Once Upon A Half-Time: A Secret Baby Romance (29 page)

“That’s because you can’t have me.”

“That’s not it. I already had you. I should be satisfied.”

Mandy’s mouth popped open. “I didn’t
satisfy
you?”

I laughed. “You did more than that. I’ve never had a fuck like you. I don’t think I will again until I lay you down and get those panties off. So fair warning, baby. Once isn’t enough. It will never be enough. You’re a sweet addiction, but there’s no vice in wanting you. The only sin would be denying what we need.”

She shook her head. “You have no idea the trouble it will cause.”

“The only thing I love more than trouble is a good fuck.” And the only thing better than a good fuck was doing it again. I loosened the tie and tossed it onto the bed. She was lucky I didn’t lay her down next to it. “I’m not going to stop until I take you again.”

“And then what?”

I should have shown her. She baited me, like she didn’t believe how badly I ached to fill her.

The only way she’d understand was if I took her again, but I wasn’t a man to beg. Next time, she’d come to
me
, and I’d reward her for every second of her bravery.

“And then I’ll fuck you until you realize you never should have run.”

C
oconut cake
.

Why did it have to be coconut cake?

Even the chocolate wasn’t sitting right. Or the marble. Or the carrot.

Or the water. The air. The car ride to the cake tasting.

Morning sickness came at all times of the day, and it didn’t mix well with the apprehension of holding the cake tasting at Nate’s pub,
Arrogance
. Of course he
graciously
volunteered his bar for a private event, opening the doors before his regular hours.

He did it to see me. He wasn’t giving up.

And I might have been flattered if it weren’t for the secret hanging over my head.

Mom wasn’t happy about being seen in a bar before nightfall, but the ivory balloons and flowers Nate used to decorate was a stroke of genius. She overlooked the dark woods, leather seats, and huge selection of specialty brews on tap because he pampered Lindsey.

For that, I supposed I could be nice too. Except I had no idea what to do while he leaned against his bar. The green-eyed miscreant offered me a seat at the counter, close to him. He wanted to sample the sweets together.

That only made the nausea worse.

My life wasn’t flashing before my eyes anymore; it was hurling into the toilet as discreetly as I could hide it without my family assuming I was pregnant. Of course, when Mom heard me at home, she patted my cheek with an encouraging
good job
.

At least I could please my mother with a fictitious eating disorder. God forbid we had a size-ten bridesmaid.

Curves were for roads, not strapless dresses.

But coconut didn’t have a place in my life
before
I got pregnant. Now it exacted some sort of tropical revenge for every disparaging remark I ever made about the nut.

Fruit?

Hellspawn
.

The flakes crusting the top of the cake squeaked over my teeth. I took one bite, shuddered as the stringy flecks lodged in my throat, and tried to choke it down.

My stomach flipped.

This wasn’t good.

“What do we all think?” Mom clapped her hands. “Write it down. Come on, quickly now. We have two dozen more cake samples to go.”

Now my stomach flopped.

Twenty
more pieces of cake? I couldn’t even watch Food Network this morning. Who the hell inflicted this type of torture on their family
or
local bakery?

Lindsey slapped my arm. “You aren’t writing anything down! I need your input! This is
the
most important decision for the reception!”

She’d said the same for the music, the venue, the dress…

I blinked, staring at the grid paper in front of me. The cake samples were labeled numerically, and a dozen columns stretched across the page. Each box held a specific set of criteria for judgment—decorations, flavor, color, texture, consistency, sweetness, frosting thickness, exclusivity, trendiness, melt-ability, memorability, champagne compliments, and how likely the flavor profile would match Lindsey’s chosen wedding theme, Fairytales in Heaven.

I wondered if I could add my own—how fun it’d be to smoosh in my sister’s face.

But Lindsey handed us tiny pencils without erasers, so I had to behave. Mom smacked my wrist as I tried to doodle in a score.

“Don’t hold your pencil like that, you’ll give yourself arthritis. Men don’t like gangly hands.”

This was why I typed everything, but Mom said I’d get a hunch back from the keyboard anyway. I gritted my teeth. The frustration swirled in my stomach. I stood up too fast.

“Where are you going?” Lindsey pointed her pencil at me. “Eat the damn cake, Mandy! I can’t do this without you!”

“I just…” Words nauseated me too. “Bathroom. Mark a big
no
for me on the coconut.”

Lindsey dropped her fork. “So
that’s
how it’s going to be?”

I shimmied from the table, easing as far from the reeking cake as I could manage without drawing suspicion. “I didn’t like that one.”

