Single Dad Next Door: A Fake Marriage Romance Page 6

  “I need you outside,” he says.

  “If you haven’t noticed, I’m in the middle of something,” I snap. My anger is a little forced, but he doesn’t need to know that. The last thing Reid Riggins’ arrogance needs is a helping hand.

  Jennifer’s small hands press into me, leading me out of the shop. “Go to him,” she says a little teasingly, dragging her words out slowly so they ring melodramatically severe.

  “Use protection, kids,” says Lauren a little bitterly.

  Both Reid and I glare at her and she shrinks back a little, holding her hands up in self-defense. “I’m just saying,” she mutters. “STDs are no joke.”

  Somehow I’m coaxed outside and then the door closes behind me, bells chiming faintly as it shuts. I cross my arms, trying to hold on to my anger because it’s the only thing keeping me from melting in front of him. He’s too much. Too much man. Too much handsome. Too much muscle. Being this close to him makes it all so overwhelming that I could lose my train of thought in a split second if I’m not careful.

  “You drove my car back up here to give it to me? You live next door. It would have made a lot more sense to just… I don’t know, wait until I was home?”

  “Maybe I just wanted to see you. You look cute in that uniform.”

  “You really--” I clear my throat, blushing like an idiot and remembering to scowl. “Reid. I told you I was busy. Thanks for giving my car back, but I really need to--”

  “Who said I was giving it back?” he asks. The corner of his mouth pulls up in a playful grin. “You’re going to learn how you fucked it up in the first place so I don’t have to fix it again. Get in,” he says, yanking the door open.

  I find myself obeying. I’m not normally one to be easily cowed by a man, or anyone for that matter, but something in his voice broaches no disagreement or argument. He expects obedience, and there’s an undeniable power in the force of that expectation.

  I wait for him to get in the driver’s seat. He turns the ignition and shifts into drive. “See this?” he says, pushing on the stick just slightly until it glides somewhere between neutral and drive.

  “Yes,” I say a little hesitantly.

  “This is what you’ve been doing. I don’t know how often. But you’ve been thinking the car is in drive when it is actually here. Every time you drive like this you’re grinding the shit out of your gearbox. That caused a chain reaction and started fucking everything up.”

  I nod. “I understand. It uh, won’t happen again?”

  He smirks. “You know, if you didn’t know how to handle a stick, you could’ve just asked. I’d be happy to let you practice with me some time.”

  I shake my head, looking out the window. “You know, you’re unbelievable. How do you function in society?”

  “I don’t,” he says.

  I let out a surprised laugh. “I guess you’re right. I hardly see you away from that shop of yours, and when I do, you tend to leave a trail of pissed off people in your wake.”

  “It’s that bad, huh?”

  “I might be exaggerating. Just a little.”

  He gets out of the car and comes around to open my door. “Come on,” he says, helping me out carefully, making sure he lifts me slightly to keep me out of a small puddle. “You looked busy in there. Go ahead.”

  “Thanks. You can just leave the car in the parking lot.”

  He laughs, already getting into the driver’s seat of my car and revving the engine. “Sweetheart, if you want your car back, you’re going to have to come by the shop and ask nicely. Maybe we can even have a repeat. I’ve never been much of a believe in the one night stand. Call me hungry, but I always go back for seconds.” He spins the tires, pulling away and leaving me in a haze of smoke.

  I stomp back inside the bakery. Lauren spots me and comes up to the counter, obviously hungry for details. “You have to--”

  “Not now,” I say, weaving through a few customers to get behind the counter and then to my back office. I step inside and close the door, cradling my head in my hands, trying desperately to remember more than the fuzzy images I have of the festival.

