Baby Maker (It Takes Two 1)

“Stella’s pregnant.”

“Excuse me for prying, but who the heck is Stella?”

When my pops stops dropping Gs, it’s a clear sign he’s getting mad.

“Hold on a minute, Dad.”

Phone against my chest again, the florist lady pulls out a pretty purple rose, handing it to me.

“How about the Moody Blue?” she says.

Moody Blue…huh. Unique. Like Stella. “A purple rose?”

“It’s considered lavender,” shop lady informs me.

“Gimme the prettiest ones you got, and deliver them here.” I hand her Stella’s address. “Make it eight dozen.”

The florist nods, blushing when I gift her with a smile. I’ve been so goddamn happy since we got the call I’ve been dolling ’em out right and left, smiles that is.

We’re having a baby and there isn’t a single part of me that harbors any doubts about it. A voice in the back of my mind keeps tellin’ me it’s because I’m doing it with someone I trust. Someone I know won’t let me down, won’t walk out when things get tough.

Someone who’s been giving me some serious boners lately. Jesus H, what an inconvenience. I had to run outta there the other day otherwise she would’ve noticed. And the last thing I need is for her to get upset at me because I get hard for her. We’re having a baby together. My dick needs to stay outta this.

Placing the cell back at my ear, I hand the woman a credit card. “Dad––you there?”

“What in Sam Hill is going on, Dane. Who is this Stella?”

“My lady.” Lie number one. No way is dear old Dad gonna understand our contractual agreement. “We’ve been dating for the last three months.” Lie number two. Dang, this feels terrible. It’s not in my nature to lie. First, too much work trying to keep track of them. Second, there’s nothing I won’t tell a person to their face, therefore, no need.

“It was an accident but we’re both real happy about it.” Not really a lie, the last part being entirely true.

The silence worries me. My pops is never silent. Which means he knows something’s afoot.

“Are you messing with me?”

Huh? “Why would I mess with you? ’Course I’m not messing with you.”

More silence.

“Then my prayers have been answered.” His voice cracks. My father’s voice cracks…like he’s crying. Fuck me. An elephant is suddenly sitting on my chest.

The only other time I’ve heard or seen my father cry was when I won my first Super Bowl. And only then it was a couple of tears.

I walk away from the counter and look out the store window, running a hand through my hair. “Dad…you okay?”

He sniffs and my chest practically caves in on itself. “Never better. Never better, son.”

“Can I call you later? I’m buyin’ flowers,” I murmur.

“Do what you gotta do. And make sure you get her the good ones.”

A smile creeps across my face. “Will do. I’ll call you later.”

I end the call and turn to find the sales person staring up at me with a soft smile.

“Would you like to send a note?”

A note. Of course, a note.

Stella

“Are you trying to corner the purple rose market?” Standing in my doorway, Delia lifts her black designer sunglasses and sets them atop her head.

The floral delivery guy walks past her and into my apartment.

“Can you put those in the living room, please,” I tell him, seeing as there’s nowhere else to put them.

My apartment is filled to the brim with roses. The most spectacular roses I’ve ever seen. My stupid, foolish heart skipped a beat the minute I opened the door and realized what was happening.

Delia pushes past the deliveryman who’s presently walking out my front door. She does a double take, craning her neck to get a better look, when she realizes how cute the guy is.

“Mmmhello,” I hear her mutter.

“Isn’t he a little young for you?” I whisper, cute deliveryman falling somewhere in the early twenties range.

“As long as he’s legal, I don’t discriminate.”

I lead her into the living room while cute deliveryman goes to retrieve yet another vase from his truck. Delia looks around with a snarky smile.

“He’s like Prince of the NFL. I have a hankering to listen to Purple Rain.”

“Lavender. Moody Blues to be exact,” I inform her with a smile. Smirking, she gives me the universal hand gesture for a penis massage. “And I think they’re stunning.”

“What did the note say?”

Plucking it off one of the vases, I hand it to her. As she reads, her lips twitch and her eyebrows rise.

“Thank you for being so cool…” She glances up and chuckles. “Well––nobody’s mistaking him for Lord Byron.” It’s impossible to wipe the smile off my face. Delia shakes her head in disappointment. “You got that sappy look on your face and don’t tell me it’s the hormones.”

“I do not have a sappy look on my face. We’re friends. It was sweet of him to send the flowers. All is copacetic. The integrity of my contract has not been compromised in any way.” Delia studies me closely. This is never a good thing. “What?”

“You guys are all over the gossip sites.”

All amusement immediately drops off my face. “What?!”

She retrieves her cell phone and types. “Caught in a sexy embrace at buybuy BABY. Wild man Dane Wylder is officially off the market.” After reading out loud, she holds up her iPhone for my benefit.

On the screen is a picture of Dane wrapped around me. We’re smiling at each other. The kind of smiles exchanged by people in an intimate relationship…people that care about each other.

“You didn’t compromise the integrity of your contract, you blew a hole through it large enough to fit a Mack truck.”

Shit.

This was a snafu I could never have foreseen. What do I know about being a celebrity? Zilc

h. He’s a retired football player to me. The fans and the women and the trophies, or whatever it is you get when you win the Super Bowl, those are all part of a world I don’t inhabit. To me he’s just a nice guy with an easy smile and a penchant for making me smile. And the father of my child. Let’s not forget that small detail.

I’ve been spinning in circles all day, trying to determine how to handle this.

To begin with I don’t want him thinking that I’m in any way sabotaging his personal life; far be it from me to tell him what to do with his spare time. However, what concerns me even more is that if he is seeing someone, this could create trouble for him. And as a friend, it mortifies me to think I could very well be the cause.

By late evening I give up and text him.

Me: We’re all over the gossip sites.

I hit send and hold my breath.

Dane: What are they saying?

Me: That we’re together.

Cringing. I’m cringing as I decide how much to tell him.

Me: …

Me: That you’re “off the market.”

Dane: Okay.

His reply is immediate, as if he didn’t even have to mull it over. Interesting.

Me: What do you mean okay? Doesn’t it bother you?

Dane: Doesn’t bother me.

Dane: …

Dane: Does it bother you?

Me? Why the heck would it bother me?

Me: Uh no.

Dane: No big deal then.

Me: No big deal?

I’m perplexed…what does this mean? I don’t know what this means. I don’t have the decoder ring for this man language. He honestly sounds nonplussed.

Dane: Shorty, I’ve been dealing with this my whole life. If you’re good then I’m good.

Wow. It amazes me, his ability to take the most complex situations, rife with the possibility of disaster, and reduce them to nothing of great importance.

Maybe Delia was right. Maybe he’s exactly what I need.

Me: I love the flowers. They’re beautiful.