Big Daddy

Chapter 28

chapter twenty-eight

winnie

One month later

“He said that?” I balk, leaning back in my chair. My lower back is fucking killing me, but it’s a good thing. I’ve been at the office nearly fourteen hours a day. Backache from a thriving new business? I’ll take it.

Corinne purses her lips with satisfaction, nodding. “Yep. And then he said, she was nothing to me. And I said, ‘you don’t get nothing pregnant!’” She dusts her hands together. “The trash stays out.”

I nod. “Hell yes it does.”

She adjusts the pens in the decorative vase on my desk. “He even called Quincey to see if Quincey could talk to you to talk to me.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “Well, that worked well considering Q never even mentioned it.”

“He didn’t mention it to me either,” Corinne laughs, “Michael told me in one of his many desperate voicemails.”

I roll my eyes. “Too late, Mike.”

“Way too late,” she says. I hit print and nod toward the printer on the back wall of my office, and she gets to her feet to collect the papers. She sifts through them, nodding, her eyes wide.

“Perfect. Beautiful. I love it,” she says, sighing dreamily as she sinks back into her chair across from me.

“I’m glad you’re happy with it and also, I just want to tell you, I’m so proud of you Corinne. It’s so rare when a small business booms and blooms, and to be opening your second store front in less than a year is seriously amazing. Unheard of amazing levels.”

Corinne slips the printed papers into a blue plastic folder, then slides that one into a bigger folder containing color-coordinated papers. I watch her get her things organized, check her day planner, then respond to a few messages on her phone.

She put her faith and trust in me when I was just a grad student, and she has a lot to do with the reason why I have a thriving business, too.

Despite the ache in my back, my chest squeezes as I watch one of the most loyal and hard working women I know twist her hair and clip it.

“Okay well I’m gonna head out,” she says, rolling on berry colored lipstick.

“Thank you for believing in me. You know, you’re a lot of the reason I’m here,” I tell her, ignoring the sudden emotional knot clogging my throat.

“Ditto,” she beams, sliding her shoulder bag onto her arm. “Okay, talk soon. In fact,” she says, lifting the sleeve on her Chanel suit coat to glance at her watch. “I’ll call in two hours after I email over everything else, sound good?”

I nod. “Sure. I’m going to the doctor’s office with Brielle at eleven but it shouldn’t take long.”

Corinne smiles. “Okay, talk soon.” She leaves the door open behind her, and a moment later, Pen wanders in.

I don’t hate Pen the way Quincey does. I’m not as annoyed by him as Quincey is either. But, to be fair, Pen does have a way of getting under your skin and being completely blind to all the hints you drop for him to leave. Still a great lawyer.

“Corinne is really thriving,” he says, peering up at the framed graduate degree hanging from the wall. Big Daddy framed it, surprising me by having both of my degrees framed and hung. “So are you, it would seem.”

“I thrive, we thrive,” I say, always continually reminding the men of Parker they’ve got a meeting with the sex toy company they’re partnered with. They can’t miss it.”

He adjusts himself again, then fixes his hair. I love watching Big Daddy right himself. “Well, I’ll blow off my 11 o’clock and come with you.”

My brow falls flat. “They do a vaginal ultrasound at this appointment,” I deadpan.

“Ugh,” he groans. “Never mind. I guess I’ll just stay here and work.”

I grin, reaching past him to gather my purse and phone. “Oh, poor Big Daddy, having to stay in his high-rise and do lawyer things.” I stick my lip out in a pout. “It’s so hard to be you.”

He grabs his cock through his slacks, his head visible against the fabric. “Very fucking hard,” he teases drily.

“C’mon. Walk me to the elevators and kiss me goodbye,” I say, wiggling my fingers at him. My bare fingers, I might add. He gets up, trudging toward me, still using one of his monstrous hands to adjust his even more monstrous erection. Sliding his hand in mine, I slide mine out, letting it flop dramatically to my side.

