When Wesley tossed me onto the bed in his little wooden cabin near the water, my tits spilled out from the yellow dress. I felt completely wild, stretched thin—no longer thinking actual thoughts and giving in to my impulses. My flat belly gleamed in the light from the window. I watched as Wesley crawled up me, drawing my dress up over my arms and neck. I cooed, filled with emotion. Was this how it had felt, twelve-some years ago, when we’d been fucking each other as eighteen year olds? Did it even matter?

His cock was thicker than I remembered it. It was difficult to bring my mouth all the way around. And when it filled my throat, I had to close my eyes for a moment, overcome. I almost couldn’t take all of him. But I wanted to. I had to.

Now, above me, he slowly eased his entire body to align with mine. He reached his head down and kissed at my neck, taking a tender moment before biting down. I stretched my back, bringing my legs wide. His cock found my pussy—something it had once known so well—and suddenly filled it. I cried out. Being filled by him was different than other people. It was different than Tyler. It meant something.

“Fuck. Fuck—fuck,” I whispered, as he began to pump into me. We became a single unit, sweating and kissing, our tongues falling in with one another. Outside, the waves crashed along the sand and rocks, rooting me in this world. I was on the ground, not floating far above it.

When we came, I gave no thought to any baby. To any world we were about to create. Rather, I felt like us coming together was the most natural thing in the world. Our juices joining, our bodies sweating, our lips still locked A few tears mixed with the sweat on my cheeks.

---

In the silence afterward, Wesley turned onto his side and gazed at me. I could feel his eyes burning into my cheeks. He drew a finger along my face, down my neck, across my nipple, and down the flat of my stomach, as if he was memorizing me.

When I finally came to, I blinked toward him, biting at my bottom lip. “Jesus, that was good,” I sighed. “I think I forgot what good sex was like.”

Somehow, I wasn’t embarrassed to say this. It was simple. It was true.

Wesley chuckled, drawing me into him. I pressed my tits against the dark, coarse hairs of his chest, matching my breath with his. I wanted to cocoon against him forever, growing our baby.

“Do you think it worked?” he asked me, drawing his fingers through my sweaty hair. “You know. Do you think I put a baby in you?”

I shrugged my shoulders, feeling a smile stretch between my cheeks. For so many years, I’d been terrified of creating a baby. In the weeks after fucking someone—even Tyler—I would feel anxious, depressed, waiting for my period to come. “I can’t have a baby now. Not now,” had always been my refrain.

We fell into one another’s arms, sleeping until just after nine in the morning. A loud, squawking bird awoke me. I blinked awake, staring into Wesley’s still-slumbering face. His body still held onto mine. I didn’t want to wake him. I felt exactly at peace, like a woman floating in a bath. He smelled exactly like a man—a dark musk, sweat from our sex. He was no longer the boy I’d known.

He curled into me when he awoke, and he pressed his hand on my stomach. After a pause, he sniffed, whispering, “What time do you have to go?”

“I have to open the bar soon,” I whispered back, hating to tear through our perfect ecosystem. “And I walked to the restaurant. Do you think you could drive me?”

Wesley gave a heavy nod, rolling his eyes. “Anything for you, princess,” he said, teasing me.

But I slapped my hand against him, shoving him playfully. He laughed this big, hearty belly laugh, and kissed me again. I felt totally enamored with him. It was as if, well—As if I were falling all over again.

We dressed quickly, speaking in silly tones, each of us humming with hormones. I took a glance at my stomach, wondering if I’d soon find it stretched out. Filled with baby. “Do you think we’ll have to try again?” I asked him, sweeping my fingers across my abdomen. “Do you think we should, just in case?”

Wesley kissed my cheek, guiding me toward his motorbike. In the brightness of the morning, my head began to spin with this strange reality. Wesley still hadn’t answered, hadn’t given me a sense that we would see one another outside of the boundaries of this situation. I settled in behind him on the bike, feeling shaky, and he leafed through his pockets, drawing up his sunglasses, and a piece of paper. He whisked the paper toward me, watching as I unfolded it.

My heart sank at the top font, so big and bold. So telling of what we were. Of what this was.

---

CONTRACT BETWEEN REMY SCOTT AND WESLEY ADAMS.

---

“Oh,” I said. “This. Right. Good—good thinking.”

“You mentioned you wanted it drawn up. So I called an old lawyer friend, from when I tried out college. Did you know I went to two semesters at the University of Wisconsin?” He scoffed at himself, sounding pleased. “’Course, I was in it for the party scene, only.”