  As much as I try I only see the same, confusing blur of images, none of which are good. Sweating skin moving against mine, a cock so perfect I have to be making it up, and those eyes. Those unmistakably piercing, green, smoldering eyes. They stare into mine as he…

  I can’t be imagining it wrong. I guess it could have all been some alcohol induced dream, but I’ve never dreamed up something like that before. Not in my entire life. Reality creeps in on me, inch by inch. The feeling settles in my stomach, cold, hard, and unrelenting. I made a mistake. I made a mistake with Reid. Now all I can do is hope to God he was carrying a condom and thought to use it. But for some reason he doesn’t strike me as the type to think much about something practical like that, especially not when he’s hammered.

  I want to close my eyes and sleep away the last dregs of this hangover, but every time I close my eyes I see flashes of memory. My hands on my thighs as my dress rides up and I grind myself into Reid on the dance floor. His hands on me. Sparkling water and naked flesh. His cock.

  I shiver. Why do I have a memory of his cock? There’s no way in hell I would have slept with him, no matter what he just said before he pulled away. I try to convince myself that the slight throb between my legs is just a side effect of the hangover, and not my core trying to recover from his big, thick…

  I cover my eyes with my hands and groan. I did not sleep with him. I wouldn’t do that.

  I drag myself to the back office, ignoring how much the girls need my help with the midday rush for a minute to throw back three pain relievers.

  My head is just hurting more and more as the day goes on, meanwhile Reid looked perfectly happy and alert. He probably even woke up early to go for a jog, hit things with his wrench, and rub grease and oil on himself. It’s almost frustrating to think about how sexy he is. Even the way he stands seems seductive. Long, lean legs planted wide, powerful torso tapered to a narrow waist, strong, muscular forearms crossed under his ripped chest. He’s just so intense. Ugh. I shake my head to get the image out, which only jostles around the ball of hangover-pain. I wince, clutching my temples and sighing.

  Just knowing Reid lives so close sends a thrill through me that I can’t suppress, no matter now ill-advised it is.

  Reid Riggins. Never in a million years would I have thought… He’s the antithesis of what I want in a guy. He’s brash, arrogant, rough… Rugged, hard, strong, and powerful. I shake my head, more carefully this time. Am I just falling into the trap of thinking I can fix him? That I can somehow exert my will and turn him into a well-groomed, nice boy who will open doors for me and massage my feet at night?

  Every time I move, the faint soreness between my legs makes me more and more certain that I slept with him. Given how much we both had to drink, I think the chances that we had safe sex are next to zero. What would I do if I was pregnant with Reid Riggins baby? I’d say goodbye to the last shred of my life that wasn’t an utter disaster, for starters.

  I grin at my own thought. Maybe it would be a disaster. But I’ve seen Reid with Roman. He’s a good dad. He’s a damn good dad. He loves that boy more than anything, and he was willing to put up with Tara’s bullshit for Roman’s sake, until she cheated. At least I don’t have to wonder about that part. Reid would make a great father.

  The part I have to wonder about is whether he would want to be a father to a child that was the result of a drunken, confused encounter. An accident.

  Tears well in my eyes and I shake my head. What a complete and total mess. First I learn that my bakery is going to be demolished unless I come up with an impossible amount of money, then this.

  I grab my phone and open a Google search. How soon can I take a pregnancy test?

  It doesn’t take long before I get the answer. Basically, even if I get a false result a week from now, it could be a false negative. And my period isn’t due for another two
weeks. I run a hand through my hair and search the ceiling for answers, but all I get is the annoying hum of the fluorescent lights.

  I picture Reid on his back, shirtless and hitting the underside of a car with that wrench of his while he rubs oil across his ripped muscles with the other. I can practically see his finger dragging down the smooth, cut muscles of his torso, rising and falling over the peaks and valleys of his abs…

  I blow out a frustrated breath. This isn’t helping. I don’t know when it happened, but at some point my body clearly turned on me and started craving him. If my suspicions about last night are true, my body seriously turned on me. The last thing I need is to make it worse by fantasizing about him and adding fuel to the fire.

  What I need is work. Space. I need to be farther away from Reid and his muscles than shouting distance. I need to be somewhere that doesn’t remind me a baby could be growing in my belly right now. It’s funny. The baby I’ve been secretly hoping for could really be coming, and all I can do now is feel terrified.

