Baby Batter: A Baby For The Billionaire Single Dad Romance

by Alexis Angel

  He comes back into the room holding some sort of orange drink with a cherry in it. I take a sip, and there’s a flavor explosion of juicy sweetness happening in my mouth.

  “Wow, this is fucking good,” I say and smack my lips.

  “Thanks,” he says. “What do you have there?” He points down to the photo album I’m holding.

  I giggle when I turn the page and see a picture of him as a baby in the bathtub.

  “Aww, look at your ‘wittle cock,’” I point to it, doing some baby talk.

  Zane rolls his eyes and sips his drink.

  “Grow the fuck up.”

  “You were a cutie!” I exclaim and point to another picture of him in a little league uniform.

  “Aren’t I still?” he asks with an edge of arrogance.

  “I don’t know, why don’t you tell me again how pretty you are? I know you just love to talk about yourself.” I wink at him, teasing.

  Looking through the photos, I notice right away that most of the pictures have either him and his mother or just him.

  “Where’s your dad in these?” I glance up at him.

  His face grows white and he furrows his brow. He fidgets and takes a large gulp of his drink.

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry…” I trail off as heat from embarrassment flushes through me.

  Why the fuck do I think it’s a good idea to make people feel uncomfortable by bringing up their past?

  On the other hand, though, he’s going to father my child. I think I deserve to know what I’m getting into. Having crazy in the genetic line isn’t exactly something I’m going for.

  “No it’s okay.” He squares his jaw but his tone is yielding. “It was just me and my mom when I was growing up.”

  “Oh,” I say and look down at the pictures. I don’t know what else to say or if I should ask him anything else so I just remain quiet.

  “My dad left when I was five,” he says, and I can hear the pain in his voice, still fresh even after all these years.

  No wonder he tries to put on a front that he’s such a macho hard-ass. He’s probably suffering inside and doesn’t know how to digest the struggle from his past.

  “My mom has fibromyalgia,” he goes on.

  “I know that can get bad,” I say.

  Zane nods.

  “Yeah, she’s hanging in there now, but she’s had some nasty flare-ups. I had to step up and take care of her after my dad left.”

  My heart is ripping to shreds inside my chest. I haven’t seen this side of Zane, and I’m looking at him now with a new pair of eyes. He suddenly becomes a real person to me, not just this arrogant ass, overcoming a tragedy to take care of his mom when she needed him the most.

  “I’m sure she feels lucky to have a son like you.” I smile and squeeze his hand.

  “I do my best.” He shrugs humbly.

  “Where’s the Zane I know?” I force him to make eye contact. “I like this version much better.”

  He laughs, and I see the twinkle come back to him.

  “Just don’t get used to it. I’m a real prick, remember?”

  “Not to me.” I shake my head. And I realize it’s true. He treats me really fucking well.

  I run my hands through his hair and he all but purrs over the attention. No wonder he needs so many people doting on him all the fucking time. I can’t imagine carrying such a burden around from a young age, and he never even had a strong male role model or father figure to step up to the plate and teach him the basics.

  I feel empathy for him, but I don’t want him to know that. It wouldn’t be good for his already oversized ego.

  “I think it’s great that you took care of your mom at such a young age.”

  “She gave me life,” he says and we make eye contact again. “I owe her everything.”

  If my ovaries weren’t jumping for joy before he said that, they certainly are now.

  Ovaries. Yeah. That’s it. Not my heart. No fucking way.

  18

  Piper

  It’s Saturday, my favorite fucking day of the week. Why is it my favorite fucking day of the week you ask?

  Well it’s simple really.

  I don’t have to put up with other people’s bullshit all fucking day long. Being CEO of one of the biggest, most successful and wide ranging lingerie companies in the country does have its perks, don’t get me wrong.

  On the other hand, it’s extremely high profile and demanding. For me, Saturdays represent leisure time, relaxing me time and quiet time.

  I don’t have any children…yet. I need to fucking embrace the silence while I still can. Of course I’m looking forward to bouncing a little bundle of joy on my knee and smelling the precious baby smell on my newborn’s shiny head.

  It’s enough to make my uterus quiver for sure, but today is Saturday pre-knocked up and I’m sitting on my balcony overlooking the park while I enjoy my favorite Italian blend, a perfect coffee brew for a chiller than usual morning.

  My phone rings and I reach to get it off the table. It’s Molly, and I answer with a smile.

  “What’s up, bitch?” I say teasingly, referring to our pet names for each other.

  “Hey, slut,” she giggles into the phone.

  “What are you up to?” I ask.

  Molly sighs. “Oh nothing much, just wondering what you are going to do today?”

  “You know me.” I say. “It’s chill out day.”

  “That sounds good. Do you want to maybe grab a bite to eat for dinner and maybe some drinks after that?”

  “Hell yes.” I nod my head ardently, even though she can’t fucking see me.

  “Great, I’ll call you later okay?”

  “Perfect, see you later, sexy chick.” I chuckle and we hang up.

  I take another sip of my warm coffee and it relaxes me. I reflect on sex with Zane and how fucking incredible it is.

