To the Max (3 page)

“You’re shitting us,” Sophie said.

She shook her head. No, she wasn’t shitting them. She wished she were, but she wasn’t.

It had been a great night. Magical, with all the candlelight, the unending flow of expensive champagne, and the great company. That it was a masquerade ball had also added an extra layer of magic and privacy that had been exhilarating.

Apparently StudsRus.com’s escorts were highly sought after. They traveled all over the country accompanying clients, some of them very powerful people, to high-profile events. They were not only gorgeous; they were extremely well educated and charming. One of the escorts she’d met that night was a dark-haired, handsome man by the name of Luigi. One thing led to another, and she most definitely had not ended up hiding in the bathroom.

Holly cursed. “What about the whole stash of condoms I put in your purse? Didn’t you think of using them?”

“I used condoms; I swear I did.”

“How exactly did you use them, sweetheart?”

“What do you mean, how did I use them? How does anyone use condoms? Are there so many different ways of using them?” Annie asked, out of breath, her tone of voice rising. She was freaking out. Big-time. But all in all, she thought she was entitled to. “I certainly didn’t put them on my head as new-age hats.”

“Did it break?”

She shook her head. If it had, she would have gotten the morning-after pill, and she wouldn’t currently be about to pass out.

“Are you sure it’s not a false alarm?” Sophie asked, trying to calm her down.

“No false alarm. Five peed-on sticks and two blood tests confirm it. I’m pregnant up to my eyeballs,” Annie said as she, very ineffectively, fanned herself with a napkin. Damn hot flashes. Before she found out about the pregnancy, she’d been having so many of them, she’d even considered going to the doctor to make sure she hadn’t entered some sort of freaky early menopause. Wouldn’t that have been a laugh.

“How did this happen?” Holly asked.

Sophie waved at her. “The usual way?”

“Not helping, sweetie.” Holly chastised Sophie with a look and then turned to Annie. “If you used condoms, how did you get pregnant?”

And here was where it got embarrassing. “It seems there’s an infinitesimal chance of getting knocked up if you start rolling the condom on, realize it’s inside out, and then turn it the right way. Drops of precum get onto the outside of the condom, and voilà, if the semen is of quality and has great mobility, you’re in deep shit.” Annie looked at them, fidgeting. “I was a bit nervous, and there wasn’t too much light…”

She should have left the logistical details to the pro.

All the head shaking she’d done when women in her office got pregnant out of carelessness, and look at her: knocked up on a technicality.

Sophie whistled. “Wow, some super-duper-power sperm those studs have, huh?”

“Tell me about it,” Annie muttered.

“Could it be someone else’s?” Christy asked.

“It’s either Luigi’s or an immaculate conception.”

The good thing about getting laid so seldom was that she could pinpoint the conception date with 100 percent accuracy, which meant that if her baby was as anal as she was, he or she should be born in the early hours of March thirty-first.

Holly looked at her, worried. “I hate to say this, honey, and I know these guys are the best of the best, but did you get checked for diseases?”

“Yeah, no STDs.” That was what she’d done first once she’d found out about her pregnancy. And hadn’t that been fun, explaining to Alden’s only doctor, the same one who had treated her all her life, why she needed testing for STDs right after he told her she was pregnant. “All I got from the superstud is a baby.”

“At least you had a valid excuse for throwing up on Max the other night,” Christy said.

Annie cringed at the memory. Talk about making an ass out of herself. The most sought-after bachelor in the whole state was being sweet and offering her a way out so she wouldn’t have to dance with Steven, and what had she done in exchange? She’d puked her brains out all over his shoes, messing his pants too. Well, on the flip side, the second she’d started throwing up, her oh-so-attentive date had all but run in the opposite direction.

Max, on the other hand, had been very nice and understanding. He’d even joked that if he’d been saddled with a date like Steven, he would’ve been puking too.

“Does Luigi know about any of this?”

“Nope. And I never got a last name, so I don’t know how to contact him.” Or even if she wanted to.

