by Lacey Black
A baby.
Chapter Eleven
Lexi
“He’s crazy.”
“Who?” my sister questions as she steps aside and grants me entrance into her and Levi’s apartment across the hall.
“Linkin,” I grumble as I toss myself down onto their comfy couch.
“Neighbor Linkin?”
“Yes. Did you have sex here?” I ask, tensing and sitting up straight.
“Recently?” Abby asks, blushing a dark shade of fuchsia.
“My God, you two are like rabbits. How recent?”
“I don’t know. A week maybe?”
“Gross!” I whine, jumping up and standing in front of the offending furniture.
“Why does that bother you? You sit on the couch in my old apartment all of the time. You don’t think we’ve gotten busy there either?”
“You’re as bad as Grandma and Grandpa,” I groan.
“So why is Linkin crazy?” she asks, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a pitcher of lemonade.
“Do you have any vodka?”
“Definitely,” she replies, reaching above the fridge and grabbing a bottle of the cheap liquor. Before I sit down, I glance at the kitchen chair and give her a look. My twin rolls her eyes. “No, we haven’t done it on those chairs.”
“Good. I’ll never be able to sit on my couch again. All I’ll think about is Levi pecker tracks.”
That makes my sister giggle. “Pierced pecker tracks,” she adds before giving in to a full-belly laugh.
I watch as she pours a bit too much vodka into the lemonade. She doesn’t even grab a spoon, but sort of sloshes it around within the pitcher to mix it. She’s definitely been hanging out with AJ too much lately. My usually mild sister is turning into a brazen lush.
And I love it.
She’s happy. It’s written all over her face, radiating from her pores like that pregnancy glow. Oh my God! “You’re pregnant!” I holler, stunned that she’s pouring such a big glass of the vodka and lemonade.
“What? No I’m not!”
“Why are you glowing?” I demand, waiting to hear that my twin got knocked up by her best friend.
“I don’t know. Maybe it was the sex I had about thirty minutes ago,” she replies quietly, that ever-present blush creeping up her neck.
“Lucky bitch,” I grumble, taking a big drink of the too-strong drink.
“Yes, I am. Levi had to go in early today to cover for someone so I gave him a parting gift.”
“You sound like Grandma. Why must you always talk about it every time you have the sex?”
“You brought it up. It’s not like I started the conversation with ‘Hey, sis! I just got some. Levi does this thing where he rolls his hips and the piercing slides against me in a way that makes me forget my own name.’”
“Really?” I ask, leaning forward, suddenly wanting to hear more.
“Never mind. What’s up with you? Why is neighbor Linkin making you crazy?” she asks, taking her own big drink.
“Does it matter that it’s like ten in the morning and we’re drinking vodka?”
“Call it Hair of the Dog.”
“Yep, you’ve definitely been hanging around AJ too much,” I warn her.
“Stop stalling. Talk.”
I glance around the kitchen, which has the exact same layout as mine. The few times I’d been in here with Abby before she moved in, were completely different. Sure, the furniture might be the same, but the place is homey. There are pictures of the two of them on the walls, on end tables, and secured to the fridge with magnets. Love lives here, and that makes me smile.
“Well, you know that I stayed behind and rode home with Linkin, right?”
“Yeah. Are you about to tell me you rode him home? Or at home?”
“Settle your hormones, Grandma. Do you want to hear this or not?” She waves her hand for me to continue. “Anyway, I drank more shots after you guys left. Apparently, I spilled everything about Chris at some point.” Abby’s eyebrows rise as she stares straight at me. “I passed out in his bed, but nothing happened,” I assure her.
“So this morning, I was all ready to get the hell out of there, but couldn’t because he made breakfast.”
“Breakfast?”
“French toast so good it was almost orgasmic.”
“Damn. Hot and can cook,” Abby whispers, taking another drink of her special lemonade.
“And wants to give me a baby,” I blurt out, my heart pounding in my chest like a jackhammer.
