.

  “What’s that, dear?” Mr. Hopkins asks for clarification.

  “We were wondering if there is any way we could have the carpet changed. It seems a bit old.”

  “And deadly,” Mills adds.

  “Mills!”

  “What? Have there never been any complaints about weird noises at night, Mr. Hopkins?”

  He tilts his head at Mills like she’s lost her mind. Perhaps she has, but she is my best friend, and I love her. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, Camilla, but I’ll be glad to replace the carpet.”

  “We will take it,” I declare, holding out my hand. He meets it with his, giving mine a good shake.

  His rosy cheeks brighten. He takes the lease out of his back pocket, along with a pen. “It’s yours whenever you want it.”

  “Seems a bit eager, doesn’t he, Gwen?” Mills eyes him suspiciously.

  I snag the pen from Mr. Hopkins’ hand and sign the paper. “Just si
gn the damn thing, Mills. It isn’t haunted.”

  She takes the pen from me, scratching the ballpoint on the paper and signing her name. “If a ghost kills me, I’m haunting you.”

  “I’m so scared.” I mock her, giving the pen and the lease back to Mr. Hopkins. “Hey, can you leave a copy of the lease at my parents’ house?”

  “Oh, sure thing. They are coming over tomorrow for drinks. I’ll give it to them then.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hopkins.”

  “I wouldn’t want this place to go to anyone else. Here are the keys. I’ll see you around, okay? You can move in whenever.”

  “Wait, don’t you need first month and last month’s rent right now?” That’s how they did it in Portland.

  He waves the question away like an annoying bug. “Heck no. Pay me first month’s rent when you move in.” He disappears down the steps, leaving me gawking.

  “That saves me so much money,” I say, as I slump with relief.

  “As it should, since the place is haunted.”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “You know what’s ridiculous? You and Reilly not giving in to your primal urges.” She thrusts the air with her hips, pretending to smack an ass.

  “There are no urges,” I lie, prancing down the steps and out the door. The evening air slaps me in the face, taking my breath away.

  Mills’ arm slithers around mine as we walk down Main Street, a chill still hanging in the air from the tail end of winter. “Liar. There are so many urges between you guys, it nearly smothers me.”

  “It isn’t going to happen.” I don’t even believe the words as they fall from my lips. I want the urges. I want to cave in and slide my hands over his broad shoulders, trace his tattoos with my tongue, and hold on tight as he drives his big cock into me. I want to feel his arms wrapping around me, his mouth kissing my neck, and his hands gripping my ass—I want it all.

  I want to jump off the cliff and fall into the waters of Reilly O’Hara. I want to drown in him. I want to lose all my senses in him. The feelings are so strong between us that they feel like they are crushing me from the inside out. The urgency, the need, the lust, the desire, the overwhelming sense of there being more to us than what we pretend there is—all of it is crushing me and stealing my breath.