Stella

“You never talk about yourself.”

With his index finger, he pushes the hair away from my eye, traces my cheekbone, and follows it to my lips. I bite it and he smiles crookedly. Leaning in, he kisses me, next to his finger, until I let go and kiss him back.

After Dane suggested a dirty shower, we crawled back into bed. I’ll let you fill in the blanks of what a dirty shower entails. New discoveries: I love sex in the shower, Dane doesn’t like getting shampoo in his face, and I found muscles I didn’t know I had. Without a doubt I’m going to be paying for this sexscapade for weeks to come.

“There’s not much to talk about,” I whisper, hand tucked under my face, his inches from mine on the pillow.

His hand lazily brushes over my back and up my arm, soothing me into submission. It makes me want to tell him everything. “I spent most of my life studying and the rest making money.” I can hear how defensive I sound but it’s a touchy subject and Rome wasn’t built in a day. “You should’ve read the dossier, Wylder.” I finish with a wry smirk.

“I know you don’t like dark chocolate and strawberries, Shorty. That’s not what I’m talkin’ about.”

“The seeds get stuck between my teeth…so you did read it.” I turn onto my back, and pull the sheet over my bare breasts.

“I read your damn daseeyay, woman.” He gets up on an elbow, yanks the sheet down to my waist, and draws excruciatingly slow circles on my nipples. The argument I had ready dies a sudden death. I’m too busy enjoying what he’s doing to me to think, let alone argue.

“What else would you like to know?”

“Who’s your spirit animal?”

I grin widely. “That’s easy––George R. R. Martin.”

“Me too,” he volleys back with a completely straight face.

“Meant to be,” I snicker.

“I think so.” His voice is so low I almost miss it. Almost. My amusement fades, taking my smile along with it.

“What’s your issue with money?” he says, sensing my need to retreat.

“We never had it. It was hard.”

There are questions in his eyes. There’s also tenderness. His head dips, his lips almost on mine. “That can’t be all,” he murmurs, before placing a soft kiss on them.

As dull as they are, those memories are still uncomfortable. “Our neighborhood wasn’t exactly the safest…I was always worried about my mother coming home late at night from her second job at the supermarket. A cop was shot a block away so I figured if a cop could get hurt what chance did my mother have?”

Face marked with concern, he grips my hip and pulls me closer.

“I started to wait up for her, started following her around. One time, when she was doing laundry in the basement of our building, I found her in the stairwell pinned against the wall by the building manager.”

Dane’s jaw hardens, his eyes flashing with bare violence.

“I was eleven years old and I will never forget the look on my mother’s face. It’s the only time I ever saw her truly scared…that look scared me to death.” The image burned into my memory with startling clarity.

Castillo didn’t look like Jabba the Hut. He was attractive. I’m sure many women underestimated what a threat he was until it was too late.

“Abject fear isn’t fearing for your own safety, it’s fearing for the person you love most.”

“What happened?’

“When he saw me standing behind them, he growled something about not being late for the rent again…two months later he was taken away in handcuffs. I have no idea why but I can imagine.”

“Hmm.”

I never told Alex what I saw that day. I also never discussed it with my mother. My suspicion is that it wasn’t the first time he had threatened her.

“I would watch reruns of the Cosby Show and marvel at how nice their lives were. I asked my mother why we couldn’t buy a house and she told me that houses were expensive. It took a lot of money to buy a house. That the people in the show were educated professionals and if I wanted a house like that one day I should get an education.

“So I did. I figured out pretty quickly that the only color that mattered was green. If you had it, you were safe. Without it…” I shrug.

It feels like an eternity later when Dane finally speaks. “I will always keep you safe. Even on the days you hate me and wish you never met me…I’ll be here.” My fingers trace the dent in his chin, the scar where the hair is absent. “Do you believe me?”

And then I nod. This is a man whose word means something, who keeps his promises and takes care of the people he cares about.