“So you’re completely disregarding the other
eleven
sections of criteria because you don’t like the
flavor?
We can’t ignore how perfectly this cake would match the dress! It looked
heavenly
!”

Bryce shrugged. “We can order the other cakes to be white and coconut, babe.”

“For the last time!” Lindsey burst into tears. “It’s
ivory!
”

Nate couldn’t resist making my life harder. “Wait…you actually wanted us to score this, Linds?”

He pointed me to the bathroom while Lindsey raged. I slammed the door behind me as my sister’s wail turned into a threat to shove the rest of the cakes down Nate’s throat.

Coconut tasted as bad coming up as it did going down. I did the best I could and tried to keep quiet. At least the bar’s bathrooms were surprisingly clean. I remembered Nate’s disaster of a bedroom from when we were kids. At least he grew up and started taking care of his property.

It almost gave me…hope?

Sitting punked out on a bar’s bathroom floor gave a woman a lot to think about.

This wasn’t rock bottom yet, but it wasn’t far under my tush. If I wanted to hide the pregnancy, I’d have to stop getting sick so often or come up with a better excuse. I’d only get a couple days’ mileage out of the stomach flu. After that, I’d have to be more creative. Food poisoning. Dysentery? Once I used all the illnesses I could remember from playing The Oregon Trail, maybe I’d pretend I was shooting up. My family would probably accept drug use over an unexpected, unwed pregnancy.

Especially since Nate was…not like the Prescotts or Washingtons.

If our families weren’t pleased that Nate abandoned his calling to open a microbrewery and bar, they definitely wouldn’t like that we accidentally mixed pale ale with a dark stout.

Not that Nate would take the news well either, though I didn’t think it’d matter to him what color the baby was…just that it was his.

He hadn’t stopped chasing me, and I couldn’t get his scent out of my head—that rich, hoppy masculine tease that followed him from the pub. I barely survived walking in on him, bare-chested and trying on his tuxedo. For the past two days I suffered through hormone-induced nights of alternating weeping and unrelenting horniness.

I was a mess, and his green eyes and cocky smile were equal parts dangerous and tempting. Slipping into bed with him would probably soothe my nerves, and it wasn’t like I could get
more
pregnant.

Right?

But it would be a mistake, and I knew it. The warmth that once centered in my core had spread, and I was afraid it’d find its way to my heart. Nate pursued me for the wrong reasons, but his words layered in sensuality and
honesty
, as if he actually wanted more than that one night with me.

The greatest danger in the world wasn’t falling for the wrong man—it was letting him catch me after I fell head over heels.

How long could I hide the baby from him? Nate wasn’t stupid—and I constantly underestimated the muscle-bound trouble-maker. Even he’d notice if I looked like I swallowed a basketball.

I had to tell him.

It was the right thing to do.

Really, it was the
only
thing I had to do. If Nate knew about the baby, he could help me prepare. More importantly, he could help me keep the secret until after the wedding.

If I survived the coconut onslaught to come.

I peeled myself off the bathroom floor before Lindsey rampaged through the door. The mirror revealed everything I tried to hide. My hair was limp. My eyes were still wide in that perpetual
Oh-Dear-God-It’s-Positive
shock. Maybe no one would notice?

Nate would.

He hadn’t stopped staring at me since I arrived. But…at least it made me feel beautiful.

I returned to our table. Bryce’s brother only just arrived—late, but as he was still in scrubs and transcribing his notes from the day’s cardiovascular rounds, Lindsey forgave him.
This time
.

Rick looked identical to his younger brother. Both men played linebacker at college though Rick focused more on his studies and went pre-med. They were both handsome, and their skin coffee dark. Bryce got more of his mom’s patience. Rick inherited his father’s uncanny ability to speak without thinking.

He took the seat next to me. “You look like hell.”

I made a face. “You smell worse.”

“I’m fresh off an eighteen hour shift.” He gobbled up his slice of cake. Mom smacked his wrist and told him to wait for his score card. “What’s your excuse?”

I casually scooped my cake onto Rick’s plate and avoided Nate’s questioning glance. “Only eighteen hours? I’ve been on bridesmaid duty for the past three
months
.”

“She still kicking your butt?”

“Yeah, and skinning it, tanning it, and turning it into a belt to beat me with.”

“Well, if you need to get her a new heart, I might be able to sneak one home from the hospital…” Rick frowned at the cake criteria sheet. “Linds, what the hell is this? It looks like my MCATs.”

Bryce answered for her, either to avoid conflict with his brother or to score points with the bride-to-be. She still refused to talk to him after the Spiderman cufflink situation a day ago.

