The Match - A Baby Daddy Donor Romance

by Winter Renshaw

  Gasping, she rocks back and forth.

  “Slower,” I whisper into her ear as she buries her head against my neck. The rocking steadies, but the car is still bouncing. Anyone walking by with half a brain cell will know exactly what’s going on.

  “I don’t know if I can …”

  “Yeah, you can … like this.” I guide her hips into a circular, grinding motion. “Take your time, enjoy it. You deserve this..” Tugging the top of her dress down, I take a nipple in my mouth, gently sucking the soft bud. And for the endless hour that follows, slow and steady wins the race.

  Chasing off the inevitable, we lose ourselves in sweet anticipation.

  She isn’t just a mother.

  I’m not a world famous athlete.

  In this moment, she is mine—and I am hers.

  “I can’t hold off any longer,” she whispers, grinding harder against me. My cock strains, my balls tighten and I let go, my explosion meeting hers until we collapse against each other with stolen breaths and dizzied heads.

  “Good God, woman.” I cup her face, holding her pretty eyes captive in the dark. “I could do this all night and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

  Swatting my chest, she climbs off and adjusts her dress into place. “We should get home before it gets too late.”

  Home.

  That word on those lips makes me feel some kind of way.

  And I’m here for it.

  Chapter 23

  Rossi

  * * *

  I wake with a sweet soreness between my thighs, the smell of fresh coffee in the air, and the opposite side of my bed made. My bedroom door is cracked a few inches and the sound of Saturday morning cartoons trails from down the hall.

  Last night was nothing short of insane—for a myriad of reasons. One of which being I’m pretty sure I set a world record for most amount of orgasms in one night.

  Grabbing my robe off the hook in the bathroom, I slip it over my shoulders, cinch the tie around my waist, and head to the kitchen.

  “Good morning.” I shove my hair from my face and grin at the handsome shirtless man covered in baby food and the squirmy, happy baby in the high chair.

  “We had a bit of an incident,” he says, dabbing at his rippled abs with a burp rag. “But I’ve got it under control.”

  “Yes, I see that.” Pouring a mug of coffee, I stand back and watch this moment unfold in real time.

  It’s crazy how this man blew into my life like a hurricane, but he’s settled in so peacefully.

  It’s almost too good to be true.

  “Oh, hey, would you mind grabbing my phone? It’s on the charger in the guest room,” he asks as he loads a baby spoon full of Hawaiian Delight.

  “On it.”

  I mean … we don’t make the worst team.

  And if something happened to come of this, it’s not like crazier things haven’t happened.

  Shaking my head, I quiet my inner narrative before she gets too ahead of herself, and I shuffle down the hall, coffee mug in hand, to retrieve his phone. Only the second I pull it from the plug, the screen comes to life and a message appears.

  TATUM: I miss you and love you so much, baby. And I absolutely cannot wait to see you next week. XO

  My stomach sinks. Rock hard. Like an anvil going over a cliff in a Warner Brothers’ cartoon, only far more painful because this is real life.

  If Fabian’s ex-fiancée is texting him that she loves and misses him and can’t wait to see him, there’s got to be some sort of conversation happening between them.

  People don’t send things like that out of the blue for no reason.

  My mouth turns dry, but I manage a painful swallow before taking a deep breath. I wait until the nausea subsides before heading out to face him. And with each step, I contemplate confronting him about this. For the past week and a half, he’s been kissing me, wooing me, taking care of me. And last night we screwed so many times I stopped counting.

  Tears cloud my vision, but I wipe them away before they have a chance to fall.

  We’re not dating. He doesn’t owe me anything. And I knew from the moment he first kissed me that this was a bad idea.

  Honestly, it serves me right.

  If I’d have stuck to my guns, held steadfast to my original plan, I wouldn’t be standing here right now, in the dark of my own home, feeling like the world’s biggest fool.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I put on a brave face and stride to the kitchen, his phone in hand.