Annie had been dazzled by Luigi, who had been so not what she’d expected. He wasn’t a young, buff stud with more muscles than brains. No, he was in his mid-to-late thirties, sophisticated, elegant, and a great conversationalist. She wasn’t a knockout, but she was pretty enough. And so far her body was holding its own against gravity and time, if one could ignore the expansionist tendencies of her ass. Still, Luigi favoring her company had kind of blown her mind. Between that, the alcohol, and the privacy the masks offered, she’d just let go. In the morning, though, she’d panicked and, much to her shame, run out on the guy before he even woke up. How the hell was she supposed to face the proverbial morning after when she had slept with a professional escort in his spare time? At least she thought it had been in his spare time. She didn’t even dare consider he’d been working and she’d stiffed him of his fee. That was just too much.

“It seems Italian escorts are in fashion. StudsRus.com has eight Luigis on staff. I’m going to have to ask them for pictures.”

If the conversation at the doctor’s had been fun, she shuddered to think about the one with the stud-agency receptionist.

She might never find Luigi again, and she couldn’t say she felt particularly sorry about it. After all, she didn’t know the guy. But a man had the right to know he was a father. And although she didn’t need a husband, the thought of raising a kid all by herself sucker punched her. Money was not an issue; she had a good job, the shop was doing well, and she still had the untouched trust fund her paternal grandparents had created for her. They hadn’t trusted her flighty father, and thank God for that, because the man was already on his fifth bimbo wife, who was bleeding him dry like three of her predecessors.

So financially she was more than covered, but there were other things to consider. Some mornings it took her forever to decide whether she wanted to have cornflakes or honey puffs—how the hell was she going to choose a school for the kid? He or she would be old enough for junior high by the time Annie had made up her mind.

“You know, I somehow envisioned embracing motherhood differently. Not at thirty-five, without a partner, and knocked up by a gigolo who might or might not be named Luigi.”

After all, maybe Luigi was just his stage name.

“It beats the hell out of a sperm bank, which is what I can see in my future,” Holly muttered.

They were silent for a while. Then Annie sighed. “I’m so screwed, guys. I’m a forensic accountant. What do I know about kids?”

“You own a candy store. I’d say you’re already ahead,” Christy offered.

Well, there was that.

“I should have never gotten up on that flower pot after you,” Annie said to Christy. “You got the good stuff. I got…backlash.” She covered her face with her hands. “This is so unfair. You and Cole are the ones humping like rabbits all the time. Me? It was just once. One little screw. Why me? The universe hates me.”

She should have suspected there was some mega cosmic catch to it when she’d won that gala invitation. She never won anything. Ever. On the contrary. She was that jinxed.

Holly interrupted her mental rant. “Wait a second. What do you mean, only once? Wasn’t he, you know, up for a rematch?”

“It was good, don’t misunderstand me, but let’s just put it this way: when an overpriced European escort isn’t working, he starts snoring after the deed.”

“Are you sure he was a member of StudsRus.com and not some nutcase impersonating a stud, like in
True Lies
?” Sophie asked.

Oh crap, she hadn’t thought of that possibility. Annie panicked for a second, then shook her head. “No, can’t be. He knew everyone there.”

“
True Lies
?” Holly repeated.

“You know, the waiter in that Arnie movie, the one who got chicks by impersonating a spy,” Sophie explained.

Christy frowned. “A waiter? Wasn’t he a car salesman? I—”

“People, people. Concentrate,” Holly interrupted, out of patience. “I told you to quit with the outdoor movies.” She turned to Annie. “Are you going to keep it?”

Annie looked at her friends. “Forget the fact I’m thirty-five and my clock is ticking. What are the chances of getting pregnant like this? One in a frigging billion. This baby hasn’t been born yet, and it’s already a damn superhero. Of course I’m keeping it.”

Chapter Two

Max entered Sweets and Tweets and drew in a deep breath. Man, if heaven had a smell, it surely was this. He’d loved this place since he was a little brat. The endless rows of colorful goodies, the smell of cotton candy. It made his mouth water every time.

He’d been running with Mike, like every morning, when on his way home, he couldn’t resist the allure of the shop, especially now that he was soon to leave for California.

Max scanned around. It seemed the kids had decided to sleep in, because it was ten o’clock on a Saturday and there was no one in the store.

Annie’s mom had moved away from Alden several years ago, but for the most part, the place was still as she’d left it. Painted with vivid and crazy colors, it had a certain hippie, childish look to it. Although that had perfectly suited Annie’s mother, it didn’t match her daughter.

