That sound… fuck me. The way it travels through him, finding its home deep inside of me, it shoves me over the edge. I bite my knuckle, trying to muffle the pleasure ripping its way out of my body. Bobby’s fingers dig into my thighs as he swallows everything I give him.
Shaking, I open my eyes and stare at the roof of our truck, trying to convince my soul to get back into my body. Bobby sits up, a sly smirk on his face as he wipes the edge of his mouth with the tip of his finger.
“You look very pleased with yourself,” I mutter, rolling my still-foggy head in his direction and easing my dick back into my boxers.
“Shouldn’t I be?” He chuckles. “You’re looking pretty relaxed.” He points at the dash. “And you know I don’t like to say ‘I told you so’, but…”
Sure enough, we have nine whole minutes before we’re supposed to be at the cafe. “Bullshit, Bobby. You love saying I told you so.” He grins, knowing I’m right. Wrapping my hand around the back of his neck, I pull him close. So close that the air tastes like him. “I fucking love you. You know that, right? No matter what, I always love you.”
His eyes go soft. “I know.” He presses his forehead to mine, his fist gripping a handful of my shirt. “And I always love you. Thank you for doing this. I know it isn’t what you wanted.”
Those gold flecks catch the light, making his eyes flash fiercely in the morning light. “It isn’t… but I really don’t care,” I tell him truthfully. “One way or the other, I’m getting us a baby.”
“I can’t decide if that’s crazy hot, or if I need to worry about you kidnapping one.”
“Nah…” I laugh. “We made it this far. I can wait a little longer.” Even if it does feel a bit like giving up.
2
HAILEY
My hands shake as I reach for the cafe door, fingers hovering over the knob. It's not that the bakery itself is intimidating, but rather what waits for me inside. The twist of nerves makes my stomach flutter, but this is the first time I’ve even come close.
It has been a very, very long year. Fourteen months, to be exact. Fourteen months, one week and four days of waiting. Not to mention dozens of interviews, countless doctor’s appointments, and enough blood draws to re-stock the Red Cross.
So, terrifying or not, I know I can’t let myself back out now. Even if it means puking in the flower planters, I am going to go through with this. Besides, Bobby and Jameson have been nothing but kind and considerate. If any couple ever deserved to have a baby, it’s them.
A throat clears behind me, making me jump. I wheel around to find an enormous man behind me. He’s wearing a khaki police uniform and his name tag says Sheriff Connors, but that’s not what catches my eye.
He has a bright pink baby carrier strapped to his front and inside is the cutest baby I’ve ever seen in my whole freaking life. Wild copper curls spill down her head. Chubby little hands and feet flail as she coos excitedly.
“Are… you… going in?” He asks, eyeing me suspiciously.
“Oh, yup. Just collecting my thoughts…” I step aside, letting him pass by. The red door swings open, sounding a chime from the bell overhead. For one brief moment, I'm bathed in the aroma of freshly baked cookies and coffee.
The door shuts behind him, creaking on its hinges and taking the smell with it. I pace up and down the street a couple times, trying to work myself back up to going inside.
It wouldn’t be quite so intimidating if the men waiting for me were average, but literally nothing about them is. I’ve stared at their profile more times than I care to admit, flipping through their photos and re-reading their bios.
Handsome, brilliant, capable men are hard to come by. And gay or not, I’ve been harboring some fantasies about the two of them that canneversee the light of day. I am well aware of how unethical my crush is. But who in their right mind could look at the two of them andnotneed a fresh pair of panties?
It didn’t get any better once we connected, either. I don’t know if I really believed it would. I told myself it would, but that might have been some willful ignorance on my part.
It started with the usual emails. The part where we make chit-chat and ignore the very intimate details of getting some stranger’s sperm all up in my fertile eggs. There’s just no casual way to approach that. You either beat around the proverbial bush, or you dive in.
Jameson and Bobby almost seemed more interested in me and my life than in the whole process of knocking me up. Honestly, it was a nice change from previous couples I’d communicated with. Wives got bristly. Husbands made uncomfortable jokes. Literally no one treated me like a human being. I was just a possible incubator. One with a pulse, but still an incubator.
But not these two. ‘Where’d you grow up?’ And ‘What’s your favorite food?’ Turned into ‘What did you do last weekend?’ And because email was too slow, we switched to texting. Before I really knew what was happening, the text messages evolved into phone calls.
They’d call to check in, see how my day was, sometimes just to say goodnight. Jameson asked about my trips to the farmer’s market on Saturdays. Bobby wanted to know if I’d seen the new Hollie Berry movie. It got to the point where I had to buy extra minutes, just so I could keep hearing their voices.
Yeah… totally not obsessed…
I lean my forehead against the side of the building and close my eyes. “Hailey Evans, you arenotgoing to puss out. You can do this,” I mutter to myself. “You’re going to ovary up, count to five, get your ass through that door, and let two dudes knock you up.”
I exhale hard and pull my shoulders back. I turn toward the door, starting when I see an elderly woman staring at me, a huge grin plastered on her face. I stare back for a long moment, counting my heartbeats as I wait for her to go inside or say something, but she doesn’t do either.
“That wasn’t what it sounded like,” I whisper. “I’m a surrogate.”