The bike sped down the highway, back toward the Mission. Still, my right hand gripped the contract, knowing it was necessary I signed it. I shoved it into my pocket. This contract would give me the money for my “services” as soon as I was pregnant. That way, I could start work on the film during the pregnancy, before I got too massive, of course. Then, I could pick up with preproduction after the fact: when the baby was, assuredly, being raised by someone else.

Jesus. It was all growing a bit heavy in the light of day.

Station to Station Pub appeared on the street corner. To my chagrin, Quintin appeared in the doorway, a trash bag slung over his shoulders. He blinked at Wesley’s motorbike as it approached, his smile slowly faltering to one of confusion and betrayal.

Wesley cut the engine directly next to his friend, my brother. Quintin dropped the trash bag to his side, his nostrils flared.

“Remy. You’re ten minutes late, you know that?” he asked.

I hadn’t known. Of course I hadn’t. I slipped from the motorcycle, my hand still gripping this fucking baby contract. My eyes traced from Quintin to Wesley and back, feeling the air grow fiery.

“So. You’re back in town, then?” Quintin asked Wesley, tapping his boot on the pavement. “Didn’t know.” He turned his eyes to me, sniffing. “And you. You who had to leave early last night.”

“I’m sorry,” I told him.

“I just think you’re both acting like idiots, is all,” Quintin said.

“You don’t know the full story,” I stuttered.

“Right. It’s not like we’re getting together,” Wes scoffed. It was clear we’d been fucking. My hair was wild, curled with dried sweat.

“OK,” Quintin said. He smacked his hand over his forehead, shrugging. “You know what? Fuck it. I don’t care what you guys did. Remy, I need you to change three kegs in there. And Wes, fuck. I don’t know. Let’s go have a smoke.” His hand twitched for his back pocket. Wes followed him around the corner, toward the gas station. I scurried into the bar, feeling my cheeks grow bright. My breath staggered.

“What are you doing? What are you doing?” I muttered to myself, stretching the contract out across the keg. With a loose pen, I scribbled my name beneath the text. “What the hell are you doing?”

I could see Quintin and Wesley through the back window. Both were smoking cigarettes, the smoke curling up over their heads. Suddenly, Quintin reared his fist back and barreled it toward Wesley’s skull. I screeched, racing out to the sidewalk. Wesley had ducked his head to the side, narrowly missing Quintin’s punch.

“Hey! Quintin! Stop it!” I cried from behind, my heart pumping wildly in my chest. “Jesus. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

But Quintin continued to point at Wesley, looking aghast. His eyes flashed toward me, looking similarly distrusting. “Are you really trying to have this guy’s baby? For money?” he asked me, his nostrils flared.

I scrubbed my fingers through my hair, awash in confusion. I couldn’t imagine a worse way that Quintin could have found out than through Wesley. I shook my head, shrugging my thin shoulders. “It’s not like I’ll have another option to have a kid.”

“Jesus, Remy. Where the hell is your self-respect?” Quintin asked. He whirled toward Wesley once more, pointing a thick finger toward him. “If I see you fuck this up even more, Wesley, and disrespect my sister—and the fact that she’s giving you this gift…”

“Stop it, Quintin. We don’t even know if it worked.” I said, sighing. “It probably didn’t.”

“Good. Then we can all forget about it,” Quintin said. He spun and stomped into the pub, leaving Wesley and me on the sidewalk. The sunlight had begun to beat down on us, and sweat beaded along my neck. I shifted, feeling the contract flip and flop in my hand.

“I signed it,” I said, my voice weak.

“Maybe it’s a bad idea,” Wesley said, his dark eyes still toward the pub, following after Quintin. “I should have thought about Quintin. He’s been nothing but a fucking brother to me.”

“Just shut up now,” I said. “We’ve already done it. And if it happens, well. He’ll have to deal with it.” I paused for a moment, my heart burning. “He has to realize that I have to make decisions for myself. I have been making decisions for myself for the past twelve-plus years, without both of you.”

I pressed the paper into his hand, spinning toward the door. Rage swam through me, making my movements ragged, sharp. I reached the door and slammed it closed behind me, huffing. Quintin shoved several nacho chips into his mouth and crunched on them loudly, giving me a sinister look. Through his food, he spoke in a muffled voice.

“A fucking baby contract? Jesus, Remy. You have got to be kidding me.”

His words were just the same as mine, internally. But I busied myself throughout the rest of the day, conscious that, if that had worked—all four times of it—I was pregnant with a baby. I stayed away from the booze. I even avoided coffee. I kept my head down, and I prayed. I needed that money. And I needed Wesley’s baby. I just wanted to know that we could make something that lasted. Something that was good.