“We’re judging cakes,” he said. “We want to be sure we pick the right flavor for our special day.”

Nate snorted into his beer. Lindsey heard. That wasn’t good.

“Excuse me for being
methodical
.” She crushed her pencil against the score card. “And I hate this one. I don’t want chocolate. It’s cliché and trite and—”

“It’s delicious.” Rick said. “Go with this one.”

Oh God, he was here for less than a minute and already he’d damn us all. I tugged on my best friend’s sleeve, but Rick always did like pissing with Lindsey.

“Take it back, take it back, take it back,” I whispered. “Eat the cake and shut up.”

“Rick, I’m looking for a
little
more consideration than saying
it’s good
,” Lindsey said.

“It’s…chocolatey.” Nate grinned.

Someone was going to die today. I peeked at Rick’s score card and copied the answers he scrawled onto the sheet. Lindsey stomped her feet.

“If you can’t take this seriously, how can I trust you’ll make my wedding a joyous fucking occasion?”

Rick apologized. “It’s just a cake. I don’t even remember what flavor mine was at my wedding.”

“Oh yeah? Maybe that’s why you’re divorced before thirty!”

Low blow.

“
Me-ow
,” Nate laughed.

Rick rolled with it. “Single life is feeling pretty damn good right now, huh, Nate?”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Lindsey’s hands coiled at her sides. “You apologize right now or so help me God...”

I edged away from the ruckus, collecting the plates and passing out the next round with Mom. She stilled with the plate in her hand, looked at me, and gave a tiny whisper.

“Maybe a half-bite for you on the rest of these, sweetheart.” She broke a tine off the plastic fork. “We want to be able to see the bride at the altar.”

I gritted my teeth and plopped a plate in front of Bryce. He stayed quiet, simply tasting the cake with a sigh and charting his reaction to it. Lindsey squeezed his shoulder.

“I’m not over-reacting, am I?” She gripped him harder, and Bryce flinched. “
Am I
?”

“Of course not.” He jingled his empty bottle of beer at Nate—the third lined up before him. “Can I get another?”

“See?” My sister glared at Rick. “If you can’t handle me at my worst…”

I muttered to myself. “Then get the hell out of the wedding party.”

“What was that, Mandy?”

I smiled. “Nothing. I’m admiring your bridal boot camp. The red velvet cake is dry.”

“Write it down. Only nineteen more samples to go.”

Nate and Bryce opened their fourth beers. Lucky bastards.

It took two hours to finish, but I only needed to throw up once. Fortunately, it was right when Nate and Rick doodled something obscene on their score cards prompting Lindsey to kick them out of the wedding. They were reinstated by the time I made it back to the table, and my sister decided on a winning flavor.

She chose a three tiered castle of a cake—the bottom layer classic almond, middle a white filled with a strawberry puree, and the top a cream cheese infused fig and blueberry that Lindsey thought would look fantastic on Instagram.

Unless the whole thing was frosted in Pepto Bismol, I’d never eat another piece of cake again.

Mom gathered the leftovers from our end of the table.

“Save some for the wedding.” She snatched a plate away from me. “Honest to goodness, it’s like you don’t even care about finding a husband of your own.”

“I—”

“Mandy, why don’t you smile more?” She tisked her tongue. “You’d be prettier if you smiled like your sister.”

Every straw was the last one. I walked away before I popped an aneurysm. Somehow confronting Nate about the baby was easier than dealing with my Mom about
anything
.

I gathered the few beer bottles on the tables and handed them to Nate as he tidied the already pristine bar.

“Sure I can’t get you something to drink?” He grinned. “You’re taking a beating out there, and not the good kind.”

“There’s a good kind?”

I didn’t trust his wink. “Would you like a demonstration?”

“Oh, Lord. Someone ought to sit you in time-out.”

“Sometimes it’s fun being bad. You should try it.”

Oh, if he only knew how bad we were. I lowered my voice. “Think we can go somewhere and…talk?”

His smirk grew. I was sure he’d replaced the word
talk
with something far more exciting and rewarding. It wasn’t fair to blindside him like this. Did I have a choice?

I closed the door to his office before any frosting freak-out or cake-related calamity interrupted us. Nate offered me a seat at his desk, though I wasn’t going near the rat’s nest of receipts, notebooks, folders, files, and general disarray. It was a bookkeeper’s torture.

“So…I take it you spend most of your time brewing the beer?” I parsed through the papers.

“I’m a man of many talents.”

“Humble too.”