Baby Yours – Hunter & Lennon (Roommate Duet 2)

“Nah, man. She ain’t coming back,” I tell him, and he shrugs as if he can’t be bothered by it either. I pay, then head back to work.

When I arrive back to my office, I go straight to my computer to answer emails. Being gone for several days after a long weekend has put me behind, but I don’t complain. I reply to people for hours, update my status reports, and send it out to the other project managers who helped cover my job.

When I finally break away from the screen, I realize it’s time to go. As I’m packing my laptop in my bag, my boss stops and actually gives me a compliment on the project. Considering he says positive things to his employees as if he might get struck by lightning, it makes me feel good as hell. I walk out to my truck with a smile on my face because even though lunch was a disaster, it’s been a good day otherwise. I’m almost convinced it started on the right foot because I woke up with Lennon in my arms this morning.

Yesterday, I told myself that what we shared in Utah had to stay there. We accomplished what we wanted and convinced her parents, which meant my job of playing husband was done except for the Instagram photos. When we walked into the apartment, I’d accepted it was over until she texted me to lay with her. Thinking about how she instantly falls asleep when I’m close has me grinning like an idiot. I wanted it as much as she did. My bed is too damn sad and empty. The thought of her consumes me the rest of the drive home.

I walk into the apartment that’s squeaky fucking clean and find Lennon in the kitchen making dinner. Grabbing a beer, I watch her and notice her trying to avoid eye contact. She mentions dinner will be ready, and I excuse myself to compose my thoughts. When I walk away, I look over my shoulder at her and catch her staring, then shoot a wink her way. Blush meets her cheeks, and I hold back a chuckle. Lennon is as transparent as me, apparently.

I change into some workout shorts and a T-shirt, then walk back into the kitchen where Lennon is scooping chicken fettuccine Alfredo onto some plates. I grab forks and napkins, and she follows me to the kitchen table. As we eat, I can tell something’s on her mind.

“What is it?” I ask, shooting her a smirk.

She shakes her head and continues to focus on her pasta.

“Come on. I know something’s up. I know you, Lennon. Plus, I haven’t seen the apartment this clean in years,” I tell her and watch her face soften.

“Fine,” she huffs. “I’ve been thinking about the Jenna situation all day. Let me first say that I trust you. I do. I trust you as much as I trust my sisters. It’s not that. I just have this guilt about you helping me with the baby when Jenna is all alone, doing it on her own, and the father of her baby is alive and well. As much as I really don’t like her, it’s not right.” Her eyes don’t meet mine. She goes back to her pasta, studying it like it’s a Picasso painting.

“I get it. I hear you. But it’s one hundred percent not mine,” I say, recalling the conversation I had earlier with Jenna.

“How do you know? I have to know how you know.” Lennon finally looks at me, and all I want to do is swim in the depths of her baby blues.

I suck in a deep breath and release it. Regardless of how hard it is to admit, I know I have to tell her. The silence draws on, but she gives me all the time in the world to find my words.

“Okay.” I nod, even though this is embarrassing as hell. It’s why I didn’t told Jenna because she’s the last person who needs to know my personal business. “When I was in college, I was short on money and decided to donate my…sperm. After some initial testing, they noticed my counts were low,” I explain, watching her.

“You’re sterile?” she asks, searching my face.

“No, but my sperm count is abnormal. Hold on,” I say, getting up and leaving her shocked at the table. I walk to my bedroom and search through the top drawer of my desk and find the envelope. After I find a pinch of courage, I go back and hand it over, but I don’t sit down as I watch her take it with a shaky hand. She pulls the papers out and reads it.

“I got a second opinion shortly after and got the same results. It’s been my reality ever since I found out,” I tell her, resting both hands on my hips. “Not exactly a conversation starter, though.”