  I wonder what my parents will say if they find out. They would know I lied about being engaged to a wealthy businessman. A mechanic’s baby in the belly of their blue blooded daughter. It will just be a confirmation of everything they ever predicted for me. All the times they made me feel like I was wasting my life and going down a cheap, degrading path… This will be the nail in the coffin. They will love knowing I have to accept their handouts and help to raise the baby. They will keep me hidden from their friends, like some dark, dirty secret. Their silly little daughter who thought she could make it without mommy and daddy’s money.

  Whatever happens. No matter how bad it gets. I’m not going to them for help. They can leave a bag of money at my front door and I’ll just set it on fire. I can deal with this on my own. I’ve done it so far, and I’m not going to stop now. I’ll find a way, somehow.

  9

  Reid

  Taylor is trying to figure out which lug nuts fit the part he’s working on while I’m busy sweating my ass off. It’s a little after lunch and the afternoon is already getting hot as hell. I don’t mind though. Roman doesn’t seem to either, as he struts around the shop with his shirt off and his little belly protruding proudly. I strip off my shirt and towel some of the sweat and oil from my body. It feels good to work hard. To work with my hands. I spent all morning wrestling the fucking water pump out of a Toyota, and my arms burn with the effort. Old man Hubert ran into his mailbox and jammed the thing into the engine block.

  It’s a good exhaustion though. I’d take days like today over lazy days on the couch any time. Besides, I could use the distraction. I keep replaying Sandra’s face when I teased her about having a one night standl. Truth is I have no idea. I can’t fucking remember. I know one thing though, it wasn’t like I was carrying around a pack of condoms. If I fucked her… I rake a hand through my hair and sigh.

  I expect to feel a sense of panic at the possibility. Knocking a girl up has never been in my plans. I wouldn’t give Roman up for the world, but he wasn’t in the plans, neither was having to marry his mother. I barely know Sandra. I mean, she was practically Tara’s shadow all those years, but it wasn’t like she and I ever talked alone. I grunted at her and she gave me unreadable looks. End of story.

  Now she might be carrying my baby, and I should be fucking terrified. Except I’m not. I’d like to believe it’s just because I know it would solve a lot of my problems. I could probably convince her to marry me if she was having my kid. I’d meet the terms of my grandfather’s will. The shop would be protected from Mark’s efforts to turn this whole town into a strip mall. If that was all I cared about, I could understand it. I could accept that.

  All this shit I’m feeling is more complicated though. Something about Sandra is driving me wild. I feel like a dog on a scent. I can’t get her out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about her. Worse, I can’t help feeling good about the idea that I might have gotten her pregnant. Marked her. Claimed her. Every time I think of her as mine, my chest swells with pride and a need to protect her.

  Except that’s all just going to cause trouble. We shouldn’t be compatible. It seems like I end up somewhere between pissed off and turned on whenever I’m around her, and she has been driving me wild with the flirty smiles and the way she’s not afraid to mouth off at me. Whether we’re bad for each other or not, our bodies seem to have other plans.

  I find Taylor working in a corner of my garage. He’s rubbing oil into a carburetor, looking down his long nose and squinting in concentration. I make sure Roman isn’t within earshot and then nudge Taylor, sitting on an overturned paint bucket beside him.

  “Hey, Taylor,” I say quietly.

  He quirks a blonde brow up, still focused on his task.

  “You see me at the festival last night?”

  “Sure,” he says. “I think everyone did.”

  My stomach sinks a little. “What does that mean?”

  He turns to look at me briefly, grinning. “You dragged Sandra Williams towards the lake and started yelling about skinny dipping.”

  I fight the urge to laugh. This isn’t funny. Okay, it’s a little funny, but I probably shouldn’t make light of it. Regardless of what my dick has to say about the matter, getting involved with Sandra Williams is a complication I could probably do without. Even if it’s a complication that would un-complicate other areas of my life.

