One Baby Daddy

  And for one of the first times in my life, I’m scared. I’m scared of what this kiss might do to me, of how it will change me as a man, because Adalyn isn’t just any girl. She could be THE girl for any lucky son of a bitch.

  No doubt in my mind she’s someone you only come across once in a lifetime, and fuck if I’m not nervous to take that next step, to see if my gut reaction is right, that this girl is my game changer.

  And I know kissing her will not just be our mouths connecting. It will be an unearthly experience. From how responsive she’s been already with her soft mews and her apprehensive but also mostly confident touches. She’s going to rock my fucking world and the question is . . . am I ready for it?

  Because once I press my mouth against hers, once I conquer that first taste, it’s going to be a steady downward spiral from there, of me losing any ability of staying away from her.

  It’s hard to stay away now.

  It’s hard to keep my hands off her now.

  It’s hard to not want to ask her every single question that comes to mind, because all I want is to know her better, to know everything about her.

  And it’s only been a few encounters.

  Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath.

  Standing in front of me, is a brand-new, unwritten page, a chapter waiting to begin, and I have to decide if I am ready to fill in the blank.

  I am.

  Stepping deeper between her legs, I slide my hands up her arms, reveling in the smooth feel of her skin, loving how goosebumps erupt from the rub of my worn hands. Cupping her neck, one hand gently twisting in her hair, I pull her head back an inch, parting her lips for mine. On an audible gasp, her eyes widen for a brief moment before softening when I bring my mouth a whisper from hers.

  I pause.

  Eyes locked, her hands gliding up my arms, anchoring her in place, our breaths mingling, her lashes beat, up and down, up and down.

  Chests rise and fall in tandem.

  The press of my thumb against her pulse.

  Beat after rapid beat.

  Holding my breath, my skin prickling with awareness, with the knowledge this is fucking it, I cut the distance between us and press my lips against hers. On a sigh, her body melts into mine, our mouths molding together.

  Tentative at first, we explore, our lips light, our mouths not quite nipping, but not fusing together either.

  We probe, we search, we delve into each other.

  Her hands to my face.

  My fingers tangling in her wavy brown curls.

  Mouths open.

  A gasp.

  A moan.

  A tightened grip.

  The lightest touch of tongues.

  Scooting closer, she wraps her legs around the back of mine, linking them together.

  Tangling, molding, becoming one, the sweet taste of her mouth on mine . . . I’m lost.

  Falling and falling fast, our kiss so deep, so intense with each thrust of our tongues, with each mingling of our lips, with every intake of desperate breath.

  Tender, the way she moves her lips across mine.

  Shaky, the way her hands tentatively explore the crevasses and divots of my broad and built chest.

  Fearful . . . of the unknown, of what this means.

  But so goddamn electrifying because the craving I’ve harbored for this woman is finally being sated.

  Eyes closed, hands lingering, I slowly pull away and rest my forehead on Adalyn’s trying to catch my breath, taking a second to steady the jittery, wobbly feeling in my legs.

  “Wow,” I mumble. “That was—”

  “Unforgettable,” she finishes for me, her nose rubbing against mine.

  Exhaling, I say, “Yeah, it was.”

  My hands venture to her sides, memorizing every contour of her body in their path. “Where’s your bedroom?”

  Her eyes light up, and she hops down from the counter, taking my hand in hers in the process. “This way.” She practically skips down the hallway, light and giddy.

  The dark hallway leads to another white, clean, and crisp room. Smooth lines, monotone colors of whites and creams, with one light blue throw pillow on her plush white bed that looks like a cloud floating in the middle of heaven.

  Angling in my direction, she reaches for the hem of her dress, but I stop her, gripping her shoulders and standing her upright. Confusion laces her eyes and I take no time in easing that confusion.

  “I want to take this slow, Adalyn.” I let out an unsteady breath. “That kiss back there, fuck . . .” I press a hand through my hair. “That rocked my goddamn world.”

