Knocked Up by Brother's Best Friend: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance

by Amy Brent

  “I don’t have a toaster?” I asked.

  “Good thing I didn’t make the breakfast here, then.”

  “Did you get it from somewhere?” I asked. “Let me pay you back.”

  “No worries. I had to grab myself something, and it wasn’t a big deal.”

  For a man who didn’t want to cross any sexual boundaries, he had no issues throwing it in my face why I’d caved to him in the first place. Every time I turned around, he was doing something above and beyond his job, like making me coffee or paying for lunch. If he didn’t stop, I was going to try and push those boundaries again, and that wouldn’t be good for anyone involved.

  I carried way too much baggage, anyway. I was an incredibly damaged person who would be a detriment to his daughter if things took off between us. He would figure out all the things that were wrong with me, and he’d toss me to the curb just to protect his daughter, and I wouldn’t even be able to be mad at it. I wouldn’t be able to blame him, yell at him, or call him a dick hole, because he’d be right.

  I would put his daughter in danger and risk damaging her more than she already had been from what his ex did to him.

  What his ex did to them both.

  But he had been on my mind all weekend long. When I got that message from him, asking me how I was, I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. It took me a second to remember that checking on me during the weekends was how we negotiated his weekends off, and then it dawned on me that he really was working for me. But to my body, that didn’t matter. The moment he checked on me to make sure I was all right, I felt my nipples stand at attention.

  Rachel called me out on it, telling me I was falling in love, or some shit, with my bodyguard and to be careful. I told her nothing like that was happening, that it was just a meaningless hook up that went really well, and the only issue was I was pissed it didn’t go any further. I gave her all the dirty details, like how thick his fingers were inside my pussy and how the callouses of his thumb felt heavenly against my clit. She squealed and clapped her hands, saying something like “it’s about time,” and I had no idea what she meant.

  Until she told me how I’d been eyeing him the entire night.

  “You were practically hovering over him,” she said. “Like a vulture or something.”

  “I was not!”

  “Your ass was buried so far into his dick, I thought he’d stuffed you with it, Bridge! Face it. You have the hots for your bodyguard.”

  And she had been right. He’d plagued my dreams all last night, to the point where I had to get up in the middle of the night and rub one out in the bathroom. I had to slink down into a corner, with Rachel snoring in the other room, and bite down into my shirt just to keep from crying out his name. The orgasm I gave myself was nothing like the one he gave me in the bathroom stall at the club, and it was like a high I’d chase for months before he would finally fade from my system.

  Maybe by then, he would be gone, and all of this could just go away.

  “Anything on the agenda for today?” he asked. His voice ripped me from my trance, and I took a bite of my fruit. It was succulent and delicious, and the cantaloupe squirted from between my lips and dribbled down my chin. I scrambled for my napkin while I was giggling, but the heat that rose in Thomas’s eyes was unmistakable. He watched the sweet juice drip down my chin before I wiped it away, and I could only imagine how much his cock was trembling from the sight.

  “I have to go shopping for a party I have on Saturday.”

  “Which means you’ll need me for Saturday,” he said.

  “If you can get it,” I said. “If not, I’m sure I’ll be all right for a day by myself.”

  “Nope,” he said. “I’ll arrange it with my parents.”

  “It’s wonderful that you have such supportive parents,” I said.

  “I bet yours are, too,” he said.

  “Any interview you’ve seen of me should tell you otherwise.”

  I had been very candid with my audience about how I’d distanced myself from my parents. Many times, they tried to take advantage of my financial situation, and the last time they asked me for money, it came out as more of a demand. They tried to guilt trip me, telling me how hard it was to raise me and how they deserved a chunk of that money, and I hung up the phone on them and never looked back.

  They tried calling every once in a while, but all I did was ignore their calls until they eventually ceased.

  “Then, I’m sorry the interviews are actually correct,” he said.

  “What did you think they were?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I thought maybe you were painting an image of yourself to garner the favor of a specific population.”

  “That’s… actually not a completely false statement for some actresses,” I said.

  “What time are we going shopping?” he asked.

  “Most stores have a lull between one and four, so I figured we could go then. We’ll be less bombarded with people in the store who just wanna take pictures.”

  “Sounds fair enough,” he said.

  “And go ready to try on clothes. You’ll need a tux where we’re going. And before you say anything, I’m paying for it. Think of it as your uniform.”

  “Normal people pay for their uniforms,” he said.

  “Tough titties. I’m paying for your tux. Now, eat your breakfast.”

  The day was pretty slow. He stayed downstairs, and I stayed upstairs. It was pretty obvious we were both trying to avoid each other, and I hated that. I enjoyed the playful relationship we had been cultivating, and I didn’t understand why it had to stop, just because he touched my pussy a couple nights ago.

  But he told me he wanted all the flirting to stop, so I didn’t push my limits. I wasn’t going to fire him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t quit.

