Chapter Nine

Lexi

I’m pleasantly buzzed and ignoring the clock as it slides closer and closer to closing time. Lucky’s has started to thin out over the last hour or so, which is good because my group has gotten louder and more drunkier than before. Wait. Is that a word? Of course it is.

It’s the shots talking.

“How was your trip to Richmond?” Abby asks, her glassy eyes trying to focus on mine.

“Ahhhhh-mazing! Like better than ahhhhh-mazing! What word is better than ahhhhh-mazing?” I ask my twin as we slide onto empty barstools.

“I don’t know. Levi, what word is better than amazing?” Abby hollers at her boyfriend, who’s conversing with Dean.

“Abby. That word is definitely more than amazing,” he says with this big dopey grin on his face. He looks at her like she hung the moon, and I guess, that’s all right. You know, if you’re into that sort of thing.

“He says Abby is more amazing,” she yell-whispers at me with a giggle.

“What did you find out in Richmond?” Payton asks, moving to stand between Dean’s legs and the bar.

“I found out that there is a lot of sperm available for purchase.”

“Sperm?” Ryan asks, giving me a curious glance.

“Yep. Tons. And I’m going to buy some,” I say, digging out the folder and laying the contents across the top of the bar. My sisters and their significant others gather around, watching and waiting.

“Candidate number one. He’s a pharmacist by day, enjoys mountain biking and deep-sea fishing, has blond hair and blue eyes, and a high IQ,” I say, pointing to the information on the form.

“Potential sperm donor number two is a computer engineer who designs video games. He has an Italian American heritage with brown hair and eyes, which would be so pretty mixing with our features, especially if it’s a girl. Plus, she’d be smarty farty, with cute little glasses. Can you just imagine?” I ask the group as a whole, but don’t wait for anyone to answer as I grab the third page.

“Number three is a body builder. He’s six two, has light brown hair and hazel eyes. He benches two-ninety and squats Buicks.”

“And that’s important, why?” Meggy asks.

“It’s not, but he sounded nice, so I put him in the keep pile,” I tell her before pulling out the fourth and final document.

“And number four. He’s my favorite. Donor number four is a member of the Secret Service. He’s six-one, weighs one-ninety, and trains for triathlons in his free time. He has black hair and gray eyes and is fluent in three languages. His hobbies include karate, tai chi, and riding his Harley.” I stare longingly at the piece of paper as if it were about to propose marriage to me.

“Ummm, Lexi?” Dean asks, pulling my attention away from my intended baby daddy.

“Huh?”

“Why are you looking at sperm donors?” he asks. The fact that he asked tells me my sister didn’t inform him of my life-changing decision. And the way the others are looking at me tells me no one actually thought I was serious when I mentioned it earlier in the week.

“Because I’m having a baby. And I don’t need Chris or any man to do it. I just need his best swimmers,” I tell him with a salute of my half-empty beer mug.

“You’re really going through with this?” Payton asks, her hand warm and comforting on my shoulder.

“I am. I’m not letting Chris win.”

“What does that mean?” Jaime asks, her arms wrapped around Ryan’s waist. I glance over at Abby, the only one who knows the real reason I left and decided to end my marriage. The silent conversation we have with our eyes lets me know she stands beside me and supports me in this decision.

“It means that Chris lied. He didn’t want a baby. He told me he did, but didn’t. So I’m taking control of my life and doing something I’ve always wanted to do.”

“You’ve always wanted to get knocked up with a turkey baster?” Ryan asks.

“Not exactly, but it’s a little late in the game to be picky.”

“So you’re doing this?” AJ asks.

“I’m doing this. I’m supposed to call them Monday and let them know which donor I pick. Then, they start the artificial incrimination during my next ovulation.”

“Artificial incrimination? How much have you had to drink?” Dean asks before bursting out laughing.

“Po-tay-to po-tah-to. Insemination. Anywayyyyy,” I continue, drawing out the word. “They’ll use the healthy sperm and inject them into my ready and waiting womb. If all goes as planned, I’ll be as good as knocked up by first of the year.”

Silence surrounds me, but when I glance up, it’s not the faces of my family that I see. It’s Linkin, and he looks…pissed. What the hell did I do now?