  Shyly, she peeks up at me through her eyelashes. “It rocked my world too.”

  Unable to keep my hands off her for too long, I tip her chin up and press my lips against hers, my mouth smoothing along hers, lush and delicious, as expected. She sighs into me, holding on to my waist. I press my tongue against hers again, loving how she gives as much as I take.

  Slowing down, my lips brush hers, the fiery passion we have for each other simmering like a pot ready to boil, but never getting hot enough.

  I don’t want it to get too hot. Not right now.

  I need to know more about her. I want more time with her. I don’t want to jump into this—into a physical relationship—when I know there is so much more I can share with this woman.

  There is time for this connection to go beyond to the physical, but for now, I need to not get wrapped up in the sensation of her being so close to me and rather seduce her mind instead. I. Want. Her. I want what Calder and Rachel have. I want the depth of trust and friendship I’ve seen in my parents’ marriage . . . How is that possible so soon? God, I want inside her, but I think I need inside her heart more than in her body.

  Yes, I’m certifiable.

  Completely.

  “Can we agree on something?”

  “Depends on what it is.” Her fingers trace up and down my spine.

  Tracing her pattern, matching it with my fingers, I say, “Can we both acknowledge this unimaginable pull between us? Can we admit to ourselves that the physical is there, that we both would have no problem taking this relationship to the bed?”

  “Easily,” she breathes out heavily, her fingers playing with the hem of my shirt.

  “Can we also agree to wait?”

  Sighing heavily, she rests her head against my chest, knocking it a few times with her forehead. “You’re killing me, Hayden.”

  “I know but there have been too many times where the physical has taken the lead in developing a relationship and the communication has lacked. I don’t want that with you.”

  “I can understand that.” She bites her bottom lip, her thoughts running a mile a minute in that pretty head of hers. “But what about . . . you know . . . when you have to leave, go back to Philly?”

  I nod. “This is for then. So when I do go back, we’ll be okay. Because I can see a future with you, Adalyn, and that’s why I want to build a solid foundation with you, something that can last. I want that chance. With you.”

  “So when you return to Philly, you want to stay in contact with me?”

  “Fuck yes, I do. And I’m going to have you sitting front and center at as many games as you can get to, especially since I’m trying to make hockey your favorite sport.”

  “I don’t know.” She smiles. “That’s going to be one hell of a task to accomplish. Think you can handle it?”

  “I know I can.” I press a quick kiss against her lips and then slap her ass, making her squeal. With a wink, I say, “Go get changed for bed, we have some making out to do.”

  “Making out?” she asks, adding in a lift of that well-defined eyebrow of hers.

  Acting stern and pointing my finger at her, I say, “Just making out. If you start with your wandering hands, I’m going to jet out of here, taking my body warmth with me.”

  “That’s just cruel.”

  “Then keep it in your pants, Adalyn.” Smiling wickedly, I go to the living room to gra
b my overnight bag, reprimanding myself with the same warning.

  Keep it in your pants, Holmes.

  For the love of God, keep it in your pants.

  Chapter Ten

  ADALYN

  Waiting impatiently, I tap my foot, check my phone for what seems like the thousandth time, and stare down the entrance of the movie theater.

  Where the hell is he?

  After dating Hayden for three weeks, I’ve become accustomed to his habits, and being late isn’t one of them. He’s always on time, annoyingly on time, to the point that I need to be ready ten minutes early so I’m not interrupted mid curl of my hair when he arrives.

  Another habit? He likes to press his thumb against my pulse, and whether it’s my neck or my wrist, it’s like a sweet spot to him.

  He also groans loudly when I happen to accidentally dry-hump him.

  He’s also really good at trapping me against a wall, the counter, a door, even poles, invading my space with his luscious scent and alpha-male stance, only to press the lightest of kisses against my lips and then keep walking.

  God, the man is infuriating but also . . . sweet and sexy.