“Geez,” I hum, lifting my hand, turning it over, studying it. “It slipped right out of yours. I guess there’s nothing for you to hold onto, hmm,” I say wryly, my eyes sliding to Big Daddy’s.

Dark eyes narrowed, his lips quirk as he clamps his hand around mine with force, making me squeal. “Don’t you start with me Winnie. You know you’ll be my wife. I just haven’t found the ring yet.”

He walks me from the office to the elevator, pressing his lips against my throat to say goodbye. My pussy flutters from the gesture, and when he steps back, a rush of his cologne, sandalwood and leather, engulfs me.

“I’ll miss you,” I tell him.

He winks, and heads back to his office. The doors close, and now my mind shifts to Brielle, my best friend, and her very first ultrasound ever.

I’m going to be there for it, and a month ago, I wasn’t sure we’d ever be friends again. I couldn’t be happier.

Dr. Manning slides the vaginal ultrasound wand out of Brielle, and she exhales with relief.

She adjusts the little paper pillow beneath her head, blonde hair spilling down the sides of the bed. “How come I can have sex with a dick bigger than that, but the ultrasound wand turns me into a virgin?” she asks. “That thing makes me want to close up shop!”

The doctor chuckles, peeling off her purple rubber gloves, disposing of them on her way to the computer in the corner of the room. “It’s the coldness, and I think because there isn’t a smooth end.” She types for a second then glances back at us. “The next evolution of vaginal wands will have a head on them, or be shaped as a phallus.”

I laugh at that, and so does Brielle. “That would make sense. You don’t make a rectangular peg for a circular hole.”

Dr. Manning laughs. “You can wipe up and get your clothes back on, I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” she slips out the door and I turn away, letting Brielle get cleaned up.

“I can’t wait to see the pictures,” I tell her, staring at a chart of the female reproductive system that is laminated and hung on the wall.

“Same. I’m so, so excited,” Brielle says, getting to her feet to toss the crumpled napkins into the trash. She tugs on her Crave & Cure hoodie, and reties her sweatpants, stacking her arms behind her head as she lies back.

“So, are you and my dad… you know?” she wrinkles her nose, her face twisted in discomfort.

“Trying to have a baby?” I offer. “Well, we aren’t doing anything to stop it.”

“Did you quit your birth control?” she asks, sitting up.

I shake my head. “I never took it regularly before because I always made the guy wear a condom. Quitting was kind of… already happening.”

She nods, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“What?” I ask her.

“It’s weird to think you could have a baby with my dad. Your baby could be my sister. That’s wild, you know?” she asks, but I take the time to study her face, the way she moves her hands when she speaks, and how her tone never ebbs. She isn’t dreading the idea of her dad getting me pregnant the way I thought she would.

“You really wouldn’t be weirded out?” I ask, because I thought this would be our second hurdle, whenever it did happen.

She shakes her head. “You two are together. I can’t say I’ve accepted that if I secretly hope you don’t do couple things.” She nods staunchly. “I am excited for when it happens.”

I smile at her, and then Dr. Manning returns, a nurse in tow. The nurse gets to work, typing and clicking, using a huge mouse ball looking thing to scroll and click. A few minutes later, Brielle and I are both crying as we stare a white blob in the photo.

The doctor tells us the baby’s heartbeat is strong, that it’s too soon to know the gender, and that everything looks good. I listen while Brielle stares dreamily at the ultrasound photos, because I don’t blame her.

“Most of the first trimester symptoms ease up around week twelve, sometimes not until week fourteen or sixteen though,” Dr. Manning says while simultaneously noting things in her chart. “And how have your body aches been? When you came in at week six, you had a lot of body aches and fatigue. Have those subsided?”

Brielle volleys her head. “I could sleep at any time. My body is still killing me. My hips… my lower back, mostly, still going strong,” she says, then slides her hands over her non-existent belly, adding, “but for a good cause.”