  I mean, fuck, he really is talented when it comes to eating girls out. I can tell he’s had a lot of fucking practice.

  I become wet just thinking about his tongue doing the alphabet or some shit, working perfect concentric circles on my clit.

  My naughty thoughts come to a halt when I hear my door bell ring from the open sliding glass door.

  I instinctively stand up and look towards my foyer. I have no idea who that could be but I immediately have an ominous feeling about this.

  Part of me wants to just stay out on my balcony and ignore the person on the other side, but the other, more curious and daring side of me wants to know who the fuck has the audacity to knock on my door at ten o’clock on a fucking Saturday morning.

  I also wonder how the prospective person got past the doorman, which leads me to believe it must be a neighbor.

  It’s probably Mrs. Carlson again, wanting to borrow an egg or something. She’s so damn cute and friendly I have to be kind to her.

  I walk to the door and look out the peep hole but I don’t see anyone standing there.

  Hmm, well that’s fucking odd as shit. Who is there? Could it be some random teenager deciding to pull a prank and play ding dong ditch?

  I remember doing that as a kid, so I wouldn’t put it past today’s youth.

  I cautiously open the door and crane my neck out into the hallway, looking left first.

  “Piper.”

  I spin around and my heart stops at my name, it sounds like a male voice.

  I hold my hand over my chest and try to breath fucking evenly. “What the fuck, David?” I scream, probably waking up my whole fucking floor.

  They’re in for a scene out of a soap opera because my ex-boyfriend is staring at me with begging eyes.

  “I’m sorry I don’t mean to scare you,” he holds up his hands as if he means no fucking harm. His voice is apologetic.

  I run a hand through my hair. “This isn’t a good fucking time, David.”

  I’m curt with him but I don’t fucking care. He has no right to be here, we are not a couple anymore and he’s fully aware of that fa
ct.

  His eyes darken and narrow. “Why, do you have some other guy in there?”

  He moves past me to look into my apartment, his eyes searching.

  I place my hand on his chest. “Back the fuck off, please.”

  My tone inflects warning but it’s doing nothing to stop the frantic mania that’s consuming David for whatever fucking reason.

  “Anyway, how the fuck did you even get up here?” I ask resentfully. I will so need to fucking talk to management.

  “That guy let me in,” he says vaguely.

  “Guy? What fucking guy?” I throw my hands up in the air in exasperation.

  “You know that one with the red, fiery-looking hair?”

  “Oh yeah.” I roll my eyes. “I forget that people around here still recognize you.

  “Right.” He nods his head and I notice he’s breathing really fast.

  “Are you paranoid about something?” I just have to ask.

  “I just really need to fucking talk to you okay?” He leans in a little too close for comfort.

  “Yeah well…I don’t want to fucking talk to you,” I counter.

  “I think you’re making a mistake,” he blurts out of nowhere.

  I shake my head, not understanding. “What the hell are you talking about?” I fold my arms across my chest defensively.

  “Nothing.” He paces back and forth.

  “Okay, you are really fucking getting on my nerves,” I groan. “You need to leave, David.”

  I point to the end of the hallway by the elevators.

  David shakes his head, adamant to make his case.

  “I think we need to get back together,” he says and we lock eyes.

  At first I don’t respond because I’m waiting for the shock waves of the earthquake he just dropped on me to stop their ripple effect.

  Then my next reaction is to fucking laugh my ass off. “I’m sorry…what?”

  “We should be together,” he says.

  I shake my head and rub my temples. I still won’t let him into my apartment because that will just open the can of worms I want desperately to keep contained.

  “No, David, we are horrible together.”

  “We’re perfect for each other.” He tries to take my hands but I pull away.

  “If fire and ice or oil and fucking water are perfect for each other then I suppose you’re right,” I drawl with sarcasm.

  “Just give us another chance.” His eyes are pleading. “I can show you how I’m a new man. I won’t hurt you.”

  I take a deep, measured breath. “I have things to do,” I say and close the door to my apartment, locking myself inside. I hold my breath, but David doesn’t knock again.

  19

  Zane

  I take another sip of my whiskey sour and glance around the crowded restaurant. I should probably know by now that Carl isn’t going to fucking show up for lunch.

  Who the fuck is Carl, you ask?

  Oh yeah, I guess I should explain that part. Carl is my fucking father. More like a deadbeat who refused to pay child support to my mom when I was growing up, but it is what it fucking is.

  I don’t call him dad, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, or anyone for that matter. In my opinion, he doesn’t deserve the title.

  I take one more look around and tell myself I’m just going to wait five more seconds and then I’m out the door. I don’t have time to waste on this asshole today.

  As soon as my eyes hit the entrance, I see him. Fuck, he looks ragged. He’s wearing a wife beater shirt and his unkempt hair is almost shoulder length, stringy and greasy.

  He’s wearing acid washed jeans with a hole in the left knee. He looks worse for wear and if I didn’t know him already, I’d think he’s fucking homeless.

  Shame hits my gut as he spots me and walks over. I cringe when he sits down across from me, and I glance around to make sure I don’t see anyone I recognize.