“What!?” she exclaims, spewing a mouthful of her drink all over the floor.
“Exactly! Who offers up his sperm to give a stranger a baby?” I holler.
“Do you know what happens at a sperm bank?” she asks sarcastically.
“Shut up, that’s different. I don’t know that sperm. I know this sperm. And I don’t like it.”
She looks at me with confusion written in her emerald eyes. “Wait, you don’t like the sperm?”
“No, I don’t like him.”
“Him…”
“Linkin! My God woman, would you keep up?” I howl before chugging the rest of my drink.
“Sooooooo, you like him.” It’s a statement. Not a question.
“No. I don’t.”
“Yes. You do.”
“You’re crazy, just like him.”
“So, finish. He wants to give you his sperm?”
“Yes, he wants to make a contribution. The old fashioned way,” I whisper. Why am I whispering?
“Nice! Do it, do it! He’s so hot, and I would never say this to Levi, but I got an eyeful when he did the striptease for you.”
“I can’t have his baby, Abby. I don’t know him.”
“So, get to know him.”
“You make it sound so easy,” I say, rubbing my aching forehead.
“Well, it’s definitely not easy. This is as complicated as trying to sneak back into the house when we were sixteen,” Abby quips, a smile playing on both of our lips. Ahh, yes. I recall that night very well.
“What do I do?” I plead.
“First off, is this just a donation or does he want to be involved?”
“He wants to be involved. And if I were to actually think about this for a second, which I’m not, I guess it would be really nice to have someone to help me. I mean, I know I could do it solo, but to have someone to share the load is appealing.”
“Definitely. If you need a break, you’ll have help. Plus, the financial assistance is definitely a plus. Jani struggled for years just to put food on the table for herself because after she paid the bills and bought food and diapers for Elijah, she barely had anything left.” Abby’s referring to a woman we went to high school with who got pregnant just out of school. The father didn’t stick around long enough to see the start of the second trimester, but Jani was determined to do it herself.
The difference between our friend and me is that I have a good, established job with enough income to pay my bills and put a little bit each week into savings. Financially, with a bit of adjustment to accommodate the cost of food, diapers, medical care, childcare, and such, I can make it work. But sharing the financial responsibility definitely goes in the plus category.
“But what about him. I mean, I don’t even know him,” I tell her, because honestly, that’s one of my biggest hang-ups.
“So, get to know him. I mean, you don’t have to make this decision right now, correct? You could hold off on the sperm bank purchase for another month, get to know Linkin, and see if you can put up with him in your life for the next eighteen years,” she says with a shoulder shrug, like it’s so logical.
“I can barely put up with him for eighteen minutes, let alone eighteen years.” But even as I say the words, I know they’re not true. I know he pushes my buttons, but he does it on purpose. The night I watched the movie and ate pizza with him and his brothers, I actually really enjoyed his company
.
Plus, there’s the way he treats his brothers. He’s a wonderful big brother, I can tell by how happy the boys were with him. They love him, and the thought of bringing a baby into the mix, one that will be right smack dab in the middle of the sword fights, puts a happy little beat in my chest and a smile on my face.
“I think you’re right. I can’t make this decision today. I need to get to know him and make sure that this is the right thing to do.”
“For what it’s worth, I’ve always liked Linkin. Ever since he moved in here six months ago or so, he’s been nice and considerate and a good neighbor.”
“I know,” I reply because I do. He’s all of those things with me too.
But a baby?
I just need a little time to think about it.
“Come on. It’s almost time to head to the café for lunch. You can ride with me,” Abby says as she stands up and stumbles a little.
Giggling, I reach for my phone. “I’ll call someone who hasn’t been drinking spiked lemonade since ten in the morning,” I snort as I try to call up one of my sisters, but the names are dancing on the screen. “How much vodka did you put in that pitcher?”