The nurse cleans up the area as Brielle and Dr. Manning plan her next appointment, and I can’t help but think… My back has been hurting. I’ve been exhausted, too. The week that Big Daddy and I spent apart, I spent most of that time in bed. I thought it was sadness, avoidance and my SSRI’s potentially needing a dose change but now… “Holy crap.”

Dr. Manning, the nurse, and Brielle all swivel their heads to face me.

“What?” Brielle asks, a small dip of curiosity carved between her brows.

“Uhh…” I draw out, unwilling to toss the possibility out in the public. Not yet. And not here first, that’s for sure. “Just thinking about how cool ultrasound photos are,” I say, holding the stack of folded images.

Dr. Manning nods. “We’ve come a long way, indeed.”

A few minutes later, I’m dropping Brielle off at Crave and heading straight for the drug store on the corner near Parker & Pen.

Locked in my en suite bathroom, I dump the plastic bag out over the sink. Boxes reading Clearblue, First Response, PregMate and the drug store off-brand stare back at me. They guarantee results faster than any other test or brand, all four of them. I snatch the Snapple bottle from the sea of boxes and crack the top, chugging the Trop A Rocka faster than I ever have before. After my eyes water through a brain freeze, I kick off my heels and jump in place a few times before I stop, wide eyed.

“Oh my God,” I breathe. I thought it was from Big Daddy ravaging them in our fuck session last night but now… I think my boobs are sore for other reasons. Snatching the Clearblue box, I continue jumping up and down as I tear it open, eventually fishing out a stick wrapped in foil. I tear that open too, still jumping, and do the same with the other three boxes. When my bladder finally feels a bit full, I’m out of breath and exhausted. Which I realize… is likely another sign.

Tugging up my skirt, I sit on the toilet and lower the plastic cup beneath me, my eyes closing with relief when I finally relax enough to pee. After washing up and following all the instructions, all four tests are laid out in a row on a sheet of toilet paper. Now, I wait.

I’ve always thought of becoming a parent as something that happens organically this way. I’ve never been one to want to plan this or even marriage. I can’t help but smile, knowing there is a very real possibility that I could be pregnant, and that if I am, Big Daddy will also be happy. He didn’t want to plan things traditionally either, because he did that the first time and it didn’t work out the way he’d hoped. Out of order, in chaos, we do things our way. And I love that for us.

With my back against the countertop, I take a deep breath and brace myself. If it’s positive, I’ll scream with excitement. Not only will Brielle and I be pregnant at the same time, but I’ll be starting my family. My mom was twenty-eight when she had me, and I’ll be around that age when the baby is born. I have my career, my man, my education—I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, truthfully.

If it’s negative, well, I’ll have… more time. More time to work on my little empire. Though, as I think about my work, I realize, it’s a beautiful thing that I can also do from home with a baby strapped to my tit. Okay well, if I'm not pregnant, I’ll just have more time in this beautiful office doing what I love. Will I be disappointed? I chew my bottom lip and find myself twirling a curl around my finger, the same way Big Daddy likes to do. God our kids would be beautiful. He’s tall and strong, his dark hair and dark eyes steal my breath away. I can’t help but envision babies with dark hair like his, curls like mine and bright green eyes, just like mine.

Fuck, now I’m smiling when I should be preparing myself for these tests being negative. Because if they are… that’s fine.

Is it?

My heart is racing and sweat is beading along my back beneath my dress. If it’s negative… a rush of nausea hits me, and I turn just in time to empty my stomach into the toilet bowl.

After rinsing my mouth, I take a deep breath and let my eyes slide to the tests, cautiously peering at just one of the digital screens.

PREGNANT.

The next screen.

PREGNANT.

The next test.

Two pink lines.

The last test.

Two pink lines.

Balling up my fist, I gently bite down and squeal as loud as I can within the small space. “Oh my god,” I breathe, my mind a rush of thoughts, my chest flooded with feelings.

“Hey!” a voice booms through the door, then knuckles pound the wood, and I know without a doubt, Quincey Parker is lurking on the other side of the bathroom door.