  Pride is a big fucking deal to me, and it’s no thanks to this guy sitting on the other side of the table right now.

  “Hey, Carl,” I say and clear my throat.

  “Hey,” he says and runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “I’m used to it,” I snap and take another sip of my drink.

  “Don’t be a fucking asshole,” he rolls his eyes as he picks up the menu. “What’s fucking good to eat here?”

  I ignore him, feeling suddenly queasy and not hungry in the slightest. Just sitting close to him takes away my appetite.

  “Do you even know why I want to come to lunch with you once a month, Carl?”

  Carl looks up at me quizzically.

  “Huh?”

  “It’s because I want to fucking remind myself about how I rose up out of the ashes and made a fucking name for myself.”

  Carl scoffs.

  “Okay whatever.” He plants his nose back between the menu pages, dismissing me.

  “Look at me,” I demand.

  Carl looks up and shrugs.

  “What am I supposed to see?”

  I’m feeling the frustration rising in me, but I keep my cool.

  “I’m wearing a nice shirt and nice pair of pants.”

  “So?” Carl raises an eyebrow, still unaffected.

  “So, they are clean and so am I,” I emphasize, hoping he takes the hint because he’s fucking dingy as hell.

  “Good for you, do you want a fucking medal or something, son?”

  “Don’t call me son,” I snap.

  “Well you are,” he says dryly.

  “I wouldn’t have known that growing up,” I state.

  “Are you going to fucking bring this shit up every time I see you, Zane?”

  I laugh out loud.

  “What does it matter to you? You just want a free meal.”

  As much as it fucking stings to know, the real reason my father meets me for lunch once a month is because he gets free food out of it. I know it’s fucking true. Real, decent food is hard to come by in his state of living.

  “I just wish you knew how to fucking talk about something else,” he says and shakes his head. He takes a sip of his water and for the millionth time I think how I can’t believe I’m related to this man.

  “I chose today for a specific reason,” I say.

  “You mean our meet up?” he wipes his nose with a napkin.

  “Yeah…” I trail off, looking down at the table.

  “Well, what the fuck is it then?” he asks.

  “This girl I work with wants me to be her sperm donor.”

  Carl breaks out into roaring laughter and slaps his knee, the full fucking bomb I dropped falling into place in his loser mind.

  “I’m sorry, is something funny?” I ask bitterly.

  “Are you going to give up your good sauce to do it?” He scratches his cheek.

  “I don’t really know yet,” I shrug.

  Seeing my father always reopens the sealed wounds of my past. I hate meeting with him, but on the other hand, I like seeing him because in the back of my mind, I still want him to fucking care about me, or at least pretend he does. It’s like no matter what he did to us, I still want to prove that what I know is wrong.

  I hate how he fucking ran out on my mother and I’ll never fucking forgive him for that, but I feel like if I get his advice on this, I might have better perspective. He’s still the closest thing I have to a father.

  But he’s a shitty father, which in turn makes me feel legitimately scared to be a father myself. I don’t want to end up like him, and I don’t know the first thing about being a parent.

  “The woman says I don’t need to be involved,” I add.

  “Good,” he says. “You don’t need that kind of shit in your life.”

  “I’m a better person than you, though, Carl,” I remind him. “I’m not sure I could walk away knowing I have a kid out there.”

  Before Piper asked me to father her child, I never really thought about having kids. In fact, the utter thoug
ht of it repulsed me, but the contract is signed and I’m on deck to give out my fucking baby batter.

  Piper better pray that her baby doesn’t get the gene from my father’s side of the family, a bunch of drunken assholes who don’t give a shit about anybody but themselves.

  “I already signed the paperwork. It’s a done deal,” I mention.

  “Well it looks like you’re up shit creek without a paddle.” My dad actually fucking laughs.

  “Thanks for the sympathy,” I snarl with sarcasm.

  “At least if you end up being involved with the kid, you’ll know what to do differently,” Carl says.

  “Yeah, be exactly fucking opposite of you,” I say.

  My dad ignores me and takes a sip of his water.

  “So, how’s Sally doing anyway?”

  “Don’t even dare speak her name,” I growl.

  Sally is my mother, and if Carl wants to know how she’s fucking doing, then he shouldn’t have fucking left in the first place.

  I pick at my food as Carl and I engage in meaningless chatter. Nothing he has to say is going to fucking help me and I shouldn’t be surprised. I should have known better. All this baby making must have me fucked in the head.

  After I pay for our meal, I stand up. “I have to go, Carl.”

  “See you next month?” His eyes are hopeful which confuses me. Guess he just likes getting free fucking meals out of me.

  “Sure,” I say, still unable to resist spending time with him. Which pisses me off even more.

  As I walk back to my car, I’m left with a bad taste in my mouth. I really don’t think I’m ready to be a fucking parent, but my signature is already on the damn papers. At least she doesn’t expect anything out of me other than for me to unload my cum inside her.

  But still…

  I just hope I don’t let Piper down the way my mom feels let down by Carl. At least she isn’t pressuring me to be involved, and that keeps my mind calm…at least for now. If I can just think about it as a sexual thing, then I’ll be in the clear for a mental breakdown.

  20