My hand shakes so violently that I drop the fucking stick and end up on my hands and knees trying to retrieve it from behind the toilet.
This can’t be happening to me. And with that fucking hobo.
Jesus, I’m going to give birth to a yeti.
Dropping the test and the packaging into the bin, I turn to wash my hands. It’s only when I glance at myself in the mirror that I realise I’ve got tears running down my cheeks.
What the hell do I do now? I’m meant to be preparing for a promotion, not a nursery.
“Fuuuuuccck,” I scream into my empty apartment.
Wiping at my face, I collect my shawl with the intention of continuing with my evening as planned.
I dish up my salad and pop my pre-prepared salmon in the microwave. The smell makes me heave and makes me think of the other times this has happened in the last couple of days.
The thought has fire burning through my veins. I’m nowhere near prepared to deal with something as life changing as this right now.
My life is planned, well thought out, and organised to a point it could be considered compulsive. An unexpected pregnancy was not part of my life plan. There’s no way I can be a single mum and a kickass family lawyer. The two do not mix.
Unwrapping my fish, I place it next to my salad and carry it, along with a glass of water, over to my dining table while I try not to breathe through my nose.
I pop a tomato into my mouth, but I don’t taste it at all. I’m too busy trying to work out where my life started going in a different direction than instructed. The image of Brandon standing outside the church the day of Rhian and Jack’s wedding pops into my head and I know it’s all his fault.
Why did I think sleeping with that waste of space would ever be a good thing?
I’ve no idea how long I sit there staring at my long gone cold salmon, but eventually my need to talk to someone gets the better of me. Usually my go to would be Rhian. She understands me and doesn’t judge how I live my life, but I can’t go to her with this right now. She won’t be able to keep it from Jack and he’ll probably run straight around to Brandon’s to give him the good news. No, I need someone who’s miles away and not likely to spill my secret before I figure out what the hell I'm going to do.
“Jesus, Reese, do you know what time it is?” Sarah, my oldest friend says groggily. “Just because you can run on two hours sleep, it doesn’t mean everyone can.”
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt, unable to keep the words in.
“Holy fuck. I’m awake.”
Sarah and I have been friends since we were born, our mothers being friends for even longer. They still joke that if one of us was a boy we’d be married with three kids by now.
It’s not true. Sarah and I couldn’t be more different if we tried. Although I guess both our jobs are done with a similar focus in minds, kids’ welfare. She’s currently a nanny for a rich family up in the Lake District looking after three little devil kids if her stories are anything to go by. She tells me she loves it, but it sounds like a living hell to me.
“What am I going to do?”
“I’ve no idea, Reese. That’s kinda down to you, and the dad. Ooooh who’s the dad?”
I groan as I picture him once again. He’d probably be Sarah’s perfect type, which means he’s everything that isn’t mine.
Fuck my life.
“A hobo.”
Sarah snorts her shock. “I’m going to take that as a joke because I know you have much higher standards than fucking an actual hobo.”
“He’s Jack’s best friend. I fucked him the night of his and Rhian’s wedding. I planned on never thinking about it ever again but—”
“But now you’re growing his spawn.”
“Not helping,” I warn, much to her amusement. “Now I’m ringing for sympathy so come on, give me some.”
“Okay. Let me get comfy and then you can tell me everything.”
By the time I put the phone down, I realise that although I enjoyed a catch up with my friend and an opportunity to purge my current circumstances down the phone, I’m no further forward with the dilemma facing me right now.
I’m pregnant and it’s my brother’s best friend’s. I need my cupcake.
7
Brandon
February
The difference a couple of weeks makes. Armed with my newfound confidence, not only have I made and sold quite a few items of handmade furniture with a very healthy mark-up, but I’ve also been on more dates, and today I handed in my notice at work. One more month of night shifts and then I’m done. I’ve also decided not to get a new housemate. If I’m going to be working days and having dates, I want to be able to bring women back to my now immaculate pad, plus be able to work on my business without worrying about someone else being in the house. I mean… what if they were untidy?!!!
I laugh to myself. Poor Aiden. I’m making that guy whatever piece of furniture he desires because I realise I owe him big time. I’d invited him around for a pint tonight, but he’d refused. Because it’s Valentine’s Day. Ugh.
I’ve received three cards, which is three more than in the last three years to be honest. My last date had tried to get me to take her out again tonight but no way. I am not about to go all hearts and flowers. I did all that with my ex-Naomi. Been there, done that. No woman is going to break my heart again like she did. Not anytime soon anyway. I’m having a fab time. My dick is having an even greater time, and my heart is being kept in a locked cage for now. Maybe one day the right woman might come along and I could learn to trust and love again. But I’m living the dream right now. I have my own shag pad and my own business. My appearance might have changed, but I’m not sure I recognise myself right now anyway!
There’s just one problem if I’m going to be brutally honest though: right now I’m bloody knackered. I’m shagging, making, working, cleaning, and my sleeping hours are cut right back. I no longer have time to nap on a sofa. There’s always something to do. However, my life is better for it so I shall persevere so I can live the dream, even if I can’t sleep and dream.