  “Here you go.” I keep my tone light and place it face down on the island.

  “You’re the best.” He kisses the side of my forehead.

  Only this time, my insides fill with knots instead of butterflies.

  “Oh, forgot to tell you,” he says. “I have to go to California for a few days to take care of some things. Leaving first thing in the morning, hoping to be back mid-week.”

  With my back to him, I nod and swallow the dry lump in my throat so my voice doesn’t break.

  “Okay,” I say. “Sounds good.”

  Visions of last night stop dancing in my head, and I promise myself that someday I’ll forget the way he looked at me when I was dressed up, the way he worshipped my curves and whispered all the right things into my ear at all the right moments.

  Fabian is hot like fire.

  I’m sure I’m not the first girl he’s ever burned, and I certainly won’t be the last.

  It was fun while it lasted …

  Chapter 24

  Fabian

  * * *

  I zip my suitcase Sunday and wheel it to the door before heading to the living room to see my girls one last time before I head home for a few days. In the midst of everything going on, I’d forgotten I had a photoshoot scheduled for some fitness magazine for this week, and I figured while I’m home I might as well have a come-to-Jesus meeting with Tatum because the barrage of texts and phone calls hasn’t stopped. I’d block her number, but knowing her, she’ll just get a new one, and changing the number I’ve had for over a decade will be more hassle than it’s worth.

  “Hey,” I say to Rossi. “Going to head out, so …”

  Focused on the baby, she doesn’t so much as bother to look up. “Have a good flight.”

  “I should be back Wednesday,” I say.

  “Okay.” Her tone is flat. Different. Unreadable. Which describes how she’s been the past twenty-four hours.

  Everything between us was amazing … until I mentioned going back home yesterday, then something changed. The warmhearted, jovial woman left and an ice queen showed up in her place. Only she isn’t cruel and heartless—Rossi Bianco could never be those things. This version of her is simply distant, less receptive.

  Flinching at my touch, lips stiffening at my kiss.

  Cordial and casual.

  “Can I steal you away for a second?” I ask, nodding toward the baby. I can’t leave on this note.

  She finally glances my way.

  I motion for her to come closer. I refuse to have a conversation like this from across the room.

  She hands Lucia a stuffed elephant and pushes herself up, slowly making her way across the room.

  Arms folded, she asks, “What’s up?”

  “Are you upset that I’m leaving?”

  She frowns. “No. Why would I be?”

  I rake my hand along my jaw, studying her, attempting to read between any and all lines—only she’s not giving me much to work with.

  “I just … we were getting along so well … and Friday night was amazing … and then yesterday something changed,” I say.

  Folding her arms, she shrugs. “I just think we’re moving too fast.”

  True. We’re moving at the speed of light.

  “This whole thing between us,” I say. “It’s not exactly conventional. And it’s not like there’s some timeline we’re supposed to be following. We can slow it down, if that’ll make you more comfortable, but if you’re into this, Rossi, like I am. For the love of Go
d, don’t pull back. I’m having the time of my life with you. With Lucia too. This is all new for me, but I’m loving every crazy, confusing second of it.”

  Her lips press together and her attention skims past my shoulder. “You always know exactly what to say, but sometimes the things you say are too perfect, you know?”

  “Sorry?” I smirk. “I didn’t realize that was a bad thing?”

  “If I hardly know you, how can I know that what you’re saying is genuine?”

  “You can’t know. These things happen with time. You just have to trust me, and meanwhile, we’ll keep getting to know each other.” I go to reach for her and stop myself. She’s clearly not receptive to being touched right now. “Are you scared? Because it’s okay if you are.” Swallowing, I add, “We’re in this together—whatever this is.”

  Her eyes catch on mine, lids heavy with exhaustion. I slept in her bed last night, but rather than curl up in my arms and fall asleep with her cheek against my chest, she stayed on her side, tossing and turning until the covers were a twisted heap on the floor.