Abby snorts and laughs at the same time. “Uhhhh, just a little. A little under half the bottle.” She starts laughing, which makes me laugh. We both giggle and snort until the tears are rolling and the bellies are hurting.
“Come on. I know where we can get a ride,” I tell her as we head towards the front door.
I walk diagonally (not because I can’t walk straight, but because that’s where I’m going) until I reach the door I’m looking for. Without giving it any ounce of thought, I raise my hand and knock. When he answers the door, his hair wet from a shower, dark jeans hugging his powerful legs, and a shirt that’s molded to perfection on those muscular arms, I almost tell him yes.
Yes, I’ll take your sperm.
Instead, I say, “Come on. We’re going to lunch with my family.”
“We?” he asks, crossing those strong arms across his chest, making a little string of drool drip down my chin.
“Yes, we. Me, Abby, and you. You’re driving too because some vodka fell into Abby’s lemonade and we may have drank it,” I tell him.
“You’re buzzed? At eleven a.m.”
“Don’t judge me. An hour ago, you offered to impregnate me just because I want a baby.”
“That I did, Firecracker. Let me grab my jacket,” he says, turning and heading back into his apartment.
“I can practically see the testosterone rolling off of him, Lexi. You have to do it with him. It’s practically your duty for women everywhere,” Abby whispers beside me, not taking her eyes off Linkin’s backside.
“I’m telling Levi you’re ogling the neighbor,” I fire back at her, causing her eyes to widen in worry.
“You wouldn’t!”
“I would. Keep your eyes off the neighbor’s ass, hussy.”
“You’re turning bitchy in your old age,” she quips, turning and heading towards the stairs.
“Ready?” Linkin asks, standing behind me and closing his door.
Ready? Is that a trick question? Ready for lunch? Ready to meet my family? Ready to do the horizontal mambo with my Greek God of a neighbor that could result in pregnancy; the one thing I wanted while fighting for my marriage?
Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but there’s only one answer to each of those questions.
Yes.
Ready or not, here I come.
* * *
The diner is packed with the Sunday lunch crowd and we have to wait a few minutes to get the big table. As soon as we walk through the door, all eyes are on me. Or more accurately, on Linkin.
“What? You’ve all seen him before. This time he just has more clothes on,” I say casually, finding a seat at the table.
“Hey, it’s the stripper,” Ryan says with a wide smile, extending his hand to Linkin and offering a shake.
“You’re really a stripper?” Dean asks. “I thought that was an accident.”
“He’s not really a stripper. He just stripped for Lexi because Grandma thought he was the stripper. But then the stripper showed up and Grandma wanted them to have a strip-off so we could see who was the best stripper,” AJ tells the table. You know, at Sunday lunch in a family restaurant.
“Stop saying stripper. It weirds me out,” Abby says, taking a sip of her water.
“He’d make a great stripper, though. He’s got moves,” Payton adds.
“I’d like to see these moves, son,” Grandpa hollers from the end of the table. “Maybe you could teach me a few things,” he adds with a wink.
“Dear God, can’t you all act normal for five seconds? You’re gonna make him run away screaming before the waitress hands us the menus,” I chastise the table.
It’s quiet for a few moments as everyone just stares at Linkin and me. Abby, the traitor, is trying to hide her giggle beside me.
“His abs are pure sin,” Grandma says, saluting Linkin and adding a wink for good measure.
“Grandma, you grabbed his butt,” Meghan reprimands.
“It was a very nice butt,” she rationalizes with an evil grin as she glances over her menu.
“So, Linkin, is it?” my dad asks from the opposite end of the table, clearly uncomfortable with the way the conversations have been going thus far.
“Yes, sir. Linkin Stone,” he says with not so much as a hitch in his voice. It’s as if my family’s brand of crazy doesn’t faze him in the least. Interesting.
“Nice to meet you. What is it that you do, exactly? Assuming you’re not really a stripper,” My dad says, a light blush creeping up his neck.