However, it is Valentine’s night, so I’m not going out. The idea of a night alone appeals more than I want to admit. To have a bit of a rest from my new life and say hi to my long-lost friend the sofa. I stick a pizza in the oven and put on some comfy loungewear: shorts and a long sleeve top.
No sooner is my arse sat at my dining table then the doorbell goes. Who the fuck could that be? Annoyed, I get up and head to the front door, ready to tell whichever salesperson it is to piss off.
But I find Reese standing at the other side of the door.
I’m immediately suspicious because she’s not wearing her Ice Queen look. Instead, she looks… friendly and… nervous. These are not emotions I associate with Jack’s sister so loud alarm bells ring in my head.
Why would Reese be here on Valentine’s Day?
Oh… I get it. She’s not got a date and she’s realised that my dick is talented. She’s come for some more sugar. I’ll let her squirm for it.
“Can I come in, Brandon, please? It’s about what happened between us at the wedding.”
“Absolutely. Come in. I’m just grabbing a bite to eat.” Calm down, Brandon. Play it cool.
“Oh, is it a bad time? I can come back. I drove here so…”
“It’s not a bad time. I’m just eating. Come in and give me five minutes and then we can… get to what’s on your mind.”
She follows me into the kitchen and immediately I see her turn her face up at my pizza like she’s going to puke.
“Sorry, it’s not what you posh birds eat, but I’m having a rare night off. I’ve been very busy of late.”
“It’s not that, it’s—”
“Yes?”
“I’m just not feeling so good.”
Now I’m confused. Why has she come to see me for a shag if she’s not well? Is she not here for that? Has something happened to my best mate?
“Is Jack okay?”
I double check.
She shrugs. “He was the last time I spoke to him. Too busy in the honeymoon stage to bother with me much right now.” She pauses. “Would it be okay if I waited in your living room until you’ve eaten?”
Hmmm, maybe this is an excuse for her to go strip off in there and then when I follow in later she’ll be laid tantalisingly on the sofa?
“Sure. I won’t be a minute. Would you like a drink?”
“Maybe a glass of water?”
“Okay. I’ll be through shortly.”
It’s only at that point, when she’s gone that I remember I’m in my pyjamas. As I look down I see my dick has been proudly displaying its girth under my shorts the whole time. Damn beige material. Oh well, she’s seen the real thing and hopefully they’ll be off in a minute.
When I walk into the living room, I’m unprepared for what I’m looking at. For some reason Reese is kneeling on my sofa with her head and half her torso leaning over the back of it. Her skirt has risen up showing her thighs. It’s the strangest ‘take me’ sexy position I’ve ever seen, but I’m not that experienced in women’s seduction techniques so maybe she’s going to teach me something new. Walking over I slide my hand up her thigh.
She turns back to me and everything happens at once.
There’s a feral looking woman with something unidentifiable running from her mouth glaring at me.
The stench of something rotting hits my nostrils.
The sharp sting of a slap to my face is felt before my head ricochets a little.
I fall to the floor and start heaving myself.
“What in God’s name is going on?” I groan, then heave again.
“I’ve been sick, you fucking idiot. I couldn’t see a bin, so I just aimed for the back of the sofa. Where are your cleaning things? I’ll get it cleaned straight up. Oh how gross.” She looks scathingly at me trying not to bring my pizza back up.
I shake my head at her. “You’re not well. You sit down and I’ll see to it.”
Her hands go to her hips and her face relaxes before she bursts into a fit of giggles.
“You’re going to clean up my vomit? You can’t even get your hand away from your face.”
I try to remove it to prove otherwise but it’s no good. I start to almost barf. “For fuck’s sake, Brandon. Go back to the kitchen and show me where everything is,” she orders.
She’s just been ill and now she looks perfectly all right. She really is some kind of fucking robot. I follow her into the kitchen—thankful beyond words to get out of the living room—and watch as she rinses her mouth under the tap and then starts opening cupboards and getting cleaning materials out. Meanwhile I sit back at my dining room table and try to find something else to think about other than Reese’s vomit.
The whisky calls from the inbuilt kitchen wine rack. Dragging in deep breaths I take a tumbler from behind a cupboard door and then pour myself a decent measure and enjoy the burn as a mouthful coats my throat. The fine aroma gives my nostrils a different smell to imprint on my brain rather than the vomit one.
Reese walks back in with a carrier bag full of kitchen towel and wet cloths. “All done. I’ll just take these to your outside bin. I’ll replace anything I’ve used. Hopefully the smell will completely disappear, but if not, get your carpet cleaned and send me the invoice, although actually, it’s partly your fault so maybe I’ll just leave it to you.”
It’s partly my fault she puked? Is she going to blame having to look at my face or something?
She goes outside and I hear a bin clatter and then she walks back into the kitchen. Her face goes a bit green again. “Erm, can we go somewhere else to talk? I can’t stay here with the pizza smell.”
“And I can’t sit in my living room with your vomit smell, so that leaves my bedroom. Please do not puke in there.”
“Show me where the bathroom is and we’ll be fine.”