  “What are you afraid of?” I ask.

  Clearing her throat, she says, “I just think we’re being selfish about this. For Lucia’s sake, I mean. We shouldn’t be doing this because if it blows up in our faces, it’s only going to hurt her in the end.”

  My jaw tenses.

  I see what she’s doing.

  “If you want to use Lucia as your excuse to do—or not do—things that scare you for the rest of your life, that’s your prerogative,” I say.

  “I’m not using her as an excuse,” her expression twists and her words cut sharp. “It’s a valid concern. I don’t want her to get hurt if things get strained between us.”

  “Why would they become strained?”

  “Because I don’t know what you’re doing and what you expect from this,” she says. “And in a few weeks, you’re going back to California, back to your actual life. And I’ll still be here, thinking about the gorgeous man who waltzed into my life and said all the perfect things and made me feel things I had no business feeling and made me hope for things I had no business hoping for.”

  I scratch my temple, chin tucked as I wrap my head around this. “You honestly think I’m just going to walk out of here three weeks from now and act like none of this happened?”

  “As opposed to the alternative, yes,” she says. “I’m trying to be realistic here. Your life is in Malibu. Your coach, your assistant, your friends, your business deals, everything.”

  “My life can be anywhere I want it to be,” I say. Fuck it. I grip her waist and pull her against me before tipping her pointed chin upwards. “If you really think I can walk away from the two of you after this, then you have me all wrong.”

  I drag my lips against hers, teasing the promise of a kiss that I won’t fulfill.

  If I’m going to make my runway time, I’ve got to go.

  “When I get back,” I say, inhaling her vanilla-sweet scent. “I’ll show you just how wrong you are.”

  Chapter 25

  Rossi

  * * *

  “Ms. Bianco, it’s Harold,” the malpractice attorney I’d contacted last week calls me late Monday morning. “Just spoke to the clinic’s counsel, and I have good news.”

  I sit up in my desk chair. “Okay?”

  “They’re currently putting together a settlement package for you at the request of your donor,” he says. “He waived all rights to his settlement and asked them to give it to you instead. I don’t have any of the details yet, but they said it’s significantly more than the original one they offered you a few weeks back. They said they’d send over preliminaries this afternoon, so I’ll get back to you when I have more. Just wanted to let you know the good news.”

  “Thank you so much.” I end the call and sit motionless at my desk for a timeless eternity, lost in a sea of thoughts, mind drifting this way and that—as it has been the past couple of days.

  Fabian left yesterday morning to go back to California for a few days.

  I thought the time apart might help clear my head, but the only noticeable change around here is that the house is a little quieter. A handful of times, I’ve caught my stomach flipping when I pass the guest room door. And I even wandered in there the other day, curious to see if he’d left anything behind.

  He had.

  A diamond Rolex on the nightstand.

  Drawers full of clothes.

  A bottle of cologne—which I shamefully sprayed for some insane reason.

  I’ve decided it’s okay to miss the illusion of what we had, but it doesn’t mean I have to miss him. Sometimes I wonder if it’d have been better to live out the rest of the month in ignorant bliss for the sake of a few more magical weeks feeling like a suburban single mom fairytale princess.

  But like my Nonna used to say, everything happens for a reason.

  There’s a reason I saw that text when I did.

  Dragging in a long hard breath, I make the short trek to the kitchen for a glass of water. Glancing out the window over the sink, I spot Carina and Lucia in the back, lying on a blanket in the afternoon sun.

  I’m not sure how things will be after this month is up. How often he’ll visit or how big of a role he’ll want to play in my daughter’s life. I’m fine with keeping that door open—but the door to my heart is officially deadbolted.

  Chapter 26

  Fabian

  * * *

  “Hey, baby!” Tatum all but squeals when I approach her table at LaGrange 71 on Melrose. “I ordered you a Sazerac. For old times’ sake.”