“My turn,” I’m quick to say. Being the center of so much attention isn’t something I enjoy.

“Shoot.”

“What’s with all the women? No judgement. But knowing you as I do now…umm, I don’t know…” For a man with his reputation, his vow of celibacy was surprising. Understatement of the year.

“First thing first––I love sex.”

This gets a well-earned eye roll. “Umm, yeah I know, Casanova.”

“But the rest is myth.” His expression flickers with mischief.

“Whaaat?” At my shock, his eyebrows wiggle. “So the thousands of women…”

“Bullshit. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my share of fun and then some, but nothin’ like people talk about.”

“I don’t understand…”

“It started in college when Coach caught me with the dean’s daughter in the team locker room.”

“Why do I sense a punch line coming.”

“The dean’s daughter and two of her sorority sisters––naked Twister in the shower.”

“And there it is.” We both laugh.

“I’m no angel, baby.” His smile slowly dies, replaced with something serious and vulnerable. “I never pretended to be one. But I promise to never break your trust…I hope my word is enough for you.” His face tells me that my answer means something to him. Maybe even more than he wants it to.

Do I care what he did before we met, and furthermore, what he did a decade ago? No. As long as he didn’t deliberately hurt anyone, I don’t.

“It is.” I stroke his cheek and follow the line of his sharp jaw. “You’re a good man, Dane Wylder. You know that, don’t you?”

His hazel eyes hold mine, a myriad of emotions hiding behind them. “As long as you think so.”

And then he kisses me––until I beg him for more.

* * *

Our first ultrasound. I thought I was nervous but Dane looks green. He didn’t say a word to me on the car ride over. He did, however, manage to swear at every single yellow cab that zipped by us.

“Would you like to know the sex of the baby?” the ultrasound technician queries.

“No,” a singular male voice calls out. I turn away from the screen and meet his gaze with wonder. A soft smile on his face, he squeezes my hand.

“As long as she’s healthy, I’m happy.”

“She?”

“I think it’s a girl,” he grumbles. “And I want to hang onto hope a little longer.”

Smiling, I squeeze his hand back. “I think it’s a boy.”

The technician smirks and removes the wand. “Are you sure?”

“We’ll wait,” we say at the same time.

* * *

“What are you doin’?”

“I want to see how the crib looks against this wall.”

“I see that,” Dane drawls.

In keeping with the surprise portion of this “babymaking scheme” as somebody once called it, we decided on beige, ivory, and sage green for the baby’s room in his townhouse. You can’t get more gender neutral than that.

My stuff has been slowly and deliberately finding its way into his walk-in closet and I had nothing to do with it. It went something like this…

“What are you up to?” I inquired.

Arms loaded with my suits, innocent expression in place, he replied, “You could leave for work from my place.”

“I thought we agreed no sleepovers.”

“Fine.” He shrugged nonchalantly and I became immediately suspicious. Dane never capitulates that quickly, and I suspect, wouldn’t even at gunpoint. “You wanna drive back and forth, spit carbon emissions and add to global warming, kill all the animals in the North Pole. We could do that…your call.”

Needless to say, the no-sleepover rule was broken that night, never to be brought up again. Since then we’ve fallen into a routine of sorts, a comfortable one, one that neither of us discusses. And the routine is that I pretty much live at his place.

We did it for the polar bears.

The father of my child is presently standing in the open doorway of the baby’s room, dripping wet from a recent shower with only a small towel to cover the goods. It’s safe to say the sight of him mostly naked has not worn on me yet. He catches me staring and preens.

“I don’t want you lifting anythin’ heavy. Why didn’t you get the delivery guys to do it?”

“They did,” I inform him as he walks over. “I changed my mind three times.”

Dane steps behind me and brackets my arms, his hands resting outside of mine on the crib.

“Umm, what are you doing?” I feel inclined to ask.

“Helpin’.” He presses his hard dick into my butt and I start to chuckle.

