#Babymachine (Baby Crazy 1)

Mason didn’t want me.

He didn’t care.

He just wanted another log in his fuck book to show his friends.

And as a virgin, I’d been the biggest prize of all.

With another broken-hearted cry, my legs tore from the apartment, ugly tears streaming down my face. Choked sobs rang in the elegantly-appointed hallway.

Because I was nothing.

Nada. Zip. Zilch.

I was a mite to be used, and Mason had betrayed me in the worst way possible.

Oh god, how had this happened?

The only route forwards was escape … and I was never coming back.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Mason

I took the package out the mailbox and turned it over. It wasn’t big, just the size of a shoebox. And it had to be from my mom, judging from the little heart stickers stuck all over with a note to the mailman: “Fragile! Family cookbook inside.”

Come on, Rhonda. You’ve never even met the girl, no need to act like a Hallmark commercial.

But it was fine. And sure enough, as I unwrapped the package, a volume of heirloom recipes appeared. The pages were stained, and I swear the book itself smelled like pasta sauce, tomato-y and rich. But it was all good.

An envelope dropped out as well with my name written across the front in my mom’s loopy scrawl. I sighed. Another note filled with Rhonda’s usual gossip about nothing in particular. There were x’s and o’s all over, you’d think my mom was twelve and not sixty-five.

But my fingers opened the note.

Dear Son, she began.

Here it is. I’m finally sending the cookbook I’ve been promising for a while now. Isn’t it just precious? Your Great Aunt Ida Mae left it to me, and the time has come for you to take possession of this wonderful heirloom.

Or more accurately, do you want to give it to your special lady? Son, you’ve been so happy lately, I can hear it in your voice. Life isn’t just about making money, the loving is what matters most. And anyone who can make my one and only darling boy feel the bonds of affection is already part of the family.

Xoxo,

Your mother who can’t wait to see you.

I shook my head in disbelief. This was so over the top. “Bonds of affection”? “My darling boy”? Rhonda was at it again, watching too many movies on Lifetime. So I pitched the note into the trash, shaking my head. Beth didn’t have to see Rhonda’s crazy words, it was too much, too soon.

But all the same, I fully intended on presenting the heirloom to my best girl. Because she deserved it. She’d love it. The brunette would coo and mewl, looking up into my eyes with a heart full and open, filled with emotion.

And Beth deserved it. She was a worthy keeper of this bit of family history, just like she was the keeper of my heart.

The keeper of my heart?

Was I going crazy?

Was I the one in the Lifetime movie?

But no, it was definitely true.

Beth had penetrated my defenses, turned me into a big puppy dog when I wasn’t watching. And now the sweet brunette was my everything, her words guiding my days, her body invading my nights.

So with impatient fingers, I pressed the button for the penthouse. Shit, I couldn’t wait to see her. I couldn’t wait to rest my eyes on that curvy figure, to see her face flush with pleasure as I presented her with the gift. It was better than diamonds, better than a closet stuffed with designer clothes. This cookbook was a piece of my heritage and history, and Beth would treasure it for sure, holding it close to her breast.

Banging the front door open, my voice rang out.

“Hey, sweet thing. I got a present for you. It came in the mail.”

Silence greeted me, but that was no big deal. The apartment is huge, maybe she was in the back somewhere. Plus, Beth often does my laundry even though I’ve told her again and again that it’s not necessary.

“I have a cleaning lady,” I growled one day as she folded my underwear. “No need to dirty your pretty little hands.”

But my girl had shaken her head.

“No, it’s okay Mason. I don’t mind. I like touching these things, they make me feel like you’re here with me,” she’d confessed, cheeks coloring softly. And what could I do but kiss her then? Hold the female tight and infuse the touch with everything that I felt, all the goodness she brought into the world.

So maybe Beth was in the back right now, doing some laundry as the machines pounded away. God knows those things are loud, practically causing earthquakes.

Nonchalant, I strode through the empty rooms, scanning for my girl.

“Beth? Beth?” I called again.

But oddly, there was no reply. Okay, my apartment’s big, but it’s not that big. This is New York after all, and there are no truly huge spreads. So what the hell? But the kitchen was empty. The stove cold. Everything neatly put away, even though the brunette usually cooks. I looked at my watch, puzzled. It was just after six. Where could she be?