  With one tiny kiss on my lips, he can make the earth shatter beneath me, cause my knees to quake, and leave me melting into a puddle on the floor.

  It’s scary what one touch can do to me, how a whisper in my ear can cause me to break into a cool sweat. Not to mention how alarming it is when I catch a glimpse of him, of that smile, of those dark eyes, the way I can feel and hear myself visibly sigh. It seems unhealthy to be so enigmatically affected by a man, but there is no way I can consider walking away, not when I wake up every morning to a text from him, or when he has lunch sent to me at the hospital, or when he’s sitting on the steps in front of my place, with flowers in hand, waiting for me to get off work.

  I know one thing for sure: he’s ruining me for all other men, because he’s the exception. He’s the kind of guy that’s one in a million.

  The kind of guy you dream of.

  The kind of guy you take home to your family.

  The kind of guy you hope your brothers and sister like as much as you do . . .

  The door swings open and a frantic Hayden searches the lobby, hair twisted and pulled from a worrying hand. When he spots me, his face softens. He makes his way through the crowd of moviegoers, carefully dodging their large buckets of popcorn and oversized cups of soda.

  “Hey you,” I say as he reaches me and pulls me into his side, planting a chaste kiss on my cheek. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” he answers breathlessly, walking us toward the usher. “I’m sorry I’m late.” I hand the usher our tickets, and he directs us to movie theater seven.

  Taking my hand in his, Hayden brings our connection to his lips and gently kisses my knuckles, eyes trained on me, his smile boyish with so much charm.

  “Well, no need to worry”—I pat my oversized purse that is like a red flag to a movie theater attendant looking for smugglers—“because I brought the candy and drinks.”

  “Daredevil, I love it.”

  We choose seats in the very middle, a few rows from the top. They’re great seats, and I’m surprised they’re still available.

  Situated, Hayden doesn’t let go of my hand, not even when I bring out the candy and offer him a Junior Mint. And for some reason, he seems all shook up.

  Leaning closer to him, the light of the pre-movie commercials casting a glow over us, I ask, “Are you okay? You seem kind of not yourself.”

  “All good,” he whispers, squeezing my hand.

  I don’t buy it.

  “What happened? There’s something you’re not telling me, and I don’t like it.”

  Sighing, he leans in close and says, “I went to the wrong movie theater and when I realized it, I was so worried you might think I stood you up, that I sped here, was pulled over by a cop—of course—and then spoke to the guy for longer than I wanted because he recognized me. I had to take a selfie, he excused me from the ticket, told me to slow down, and now I’m here.”

  “Why does that frazzle you?”

  “Because.” He kisses the back of my hand again. “I didn’t want you thinking I ditched you. This is your first real relationship, and I don’t want to set a bad precedent of what to expect.”

  He’s so sweet, how could he ever make me think sourly of him?

  Lifting up the armrest that divides our seats, I scoot in and drape his arm over my shoulder, snuggling in close. Reaching up, I kiss his jaw. Two pecks on his scruff, my lips lingering. “You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me. I grew up in a large household, so I can handle a lot.”

  “I know.” He kisses my forehead and talks into my ear. “But it’s my job to set the bar high so no other man has a chance . . . and so that large household doesn’t want my neck.”

  His teasing tone makes me poke his rock-hard stomach, causing him to laugh into my ear.

  Chills.

  Crazy, wonderful chills spread over my body.

  He makes me feel so . . . brand new. Like he’s awakened a part of me I’ve never known before. He’s introduced me to a personality I didn’t know existed within me. Someone who can be content, thrilled, exhilarated all at the same time. A woman who doesn’t necessarily depend on a man, but allows him to take care of her because he treasures her. Someone who doesn’t need to shed her clothes to get a man to like her.

  He’s shown me my worth. But what about him? He makes it impossible to not feel satisfied, adored. But what does he need from me? Am I giving him everything he needs? I don’t want him to feel as though I don’t give. But how?