“That’s not helping.” He sneaks his hand into the front of my leggings and pushes from behind. “That’s the opposite of helping.”

I turn my head and he kisses me, takes possession of my mouth like he owns it while his fingers work me up into a state of sensual madness. Those skilled fingers waste no time parting and stroking me until my body responds, rocking from another all-encompassing O. Then he kisses me through the last ebbing wave of bliss.

One at a time, he’s stripped me of every inhibition. The last month has been one sexual fantasy after another. I’m getting quite the education. There is something to be said about a man with experience.

Sated, I push him down into the rocking chair. His wide eyes darken with the hope of what’s to come. Legs spread apart, his towel falls open to reveal an erection that nearly reaches the cut muscles on his abdomen.

“In the baby’s room?” His expression can only be described as cautious with a side of bring it on.

“I didn’t take you for a prude, Wylder.” Dropping to my knees, in between his legs, I run my hands up his thighs. He sucks in a breath and licks his lips.

“Is nothin’ sacred to you, woman?”

I have to bite my lip to stop from laughing. “Shush. I have work to do.”

He doesn’t utter another word for a good long time. I may be on to something.

* * *

Dane

“Is that the doorbell?”

Stella picks up her head and mumbles, “Ignore it.”

The little vixen. Thanks to her I won’t ever be able to sit in that rocking chair and hold my daughter without thinking about her mother sucking me dry. Or the crib where I took her from behind. Or the carpeted floor where she rode me, and where we still are.

I’ve never been happier in my whole damn life, Super Bowls included. And that there says it all. When I think back on them now, something was amiss, and it was Stella. If only she could’ve been there to celebrate them with me.

The doorbell rings again.

I look down, at the naked woman lying on top of me, and pet her hair. I could watch this channel all day every day and never grow bored. “Baby, get dressed. Someone’s at the door.”

“Who shows up unannounced, in the middle of the night?”

I chuckle. “It’s only eight thirty.” After sex, all she wants to do is eat and sleep. Knowing it will take her a while, I slip on my sweatpants and go downstairs––and open the door to find my father standing there.

“My word, are you deaf? I’ve been ringin’ for half an hour.”

“Dad––what are you doin’ here?” I step aside with a pleased smile and he walks in. Pops has only been here a handful of times in the last decade so you can imagine my surprise.

“Came for a visit. What does it look like? I don’t know how you got through school sometimes.”

Stella appears on the staircase in nothing but one of my t-shirts, and although it’s long enough to hit her knees, her hair is a recently fucked mess while her lips are bruised red from…well, you know.

“We were doin’ laundry.” Best I can do on short notice.

Pops smiles crookedly, his blue eyes going from me to Stella, who’s turning beet red.

“That what you kids are callin’ it these days?”

Stella comes flying down the steps and throws her arms around my pops and he hugs her back.

“It’s so good to see you, Bill.”

“You too, sweetheart, you too.”

* * *

Stella

“Where are we goin’?” Bill asks while we sit around the kitchen table, having coffee and waiting for my mother to arrive. When I told her Bill was here, and we were going to Brooklyn she insisted on joining us.

“To the rec center in Brooklyn. They’re deliverin’ some important stuff today and I need to check on it,” his son answers.

“How’s Missy?” I ask Bill with a heavy heart.

“Missin’ you, sweetheart. You’ll come see her soon?”

“I would love to…Bill, I can’t apologize enough––”

“Now, now. Enough of that. It’s in the past.” He winks at me and I know he means it.

The doorbell rings and Dane gets up to answer. As soon as my mother walks into the room, Bill shoots to his feet and finger-combs his hair back. My mother is strangely still as they stare at each other.

“Mamí, this is Dane’s––”

“William Wylder.” The man in question moves forward with an outstretched hand.

William?

Brow furrowed, Dane’s gaze cuts to me and I shrug.