We walk upstairs and I push open my bedroom door beckoning her inside. I see her eyes noting everything as she walks in and sits on the end of the bed. I sit next to her. This is really turning out to be a strange evening.
“I can’t believe you tried to hit on me while I was being sick,” she states.
“You turn up at my house on Valentine’s and I find you with your arse in the air bent over on my sofa. What else is a guy to think?”
She ponders my answer for a moment.
“Fair enough.”
“So why are you here? I’ve wracked my brains and gone through you wanting a repeat performance, my best friend having died, and now I’m coming up empty because why would you come here if you were ill? I’m confused.”
“I’m pregnant,” she says.
I swallow hard because I am sure she just said that she was pregnant. Then I stare at her.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m pregnant, Brandon. That’s why I’m here and why I’ve puked over the back of your sofa. It’s why I pulled a face at your meal. Not because I’m a snob over pizza. I actually usually love pizza. Just not the smell of it at the moment.” She takes a deep exhale and I can tell that whatever I choose to say next, she feels a sense of relief that her pregnancy news is out in the open.
Baby daddy informed. Tick.
Baby daddy having a humongous panic attack? Not sure she saw that one coming. My breath is coming in short, sharp gasps. The walls are closing in. I CANNOT BREATHE.
“I’m dying.” I gasp. “Quick, record me.” I pant. “I leave everything to my unborn child.”
What I am not expecting is her to slap my face again.
I sit back shocked clutching at my throbbing cheek.
“Get it together. I know it’s a shock, but you aren’t going to die. Now I’ll let you off today but being able to deal with puke might be featuring in your future life. I’m keeping the baby. I wanted you to know that whatever your own parenting decision is, I’m having my baby.”
“Okay.” I nod. I’m finding it difficult to say anything else.
“You’re okay with my decision to keep it? Not that it would change anything anyway.”
I carry on nodding.
“So we’ll need to talk about my upcoming first scan and whether or not you want to be at all the appointments. How we’ll co-parent, how much visitation you’ll want etc. I know it’s all a shock and early days so how about I leave you to process the fact you’re going to be a dad around September time and I come back to see you tomorrow night?”
Again I can do nothing more than nod.
Reese stands up. As she walks past me, I hold out a hand near to her stomach and then I pull it away again.
“It’s okay,” she says. She grabs hold of my hand and brings it to her stomach. I feel the warmth of her skin through my fingers, the soft cotton of her top.
“I don’t think it even has ears yet, but ‘hey, bean. This is your daddy’.” A moment passes between us and then she bids me goodbye and says she’ll catch up with me tomorrow.
I’m vaguely aware of the downstairs door closing and then I hear a car engine fire up.
How did it happen? Well I know the whys but we used… oh fuck. We had sex over and over and over. I don’t remember if condoms were involved every time, given I was so very, very drunk.
My mobile phone beeps and I take it out of my pocket.
Lauren: Booty call? I know you said you didn’t want a Valentine? I could come over after midnight?
Booty call? I never want to have sex again. Look what it’s done. Thank fuck I know for definite I’ve used condoms with my other conquests, otherwise I could end up with a whole nursery full.
I sit back and think about how my life just changed with those two words from Reese, and how I didn’t just get dodgy looking socks for Christmas after all. I got another present, though it’s currently still wrapped up… in Reese’s stomach.
8
Reese
I had no idea what Brandon was thinking when I walked out of his house the night I told him about my pregnancy. No
thing about that night went as planned, from me emptying the contents of my stomach over the back of his sofa or him having a panic attack when I told him.
After that reaction I was half expecting to never hear from him again, so you could imagine my surprise when a hamper was delivered to my office the next morning full of morning sickness remedies and other horrifying things like nipple cream.
I was busy admiring the contents when Rich came strolling into my room. He must have known something was up by the horrified expression on my face, but he soon moved onto more pressing issues than the hamper I threw under my desk the second he knocked.
I had no idea how I’d managed to keep my pregnancy secret from work because I spent a good chunk of my days in the toilets throwing up.
I’ve booked today off work, something that hasn’t happened... well, ever. I can’t even remember the last time I had a holiday, which is pretty pathetic.
I’m sitting in the waiting room surrounded by other pregnant women of varying sizes. I’m trying to keep my eyes to myself, but my curiosity keeps getting the better of me every time a belly walks past me and I start to wonder if I’m going to end up quite so big.
Brandon told me he was coming today when I emailed him with the details. I might have promised him I’d see him the day after my surprise announcement but as usual I ended up stuck at the office and I haven’t managed to see him again yet. I think we both can’t face the reality of what’s happening.
Brandon has been emailing me periodically to find out how I am and if bean is okay, but that’s the limit to our relationship, and I’m more than happy with that. I made the decision to continue with this pregnancy for me; I didn’t have any unrealistic ideas that we’d suddenly become a happy family. I’ve no idea how everything is going to work. I’m a self-confessed workaholic who’s going to become a single mum.
As the time for my appointment comes and goes, so does my hope that Brandon will be here to see our baby for the first time.
The Daddy Dilemma: A Brother's Best Friend Enemies To Lovers Romance (Hot Daddy Book 3) Page 5