  I came down the stairs around twelve-thirty and saw him standing at the door. His shoulders were rolled back, and his hands were clasped in front of his body, just like he had been the first day he showed up. A part of me ached that he felt he had to go back to that type of business lifestyle with me, but things had been made very clear, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  I got into the car before he slid in next to me, and the ride was silent. He stayed on his side of the seat, and I stayed on mine. My eyes got hooked on the scenery passing by. The entire world of L.A. seemed happy and jovial. People were walking about, swinging their bags by their sides, carrying on conversations with those they loved and enjoyed. The sun was shining, and I could smell the cotton candy as we passed by the stand. I felt an odd knot of emotion build within my throat before Bernie pulled us up beside my favorite store.

  “We’re here,” Thomas said.

  “I can see that. Come on. Time to get you measured for a tux.”

  We walked inside, and the moment I entered, three different people rushed to my sides. They held out fabrics in different colors and textures, while someone was talking to me about jewelry and different shoes, but all I did was quiet them down and ask them for a tux specialist.

  “My bodyguard needs to be fitted with a tux. Black, with a cummerbund, and one silk stripe running down the outside of each leg. His skin’s a little sun-kissed, so do a champagne shirt instead of a white one. It’ll really make him pop.”

  “Any preference for the tie and cufflinks?” a man asked.

  “Do I get a say in any of this?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “Try on a few, and see what makes those blue eyes of his pop. Maybe he’ll find someone at the party he’s comfortable taking home afterward.”

  I spat that last sentence a bit more than I needed to, and his eyes whipped over to mine. For a split second, I saw something akin to guilt pass along his face, but it was gone before I could pinpoint it. The man with the tape measurer was dragging him off, and I turned my attention back to the fabrics in front of me, just so I didn’t have to look at him.

  I didn’t realize how angry I was
at him for putting a stop to things until just now. He was going to look amazing in that suit, and another woman was going to get to take him home.

  And that woman wouldn’t be me.

  “Any particular color you’d like for your dress, Miss Meyers?” one of the designers asked.

  “Something dark. Like crimson or black. Maybe a nice hunter green?”

  “Oh, the hunter green would go wonderful with your hair and eyes. Give me a moment.”

  I tried on dress after dress, with none of them really suiting what I wanted. I felt too constricted in things that were form-fitting, but the flowing fabrics hung on me like I was a clothes hanger. I tried on twenty-two different dresses before the last hunter green dress came in, and of course, it had a champagne-colored bow that wrapped around the waist.

  “I know it’s lace, and I know you hate lace, but just try it. For me, hmm?”

  I took the dress from the fitter and slipped into it. The moment I got it to my shoulders, I knew it was the one for me. The full-length gown had a sweetheart neckline that flaunted the cleavage I had, without overstating it, and the bow wrapped around my waist cinched it in a bit before the fabric flared slightly and swished across the ground. I felt like a princess who had finally found the dress she had been looking for, and tears rose to my eyes when I saw myself in it.

  “You look marvelous,” the fitter said. “And that’s right off the rack. No hemming, no tailoring, no nothing. It was like it was made for you.”

  “What do you think about pearls with this type of dress?” I asked.

  “Hold on. I’ve got a set I know you’ll love.”

  He left the room, and I was left with my thoughts. Part of me wanted to rush out and tell the tailor to switch the color of the shirt, but part of me wanted to match him Saturday evening. I didn’t want him to be upset or think that I’d intentionally matched him in any way, and then my brain finally kicked back into gear. Why the fuck did I care anyway? I was paying for this shit, and I could wear whatever the fuck I wanted. If he didn’t like the tux after the party, he could burn it for all I cared.

  Fuck him.

  The fitter came back in with a dainty pearl necklace and dangling pearl earrings that were perfect. He slipped the necklace around my neck and fastened it before he held the earrings up beside my face. I reached back to pile my hair on my head before I settled on my purchase.

  “It’s perfect,” I smiled.

  “And it matches that beautiful bodyguard you’ve got standing out there. You’ll never guess what color tie and cufflinks he picked.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me,” I said.

  “Green! Oh, I can't wait to see the pictures, Miss Meyers. The two of you will be stunning.”

  Of course, this would happen. Of course, we would match. Of course, all this princess love story bullshit would rain down on me the moment he threw up the walls and said “no.” I got out of the dress and gave the fitter the jewelry before I told him to go ring me up. I reminded him that I was purchasing the tux as well and told him Thomas would try to pay if I wasn’t out there. I put myself back into my clothes and cleaned up my watering eyes a bit, settling my mind before I reemerged.

  And just like I thought, Thomas was arguing with the fitter up front.

  “She told me not to let you pay. I’m just doing what I asked.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Ring it all up, and put it on my account.”

  “Please, Bridget. Stop. I can get this.”

  “Thomas, for the love of everything, I can afford it. Just let me treat you to something. Just once. Think of it as repayment for breakfast.”

