ROMANCE: MENAGE ROMANCE: Tapped and Taken by Two (Pregnancy Sports MMA UFC Fighter Romance) (Alpha Male Romance) (23 page)

Derek shrugged, swallowed a particularly heavy mouthful of waffle and cream. “Just need to run some errands.”

“Preparation for deploying?”

He nodded.

“Can I ask how long you’re going for?”

“Until the middle of December. Possibly a week longer.” He didn’t look at me while he said it. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” I said. “That’s almost eight months. Seems a little long, but I guess not horrible.”

“It’ll go fast. Time does that. Plus it’s not as long as most people spend overseas.”

I paused, my fork loitering halfway to my mouth. “Yeah, I guess I heard about people deployed for years and all that. Time moves pretty strangely as well, sometimes it feels so weird to think I’ve lived here for six years already.”

Derek looked up at me and grinned. “I know that feeling.”

“Somedays it feels like no time at all, and I wonder where my mind’s been the whole time.”

He nodded, seeming to consider it.

Six years. And a lot of it being the same, day in, day out. I only traveled once during those six years, and only for a single week to Mexico. Six years older and not too much to say for it—not outside my career, at any rate. I shunted the thought aside and crammed more waffle into my mouth. 

“Hold on,” Derek said abruptly. He leaned forward with his napkin and dabbed at the corner of my mouth. He flashed one of his charming smiles and all residual thoughts of wasted time dissolved.

“Are you joking again?”

“No.” He showed me the blotch of whipped cream stuck to the napkin. “This time you really did make a mess.”

I smirked at his tease. “Well, maybe your cooking is so good that I just didn’t even notice.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “That’s a good sign.”

“Yeah,” I said, realizing that right now, I was doing something different—living a little on the edge, maybe. I was with Derek, and he had just made me breakfast. “It is.”

I tried really hard not to linger too long after breakfast. It wasn’t easy. I helped him load the dishwasher and we were having a hard time keeping our hands off each other. The little domestic duty turned into a full on makeout session in his kitchen, which I had to regrettably cut short because I had to dash off to work. He seemed disappointed for a moment, but kissed me on the cheek and said he’d call me.

He saw me out of his apartment, his hand lightly on my back, and I rushed back to my place on autopilot, my mind torn between calculating how long I had to get ready for work, and replaying my time with Derek. I needed to change clothes, wash my face, and reapply my makeup—Derek feeding me dessert at the restaurant, how easily he turned his living room into a romantic setting with the addition of jazz and wine, the way his tongue pressed against mine. His taste his smell, they were with me and I couldn’t tell if they were really there or just my memory of them bringing them back, making me sense them again.  They were distracting thoughts, and the cab driver had to verbally announce his arrival at my building.

When I got inside my apartment, I flopped down on my bed, grinning. Surely I could afford to just lay here in bliss for another minute or two longer.

~

A purse hitting me in the shoulder jarred me out of my reverie. I turned, but the woman it belonged to didn’t seem to notice—or care—that she had just whacked someone with her purse. I huffed to myself and looked at my phone. No new messages, but the time told me Derek should be landing soon—if he hadn’t already. That fact made me smile.

I was glad I would be seeing him again. Maybe he also remembered the good times we had together. Maybe he also thought about our first dance at the club, and our first date. Would it be asking too much if I hoped he also thought about when we first shared a bed?

At the time, I might have denied some of what I was feeling for him—purposely distancing myself because I knew that what we were having was akin to a fling, if not a fling entirely. But it wasn’t long until I became aware that my feelings for him ran a little deeper. And only a short while after he left, I realized I had fallen in love with him. Discovering I was pregnant only seemed to reinforce that.  

When I first found out, I was devastated, confused, questioning the universe as to why it had happened. I always pictured myself married and making a conscious choice to be a mom. I wasn’t married, or even in a stable relationship. The father wasn’t even on the same continent. He was...well he was wherever he was. It was just myself and my apartment, and my job. But one night as I scooped ice cream into my mouth while replaying our fleeting romance in my head, I thought that maybe this child was a gift. Had we not been loving each other when we made it? My heart told me we were, and then whispered that this child was mine to keep. And, more importantly, it was a life that I was responsible for. It was not my choice to get pregnant, but it was my choice now whether I wanted to be a mom or not, and it dawned on me that that was exactly what I wanted to do.

With Megan and Jess’ help, I priced out the cost of raising a child while single, and realized that, although tough, I was financially stable enough to manage. It wasn’t like single parentage was all that uncommon these days. Plus watching Jess with her kids made me realize I could do this. My friends had helped me research support groups and other resources, and deep down, I was becoming more and more confident that this was the right choice for me. Maybe it would have my eyes and Derek’s charming smile. Or my naturally light hair and his dark eyes.

I had emailed Derek shortly after I decided to keep the baby. I kept the message short and cordial, without any mention of my pregnancy. It took some time for him to get back to me but his reply was similarly curt yet friendly with no real mention of where he was or what was going on. That he didn’t just completely ignore me must have meant something. I asked him if he had seen my bracelet— one that once belonged to my great grandmother. I realized I had misplaced it a few weeks after he left, and wondered if somehow it had fallen out at his place. But he told me he hadn’t seen it. It was probably lurking somewhere in my apartment then, or lost. I tried not to think about it. For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to write the words that I needed to. For the first email, I spent hours writing long explanations only to delete them after hovering over the send button forever. I didn’t know how to say it, and part of me didn’t want to see what would happen when I did tell him.