  The drink I had on our first official date …

  “I won’t be drinking today.” I take a seat across from her. “In fact, I won’t be staying more than a few minutes.”

  After several failed attempts on Coach’s part to stop her incessant harassment, I figured it was time to take matters into my own hands. Arranging a meeting at one of the trendiest Beverly Hills restaurants seemed like the safest bet. She’s not going to cause a scene here because she knows people, and they know her.

  Animals don’t shit where they eat.

  Outside, a man walks by with a black Canon camera around his neck, chin tucked as he paces the sidewalk waiting for a shot. Someone must have tipped him off. Across the street are two more. It’s like fucking ants at a picnic.

  “I just came to tell you to your face,” I begin, “that we’re over. We’ve been over. And you need to stop contacting me. I’ve moved on and you should too.”

  I expect tears. A crestfallen face. A sorrowful protest.

  Only the psychopath smiles wide, ear to ear.

  And then she dips her manicured little hand into her limited edition Birkin bag, retrieving a small black and white photo, which she places between us.

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  “An ultrasound, silly.” She swats the air. “We’re having a baby!”

  Studying the image, I can’t breathe.

  “Anyway, it’s a good thing you came back when you did because my PR team wants to make the announcement tomorrow. Figured you should get a heads’ up on that.” She pours some San Pellegrino into a stemless wine glass and takes a sip.

  “Who’s the father?” I finally manage to formulate a sentence.

  Choking on her water, she says, “Oh my gawwwd, Fabian. Do you even have to ask that?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I haven’t fucking touched you in months.”

  “Yeah, and I’m several months along,” she says without hesitation. “I didn’t know I was pregnant until I realized I hadn’t had a period in months.” Pressing her lips together, she tucks her chin. “You know I never paid attention to that stuff.”

  And that part is true. Once a year, she got a birth control shot in her arm and never looked back. While I never paid much attention to her cycle unless she was on a hormonal rampage and it directly affected me, I do recall hearing her mention a handful of times that things were irregular.

 
None of what’s happening is entirely implausible.

  Rising, she smooths her hand along the front of her dress until the fabric showcases a very undeniable bump. And with her slight stature, it won’t be long before she’s looking like she swallowed a basketball.

  “I’m starting to show already,” she says. “Which is why we thought we should announce sooner than later. Need to get ahead of the rumors.”

  Stepping closer, she grabs my hand, placing it over her swollen middle—only before I have a chance to yank it back, a bright flash from outside the window captures this moment forever.

  “God damn it.” I jerk my hand away.

  “I know it’s a bit of a shock,” she says. “And I’d wanted to tell you this privately, but I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks …”

  Another flash follows.

  And another.

  Soon a half dozen paparazzo are gathered outside our window.

  “You called them, didn’t you?” I ask through gritted teeth.

  Within seconds, the restaurant manager dashes outside in her Chanel suit, shooing them away. But it’s too late. They’re going to sell that image of my hand on Tatum’s belly and it’s going to be all over social media this time tomorrow.

  “I know how you feel about children, so I don’t expect you to be a doting dad or anything. But I do expect full financial support.” She takes a seat, and all I can think about is the life growing inside of her with half of my DNA.

  Another branch in the Catalano family tree.

  A half-sibling for Lucia.

  While I never wanted to be a father in the traditional sense, I especially never wanted to be a father with Tatum. It never made sense why someone as self-centered as her would want to be responsible for another human life—until I met her mother.

  Tatum was brought up with unlimited wealth and privilege and raised by nannies. Plural. She was an only child, but there was an entire team of people dedicated to ensuring she had everything she needed around the clock. They even had a night nanny on staff until the day she graduated from high school. If she woke up in the middle of the night, parched, she’d ring that nanny for a glass of sparkling water. Another nanny was actually a cosmetologist by trade, hired on part-time to do Tatum’s hair and makeup before school each day and for occasional special events.