The addition at the far end, though—where all the new goodies were elegantly displayed—had subtle tones and was much more Annie’s style. He wasn’t sure what she did for a living, but she worked in an office and often wore power suits. Pearls on her neck and ears. Hair all contained. Even when she threw on some jeans and a top, she was a far cry from a hippie.

Max found Annie refilling some containers, her back to him. He smiled to himself. Of all the changes that having his two older brothers involved with women had brought, getting to hang out with Annie had been the nicest. He’d always known her—he had an unrivaled sweet tooth, and her candy shop was the only one in town—but he had never socialized with her or run in the same crowd. Until now.

He moved toward her. “Hi, gorgeous. How are you doing?”

She straightened and turned around, her ponytail swaying. She looked…green. And becoming greener by the second.

“Sorry,” she croaked as she covered her mouth and, reaching for the trash bin near her, bent over and began throwing up.

O-kay. Not the reaction he’d been hoping for. Maybe he should have taken a shower before dropping by.

Before he could get a word out, she stumbled to the back of the shop, her head never leaving the inside of the trash can.

He glanced around. Sweets and Tweets was still miraculously empty, so he went to the entrance, flipped the CLOSED sign, and locked the door. Following the heaving sounds coming from the back, he made it to the bathroom and knocked on the half-open door. “Ace, you okay?”

He heard a feeble “Yeah.” Worried, he peeked in. Annie was on her knees, leaning on the toilet seat. She’d stopped puking and was flushing it. The trash bin by her side was already empty.

Max moved to the sink, filled a glass with water, and handed it to her along with a towel.

“Thanks,” she mumbled after she rinsed her mouth.

She wasn’t green anymore, but she didn’t look much better. She was white as a sheet, the hair around her temples wet from sweat, her eyes red and watery.

He was about to help her up, but she leaned her forehead on the seat and sighed. She didn’t seem ready to move, so Max sat on the floor beside her, his back to the wall, his arms on his knees. “This is the second time you’ve thrown up on me. I’m going to start taking it personally. Thank God I’m not a sympathetic puker, huh? Otherwise we’d both be in so much trouble.”

She attempted a smile, brushing some strands of hair away from her face. “Technically, I didn’t puke on you.”

“True. Just lost your breakfast at the sight of me.” Which wasn’t much more flattering.

She blushed. “It’s not you. I’ve developed a sudden allergy to sweets.”

“Really? Since when?” Because in his mind, Annie equated with sweets. Hell, the whole woman smelled like marshmallows and candy apples.

“Since I have a picky fetus inside of me,” she muttered low, almost as if to herself.

What?

“Come again?” he asked, trying his damnedest not to choke on his words. Surely he’d misunderstood her. She hadn’t said
fetus
, had she?

Her faint blush intensified, giving a bit more color to her face. “I’m…umm…pregnant,” she said with chagrin, as if she’d blurted the earlier comment.

“Oh. Congratulations.” She looked miserable, so he reconsidered. “Is this good news or bad news?”

She sighed. “Good news. Just a bit unexpected. Please don’t say anything to anyone. Only the girls know for now.”

He nodded and raked his brain. Apart from that bozo from the wedding, he didn’t remember seeing her with anyone. “Do I know the father?”

“There’s no father.” She cleared her throat and then backtracked. “Well, there is a father, obviously, but I’m doing this alone. Probably.”

“His loss,” he growled, holding her gaze. “If he lets you do this alone, then you’re better off without him.”

Annie murmured, “Thanks.”

“So this is what morning sickness looks like, right?”

She snorted. “Morning sickness, my butt. I’m sick all the time. Specially when I come to the shop. The damn smell is killing me.”

Huh
. Max didn’t get it. Sweets and Tweets was the best-smelling place in the whole wide world. Surely a fetus should be able to appreciate it. “What smell?”

“Expectant mothers get sick from strong or bitter smells. Me? I get sick from sweet ones. How much more unlucky can I get?”

Max looked at her, all disheveled, sitting on the floor and still hugging the toilet seat, and had to laugh. “Well, keeping in mind you do own a candy store, not much more unlucky.”