  “Right,” I say. “Thanks.”

  I cross the garage and flick Roman on the shoulder. He giggles, reaching to try to get me back, but I put a hand on his forehead. He swings his little arms after me, but doesn’t come close to reaching. I finally let him loose and he starts punching at my legs.

  “Got me,” I say.

  He smiles up at me.

  “You ready for drum lessons?”

  His eyebrows shoot up and he sprints toward the house to get his book of sheet music and drum sticks.

  “Get that Toyota ready before I’m back, you hear?” I ask.

  Taylor grumbles. “Will do.”

  I start up the truck and watch as Roman scrambles out, trying to throw on a shirt with one handed while he clutches the drumsticks and book in the other. I help him get his shirt on and then get him strapped into his carseat.

  “Daddy,” says Roman when we’ve been driving for a little while.

  “What’s up, Bud?” I ask.

  “Do you like Sandra?”

  “No,” I say.

  He makes a thoughtful sound, and like a little psychologist, kills me with his silence.

  “A little,” I admit.

  “I like her too,” he says quickly. “She’s pretty.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I won’t tell Lyla you were checking out another woman if you don’t tell Sandra I like her.”

  Roman takes a second to think over the terms of our agreement. “Okay,” he says. “If you like her, will she be my mommy too?”

  “Uh,” I say. “I don’t think it’s going to happen, but if Miss Sandra and I like each other a lot then yeah, she’d be your mommy too.”

  He makes another thoughtful sound and then falls silent.

  I’m closing up the garage a few days later when I hear raised voices from next door. I had to drop Roman off with Tara for the weekend already, so I decide to head over toward the sound. It’s coming from Sandra’s house, and I recognize one of the voices as hers. When I step up to the front porch I see a man’s figure. He’s gesturing and shouting something I can’t make out. When I hear the word “bitch” come from his mouth though, my blood boils.

  I swing the door open and both Sandra and the guy fall silent. The guy is relatively thin. I take him in with one quick glance. Gelled hair combed back, proud features, narrow shoulders, a polo, and jeans rolled up to show boat shoes with no socks. I smirk. He has rich asshole written all over him. Judging from his thin arms, he hasn’t ever spent an honest day working, either.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he asks me.

  “David,”
says Sandra warningly. “Don’t.”

  “David?” I ask. I purse my lips. “I’m Sandra’s neighbor, and your shouting was disturbing me.”

  He rolls his eyes, flashing white teeth. “Yeah? Well that’s too bad, buddy. I’m sure you probably have to get up and head to the office early tomorrow morning, right?” he asks, gesturing at my oil-stained shirt.

  I extend my arm. It thuds into his chest and knocks him back. Anger flashes in his features and he purses his lips, looking like a petulant child who just had his toy snatched away. “That’s assault,” he says.

  “You want to see assault?” I ask, advancing on him. “Try raising your voice to Sandra again. Then you’ll see what real assault looks like.”

  He glares at me. “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?”

  “David,” I say. “Rich, self-important, scrawny asshole. Did I miss anything?”

  “Guys,” says Sandra carefully. “Really--”

  “Yeah,” interrupts David. “You missed my family name. David Cumberfield. Yes. The Cumberfields.”

  I give him a blank look. “Fields of cum, okay. Got it.”

  His face turns red so quickly that I laugh.

  “Did I strike a nerve there, cum fields?”

  “Mongoloid,” he growls.

  I look to Sandra. “Please tell me this guy isn’t an ex or something.”

  She rubs the back of her neck. “He’s an ex.”

  “I don’t have to be,” he says to her, forgetting his anger at me for a moment.”

  “Why don’t you get lost?” I ask, stepping between David and Sandra.

  “Will you tell this barbarian to leave?” David asks Sandra.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Why don’t you, Sandra? Tell me to leave.”

  She looks between us, eyes slightly wide with panic.

  “Oh, that’s right. She’s not asking me to leave because she’s fucking me now,” I say.