Twenty minutes later we all step inside the rec center, the three of us oohing and aahing while Dane, full of excitement, gives us a tour. The main room is filled with comfortable couches and tables, two computers and access to the internet. After that, Dane ushers us to the indoor basketball court which I’m sure will get plenty of use in the winter. Next comes the plot where a garden will be planted in the summer and the all-weather tennis court.

Looking around, I’m swamped with emotion. Awe, for the incredible things this man keeps accomplishing. Wonder, for his humility. Love, because he and his great big heart deserve it. A bit of envy, because he has seamlessly transitioned from a career he excelled at to something even better––helping people. And pride…so much pride because in my heart I want to believe he’s mine.

“I can hear you thinkin’,” he whispers in my ear.

“You amaze me.” He blinks back at me, surprise flashing on his beloved face. “I can’t believe what you’ve accomplished here…it’s amazing.”

I awoke at dawn with a feeling of dread––even on a Sunday. I thought it was a phase. That is, I was hoping it was a phase, but it’s not going away. Time to admit that the speed my job demands is not something I can sustain anymore. I’ve lost the taste for it, and with it the edge necessary to do it well.

“You know how I’ve been saying that work isn’t fun anymore?”

“Yeah?” he says, suddenly alert.

“What if I started a nonprofit? I could help low-income families with their finances.” Thinking on my feet, it comes to me out of order. “Everything from applying for grants, finding scholarships for their kids, tax breaks and government programs they may not be aware they qualify for. Many of them don’t have internet access and professional advice is expensive…there’s so much I could do.” In my excitement, I’m talking a mile a minute while Dane calmly stares back. “Did you catch any of it?”

“I think it’s perfect,” he says, smiling. “You should do it.”

Grabbing the collar of his jacket, I yank him down to my altitude and plant a big kiss on his lips. “You’re perfect.”

Still no L word, not even in the throws of passion. I don’t let it discourage me though. I can see he loves me. It’s in the way he watches me when I’m working around the house, in the way he touches me, in the way he pays attention to every little detail. Even if he hasn’t realized it yet, I have. I’m not naive enough to think this it’s enough to carry us into forever. However, I’m not going to spoil what we have now by worrying over how it will end.

“Is she your girlfriend?” a boy asks.

I look down. He’s no older than twelve, a little overweight, with big brown eyes and dimples. Cuter than cute.

“Angel, my man, ’bout time you showed up,” Dane says and fist-bumps the kid. “Well––what do you think? I wanted to run it by you first.” Dane swings an arm in the direction of a bunch of game tables.

Angel’s already big eyes get even bigger. “Oh man!” he says, hustling over to the tables.

“New friend?” I ask the man I love.

“He gives me advice on how to handle women.” With a side-eye, his mouth curves into a cocky smile that tells me there’s more to this story.

“Advice?”

“Hmm.”

Angel comes running over. “Oh man, it’s awesome! When can I play?”

“Rec center opens in two weeks. You need to be patient,” Dane tells him with a sweet smile.

Angel’s gaze falls on my belly bump, expression turns quizzical. “Are you having a baby?”

I give the bump a pat. “I sure am.”

“Are you married?”

Wow, okay, this kid is very direct. “No, Angel. I’m not.”

“It’s okay. My mom says that not all fathers want to be married.”

A pink elephant walked into the room. Or a unicorn. Or a purple gorilla. Or anything that would make everyone freeze and proceed cautiously. I steal a glance at Dane and find his expression wiped clean, not a hint of what is running through his head.

“Right…that is correct,” I mumble awkwardly.

“Maybe Dane will marry you.” And then Angel looks at Dane, whose discomfort is now out in plain sight and so obvious it can be seen from outer space.

They say things happen for a reason. Good thing I wasn’t harboring any delusions of a fairy-tale ending for us. I never have to wonder how he feels about marrying me. His expression says he’d rather have his balls waxed.

“Why don’t we give the foosball table a try?” Dane tells Angel. Taking the boy by the shoulders, they do just that.