  “I know, I know.” Hayden is sitting on his couch, pulling on his hair, shirtless, shorts hanging low on his hips, with a boyish smile lighting up the room. “I miss you too, Mom, but I’ve been a little pre-occupied lately.”

  Our game of Boggle was put on hold when Hayden’s parents called. Cringing, he apologetically said he had to answer since he hadn’t spoken to his parents in a while. It was cute watching him dodge their questions, sidestep his mom.

  “What has been consuming my time?” He looks directly at me and smiles openly, not even hiding his happiness. “A girl.”

  From his phone, there is a lot of chatter, like his mom is freaking out in excitement, but it’s muffled, and I can’t quite decipher what she’s saying.

  “Yes, a girl. Is it serious?” Scratching the back of his neck, he answers, “Yeah, it is.” He pauses. “She lives in Binghamton, yeah, where I am right now.” Another pause. “Racer introduced us.” His smile grows; his eyes soften. “Incredibly beautiful, Mom. You will love her.” Licking his lips, he motions with his finger for me to come closer. I shake my head no. “Great personality. Super smart. She’s a nurse and she’s actually sitting right next to me. Want to talk to her?”

  What?

  Uh . . . no.

  I shake my head fervently and stand to collect our dishes from a classic Kraft Mac and Cheese lunch with peas, but before I can move out of the way, Hayden snags me around the waist and brings me down on his lap. Turning the phone on speaker, he says, “Say hi to Adalyn, Mom.”

  “Oh Adalyn, it’s so nice to speak with you.”

  Eyes wide, feeling so incredibly awkward, I say, “Mrs. Holmes, what a pleasure. You’ve done such a wonderful job raising Hayden. He’s the perfect gentleman.”

  “He better be or else his father and I will have something to say about that.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom,” Hayden pipes in. “You taught me very well.”

  “That’s right I did.” You can hear the smile in her voice. “Now Adalyn, what do you like to do for fun?”

  Relaxing into the couch, Hayden places his spare hand on my thigh and leans back, happy with himself, even though I still feel incredibly awkward.

  Does she know we haven’t had sex? Does she know her son has been walking around shirtless all day, driving me crazy with his taut abs, thick pecs, and forearms that seem to ri
pple with every word he writes on his answer pad? Does she know he struts around the cottage—swagger in every step—his shorts so low on his hips I’m practically panting for them to fall all the way down? Does she know he loves cooking meals for me and likes doing it shirtless, that he smells masculine and fresh, like he’s been hanging out in mountain rain for three days straight?

  Is Mrs. Holmes aware that when Hayden is around me, or when I talk to him on the phone, or when I shamefully use Google to search him, I turn into a lustful puddle of hormones, desperate and needy for one touch, one look, one kiss?

  Probably not . . . and we should keep it that way.

  “What do I do for fun?” I think about that. Well, before Hayden, nothing really, but now that he’s around, my fun is whatever we decide to do together, or whatever he surprises me with. “Is it sad to say relax?”

  Before his mom can answer, Hayden cuts in. “Like I said, Adalyn is a nurse and has a hectic work schedule. I covet every minute she can spend with me, because the work she does at the hospital is constant.”

  Gently, I run my fingers over his chest, loving the appreciation he has for my job. For me.

  “Oh, I can’t even imagine. You work at the hospital? That must be stressful and tiring.”

  “It is, but there are a lot of rewarding days when you see a patient walk out, healthy and ready to take on the world again. Those are the days I try to remember when I’m having a low moment.”

  Comforting me, Hayden pulls me closer into his chest and holds me tightly.

  “So relaxing really is your fun, clearing your mind from everything you’ve seen during the week. I can’t imagine. I really hope Hayden has helped you forget some of the real you see on a daily basis.”

  “He does.” I rest my cheek against his chest and press my body into his, seeking his warmth, seeking his coziness. “There are days that take a toll on me and when I reach the nurses’ station, there’s lunch waiting for me, or flowers, or even a box of cookies from a local bakery . . . all from your son.”