What would he do? What would I do if he told me to never write him again. Telling him risked the memory of him. More than that though it risked the possibility that he would want to be a part of this. As long as he didn’t know I could still hang onto imagining a perfect life with him. I know it was silly, but in that first email I couldn’t risk having to let go of those thoughts. Each time he wrote back to me it got harder and harder to admit that I didn’t tell him in the first email. Soon I found myself less than a month away from him coming home, and ready to burst any day. The best I could do was tell him that I needed to see him as soon as he landed. 

Once he returned, I would see if he still felt anything for me at all. I didn’t expect him to rush into my arms with a wedding ring, thrilled at the sudden prospect to raise a child together, but I hoped—truth was, I didn’t know exactly what I hoped. Perhaps just for some sort of acknowledgement that, whether intentional or not, we had created something together. Or, perhaps I hoped that a part of our relationship would rekindle and we could start over. Or a combination of those. Plus every other positive outcome I could even imagine. There were many times that I stayed up late at night, playing out scenarios in my head. But many of them were disjointed, ending abruptly when I couldn’t quite give Derek’s words or picture his expression. Those were the good scenarios. The bad scenarios were easy to imagine. 

I feared too many of my imaginings were forced. All of the happy, lovey-dovey ones were built on the assumption that there was a part of our relationship left to rekindle. Even though Derek agreed to meet me the day he got back, I had my doubts. And painful memories from past relationships to accompany them.

I frowned, and noticed my tea was finished.

I took off my coat and spread it over my seat to deter anyone from stealing my table, and went back to the register to see if I could get a refill of hot water.

“Oh, how far along are you?” A middle-aged woman asked when I lined up behind her. She beamed at me with the same excitement Jess had when she talked about her children.

“Almost eight months,” I said, forcing a smile. It still felt weird when strangers asked such things, but I supposed that came with showing as much as I did. Even my doctor commented that I had an impressive baby bump.

“Congratulations,” she said. “Children are just the greatest blessing. Is this your first?” The line moved forward.

“Yes,” I said. “It is.”

“My oldest is seven. And I have two more. I loved being pregnant.”

“It’s definitely an experience.”

“It’s tough when you’re single,” she said.

My heart jumped in my chest, shocked at such a sudden judgement. Was it that obvious?

“I wasn’t with anyone until my second,” she continued, and I relaxed. “But it was rewarding, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I didn’t have to share my child with anyone. I got to keep her all to myself.” She winked at me, drawing a smile to my mouth.

“I like that,” I said.

I was about to confide in her about my singledom, but then it was her turn at the till. She ordered an eggnog latte, and just thinking about it made me tempted to treat myself. But I stuck with my decaf tea when the barista asked for my order.

The place was full so I offered a seat at my table to the woman who ordered the eggnog latte, and she accepted with a smile.

“What did you order?” She asked, setting her purse on her lap.

“Just some more hot water for my tea,” I said. “Trying my best to avoid the caffeine.”

She laughed. “That was probably the hardest part of my pregnancies.”

“It’s tough, that’s for sure.”

We made small talk and I asked her about her general plans for the holidays. She had three different family events to attend, and dishes to cook for all of them, but she seemed enthusiast about it. It was nice to focus on something other than my thoughts for a moment.

She was called to pick up her latte and we said goodbyes, wishing each other the best.

I looked down and rubbed my belly. Even if it was just the two of us, we could do it.

My phone beeped and my heart felt like it leapt out straight out of my chest.

It was a message from Derek.

Just landed. Catching a cab now. Just need to pick something up. See you soon. ;)

A winky face? What on earth was Derek doing sending a winky face? I buried my face in my hands, half-frowning and half-laughing in disbelief. Maybe he just got a new phone, was getting into emojis, and it translated weird on my phone. But what did he mean by it? It was either an attempt to be cute, or an attempt to be flirtatious. I thought my simple message of
we need to meet as soon as you land
would have communicated that I had something serious to tell him, but I guess if he knew it was serious what else could I have to tell him but that I was pregnant. He would’ve figured it out already.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he was the playboy I first pegged him as. I supposed it was possible that he misinterpreted my request to meet as something like me just wanting sex, even though I really thought I had made myself clear that it was at a coffee shop. It wasn’t dinner, it wasn’t drinks, and it certainly wasn’t his place, but perhaps the playboy type didn’t adhere such excuses.

I wrung my hands, wondering if I should just call the meeting off entirely. I thought back to the last time we had been together, and it brought a bitter taste to my mouth. Was there even any potential here, after what had happened?

I swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and reminded myself that whatever the case, I had to at least tell him the child was his. Whether he embraced that or not, well, I could deal with it.

~

He didn’t call me later that day. Or the day after. Or the day after that. I fought the urge to call or text him myself. Megan said it was important to test if he was actually intending to call, or just saying that to sound sweet. Still, when I met her for coffee she had to pry my phone from my hands more than once.

Would it hurt Derek to let me know he wasn’t interested? Even a simple text message would suffice. He could at least make up some excuse, and then I wouldn’t have to keep thinking about when—or if—my phone would ring.

I was at the office, answering my work emails and organizing some notes about my next design project. Coffee steamed next to my monitor, fresh, but still bitter even after adding sugar. It tasted like I was drinking just coffee dregs. I should have stopped at a Starbucks instead of the pop-up cafe at the bottom of our building. It was an amateur mistake.

Just as I was contemplating asking my boss’ assistant when her next coffee run would be, my phone buzzed.

I swooped it up but it was just Megan sending me my daily reminder to not text Derek. I sighed. Sometimes she was too much on the ball.

Less than a minute later, my phone buzzed again. I ignored it, and rearranged some pens and paperclips on my desk. Now she was bordering overbearing. Self-control was not something I particularly lacked. I could resist calling a guy. I could.