  “The cost of that tux could buy an entire third world country breakfast,” he said.

  At that very moment, I felt the need to spill it all. I had to physically bite down on my lip to keep myself from saying anything. This tug, deep within the pit of my gut, almost broke down the walls I’d erected around my conscious mind. I almost told him my secret, right there in the middle of the store downtown, just to get him to understand.

  Just to get him to see.

  But I knew it would send him running. Even as my teeth bit down into my lower lip, they knew what I knew. My secret would send him running so he could protect his daughter, and something inside of me wanted him sticking around as long as I could have him. He was protection, yes, but he was also company. He was a man I wanted to talk to as well as fuck. A man I wanted to get to know as well as explore. And even though the exploration was off the table, I still wanted to know him.

  To exist with him. To be in the same room as him.

  “Fine,” he said. “But, you’re not paying anymore for me.”

  “Then stop paying for me,” I said.

  “Here you go, Miss Meyers,” the fitter said. “I hope you enjoy your purchase.”

  “Thanks,” I said, smiling. “You ready to go?”

  I watched him walk to the door and open it for me before he looked up into my eyes. It was the second time I’d caught his gaze today, and my legs felt like pudding, standing in the middle of the store. It was as if his stare could evaporate the bones from my very body and leave me vulnerable and writhing on the floor where I stood.

  “After you,” he said.

  Chapter 10

  Thomas

  I told Bridget to just keep the tux with her before I went home that day. The shopping trip had been tense, and the quip she had made about me going home with someone else revealed to me a vulnerability in her mind that I hadn’t caught earlier. It never occurred to me that by telling her we couldn't go any further that I was somehow rejecting her beauty, and I didn’t want her to feel that way. It was simply unprofessional, that was all, but I had no issues with trying things out between us once this job was over.

  I wasn’t sure how I was gonna fix my mess up, but I needed to find a way to do it before her anger pushed me away. Then, I’d really be out of a job.

  The moment I pulled up into her driveway that morning, I had to get into her car. Bernie was racing down the road, tossing us all around the backseat. I looked over at Bridget, who was practically half asleep, her body being tossed around like a rag doll. I reached over and tried to pin her upright to the seat, but the moment my arm hit her across her chest, she snapped her eyes open. She grabbed my arm like she was frightened of something before she realized where she was, and for a brief second, she looked over at me with the look of a scared little girl.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Ah, there’s a damn scene I gotta shoot,” she said. “This picky ass director wants a scene shot from a different angle before he pieces it together.”

  “How’s that sleep going for you?” I asked.

  “Better late than never,” she said.

  We pulled up to the studio, and I ushered her out of the car. She was stumbling with exhaustion, and I had to help her into the studio. When we got in, a couple of people whisked her away to hair and makeup. I was instructed that I couldn’t go back, but the director told me it was a pretty simple scene, so she wouldn’t be back there for long.

  I stood by the director and waited for her to emerge.

  “How do you wanna shoot the scene, director?” someone asked.

  “We’ve got all the angles except the broad overhead one. Set up a camera right above the bed and let them do it a time or two. That should be it.”

  “What kind of scene are they doing?” I asked.

  “It’s their sex scene in the movie. I’ve got every angle except the ones audiences always love, which is the top-down angle. Essentially, we hang a high definition camera above the bed and alter the shadows with lighting while they fake orgasms for a while.”

  Oh, good god. I was about to watch her do a sex scene. Of course, that’s what it would be after all we’d experienced and done together already. Running my hand around my head, I sighed as I looked for her in the background. She emerged with nothing but a light pink nightgown on, with a sheer robe of the same color, and
I felt my cock twitch in my pants.

  This was not going to be good.

  “All right, Meyers!” the director called out. “We aren’t taking this from the beginning. We’re going straight to the sex. Ben, sit on the bed like Meyers is delivering her last line. Meyers, be poised to take a step toward him before he pulls you to the bed.”

  The director climbed behind his camera and set up everything. Lights were flashing, and panels were up around the bed while he centered the camera and toggled with its lens a little bit. Then, when he was ready, he called action, and I watched this man pull her down onto the bed.

  I recognized him, Benedict Maraschino. Obviously, a stage name, but one that attracted the sexy party girls nonetheless. He had branded himself with a simple picture of a cherry and was a real party guy when he wasn’t shooting films. Now, he was kissing and rubbing his hands all over a woman I had tasted just a few nights ago.

  I cleared my throat and cocked my hip out while Ben slowly removed the nightgown from her body. Her tits popped out, uncovered, luscious, and full, just like my teeth had felt that night in the club, and my palms began to sweat. His lips were wrapping around those perfect nipples, pulling them taut before he nuzzled into their bounce. Bridget was raking her fingers through his hair and rolling her hips into his body, and suddenly, my cock sprang to life against the pants I was wearing.