“I’m a mechanic and body specialist for Stapleton’s,” Linkin tells my dad and family, casually taking a sip of his ice water.
“Body specialist,” Jaime whispers to Payton who makes the Y-chromosomes at the table giggle.
“And you’re not a stripper?” AJ asks, seeking confirmation. Her eyes are bright and shining, a mischievous look on her pretty face.
“The only stripping I do is on a car,” Linkin tells her with a wink.
“And now I’m picturing him stripping on the hood of a car,” AJ mumbles to Meghan, who’s sitting to her right. She’s not quiet about it, so it shouldn’t surprise me that everyone at the table hears her comment. Especially Grandma.
“Oh, me too, AJ. Me too,” Grandma says, saluting Linkin with her glass of sweet tea.
Everyone is staring at him as if he’s about to stand up and rip off his tear away pants to a Jay-Z song. My palms start to sweat and I brace myself for the letdown. He’s about to take one look at my crazy family and run from the restaurant. Why wouldn’t he? He’s been here less than five minutes and already interrogated for being a stripper.
And maybe I should let him go. He’s just as crazy as my family, remember? Offering to help me have a baby.
But something has been blooming in my chest ever since he made his suggestion. Hell, if I’m being honest with myself I’ve felt something since the first time I yelled at him in the hallway. No, I can’t seem to walk away, even though I probably should. The only way to define what I’m feeling is…hope.
I’m hopeful for the first time in I don’t know how long. My marriage to Chris was quickly going down the shitter, even before I found that document under our bed. I wasn’t happy. I definitely wasn’t happy when I found out what he did. But now? I find myself reaching for the olive branch that Linkin has extended to me.
Does that make me a little crazy too?
Probably.
“Linkin and I are dating!” I tell the table before chugging the diet soda set in front of me.
Wide eyes stare back at me. I hear his rushed inhale of breath, but don’t look over at him. I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep up the ruse. Or that I’ll throw myself at him. Either way, probably not the best thing for Sunday lunch.
Instead of sp
eaking, Linkin takes my hand and brings it to his mouth. He places a slow, tender kiss on my knuckles that sends lightning bolts of lust soaring through my blood and striking my nerve endings. Each wave of desire lands squarely between my legs, rendering the panties I changed into before knocking on my sister’s door, as useless.
My eyes find his, dark and full of heat. His lips have yet to move from the tender flesh of my hand, and I sorta pray they never do. Unless he wants to use those lips in other places.
God, my body is all tingly and hypersensitive.
“You are?” Meghan asks, her surprised, yet happy eyes bouncing between Linkin and me.
Words seem to evade me. As much as I try, with him touching me, I can’t make myself speak. Linkin must sense my inability to formulate words and jumps in. “Yes, we are. It’s a new development. Right, sweetheart?” he says softly, placing a kiss on my palm this time.
“Right,” I answer, my voice gruff and barely above a whisper. My head just keeps repeating over and over the way his deep voice says sweetheart.
“Well, I’m so happy for you,” Jaime says, offering a smile.
The rest of lunch progresses fine, but I feel completely out of it. I engage in conversation, but I have no idea what I said. Everyone seems to accept Linkin and my decision to date him, even though I’m not divorced yet. Hell, I just found out about my decision to date him, and I’m not even freaked out. Even if said decision was based on a knee-jerk reaction.
Maybe it’s the alcohol talking.
After lunch, we all stand to leave. Outside on the sidewalk, everyone talks over the person next to them as they embrace and say goodbye, as if we hadn’t just seen each other last night. Funny, aren’t we? We’re a close family, one that sticks our noses where they don’t belong and teases you mercilessly until you’re ready to pee. Or is that tickle? Either way, my family is always there for each other.
“Linkin, it was nice to officially meet you. I heard so much about you after Lexi’s divorce party that it was like there was another man in bed with us,” Grandpa tells Linkin, not even caring that he tap-danced over the invisible line between acceptable and awkward.