“I’m going pee!” I shout back.

“I heard you coughing. Did you get sick?” the knob rattles and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

“If I did, why would you want to come in?” I bark back, collecting the urine-soaked pregnancy tests with a tissue, then shoving them in the top drawer. Unlocking the door, I pull it open and Big Daddy steps inside, peering around as I once again roll my eyes.

“Why was the door locked?” he asks, collecting me in his arms. “And if you were sick, I’d want to be in here holding your hair.”

I sigh against his chest, because even though he’s overbearing and nosey, I love it. I wouldn’t have it any other way. “I was puking, if you must know.”

He steps back, his large hands wrapped gently around my biceps as he looks me up and down. “Are you sick? You don’t look ill,” he asks and comments.

“I’m kinda sick,” I say, biting my bottom lip as I hop onto the bathroom counter and spread my knees, allowing him to step between my legs.

He collects my curls in his hands and yanks my head back, exposing the place on my throat that he likes to kiss most. It’s my favorite place for him to kiss, too.

“Did you start feeling ill during Brielle’s appointment? How did that go?” he asks, scattering his words down my chest as he carves kisses out along my collarbone.

“Good,” I reply, running my hands up the back of his dress shirt. “Appointment was good.”

He nips under my chin, then kisses my lips before finding my throat again. “When did you start feeling ill?”

My lips curve into a private smile as he presses his lips to my throat repeatedly. “I only started noticing a few weeks ago, but I’ve technically had this condition for six weeks. Maybe a few more.”

Big Daddy pulls back, his eyes searching mine. “What’s wrong?” The panic in his voice sends a wiggle of delight through my belly. Not because I like seeing him panicked but because I know I get to squash the panic and replace it with something good. So, so good.

I tip my head to the drawer next to me and move my leg to give him access to it. “Why don’t you open the drawer and find out for yourself.”

He eyes me cautiously, completely unsuspecting because men are men, and reaches for the drawer. I keep my eyes on his face, watching his expression as he surveys the contents. His eyes go back and forth from the pregnancy tests to me a few times.

“Winnie,” he breathes, low and slow. Bumps break out along my arms and neck, and my eyes fill.

“Big Daddy.” I smile, letting a tear fall. “We’re pregnant.”

“Winnie,” he repeats, his eyes flitting between mine, nostrils flaring. “Oh my God.”

Wrapping his arms around me, I wrap mine around him, and we embrace slowly, tenderly. He strokes his fingers through my hair, lips pressed to my ear as he says, “I love you, and I can’t wait to do this with you.”

I’m blaming this baby for the tears, but his sweet words open the floodgate. He holds me in the bathroom, sitting at the sink, and we don’t come out for an hour, but it’s the most private, perfect, beautiful hour we’ve spent together. We share hopes, whisper sweet things, and bask in the love we’ve found together.

It sounds corny but I don’t care. I’ll be corny and blissfully happy any day of the week.

“Hey,” Big Daddy says, breaking through our silent spell of bliss. “You and Brielle will get to experience pregnancy together.”

I roll my eyes playfully. “Duh, I already thought of that.”

“It will be… unifying.” He smiles. “And you get to tell her. She’s gonna be excited, Win.”

I nod. “I know.”

Big Daddy wraps a curl around his finger and tugs gently, letting it spring free. “I can’t wait.”

“To tell Brielle?”

He shrugs, his posture suddenly relaxed, his expression passively happy. “That. Watching you grow our child, actually having the baby. Getting you pregnant again and again, playing good cop-bad cop with you when they’re older, all of it. I can’t wait.”

We kiss again, and Big Daddy puts his hand on my belly. “Thank you,” I whisper, “for everything but mostly for being an asshole who aggravated me enough to make me want to stomp down to your office and repay you. If you weren’t such a big thoughtful jerk, I never would’ve fallen in love.”

He smiles, rare and gorgeous. “You’re welcome.”