“It’s that simple?” Meghan asks.

“Yep,” I reply, chugging the rest of my beer. “We should do a shot to celebrate! Won’t be long and I won’t be able to drink for a while.” But the bartender makes no moves for the tequila.

“I’m heading home. I’m exhausted, drunk, and ready to take advantage of my boyfriend,” Payton says, sending Dean a sly wink.

“Your boyfriend approves of this plan wholeheartedly,” he replies, tossing a few bills on the bar for Linkin. “Anyone need a ride?”

“Me, if you don’t mind,” Meghan says, pulling a few bucks from her pocket before sticking them under her empty beer mug on the bar.

“Me, too. I’m not far from you guys,” AJ adds, setting down her glass. “Plus, at least if I ride with you two, I don’t have to worry about witnessing the road-head.” We all glance at Jaime who’s not even blushing.

“I’d totally wait until you were out of the car, Alison.” Jaime punctuates her sentence by sticking out her tongue.

“We’re out too. Lex, you ready?” Abby asks, gathering up her jacket and her boyfriend.

“Naw, you two go. I’m gonna stay til close,” I say, throwing another five on the bar and sliding my beer mug towards the hottie behind the counter.

“Are you sure?” she asks, glancing over at Linkin.

“I got her. I’ll make sure she’s home safe,” he confirms to my twin.

Abby wraps her arms around me and squeezes. “You’re taking control of your life, and I’m so proud of you,” she says, pressing her lips to my cheek.

“Love you,” I tell her.

“Love you too, Lexi Lou,” she says in a singsong voice, a wide smirk spreading across her face. In return, I stick out my tongue and make a very mature, grown-up face, complete with wrinkled nose and duck lips.

When they’re gone, I realize I’m alone. With Linkin. And he’s staring at me from across the bar. “What?”

Instead of answering with words, he shakes his head and turns to fill up my mug. I watch as he busies himself cleaning dirty glasses, emptying garbage, refilling coolers, and picking up chairs. He moves easily, gracefully even considering his size, as he works, chatting with the other two customers who remain.

I feel myself really relax for the first time. I’ve been up in arms about my appointment today, worried that I’m rushing into a decision that will impact, not only myself, but a child for the rest of his or her life. But the fact still remains: I want a baby. I’ve always wanted one, but the older I get, the more I yearn and long for one of my own. I have no plans of getting remarried anytime soon, nor is dating on the horizon, so why not just take matters into my own hands? Or in the hands of the experts who are going to inject the lucky sperm donor’s man juice into my body.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy with vodka and a twist of lime.

Linkin walks the gentlemen to the door, locking it firmly behind them. It’s one in the morning and time to head home. I’ve never seen this side of the business, though I’ve closed down a few bars in my day. Never have I remained inside the establishment after the doors are locked and the neon beer signs turned off. It’s kinda creepy, if you ask me. For some place that was alive and bursting with energy just a short time ago, it looks so sad and lonely now.

I’m well past pleasantly buzzed and leaning more on the side of going to throw up in the morning. My head feels heavy and my brain muddled with slow motion thoughts as I look around the room and zero in on the man who makes my pulse quicken and my body hum. He’s bending over, collecting a little trash that was discarded on the floor. His ass looks amazing in his jeans, accented by a tight black tee and a pair of well-worn combat boots. His colorful ink is on full display, making me want to lick each and every tattoo on his body.

“You okay?” he asks, walking up to me with a towel over his shoulder.

His lips are full and his eyes are dilated as he scans my face. His entire body seems tense, which makes the muscles in his neck bulge. And speaking of bulges, the one in his pants is growing larger as we speak. Licking my lips hungrily, I return my gaze to his face, suddenly wishing he would throw me down on top of the bar and have his wicked way with me.

Yes, please!

“Are you-” he starts, but is cut off by my lips.

I practically leap into his arms, plastering my body to his, and mold my lips to his own. Linkin hesitates, but only for a second. His arms are around me, holding me steady, as his mouth devours mine in a bruising, take-no-prisoners kiss. I grasp his shirt, pulling it from within the waist of his jeans. When my fingers connect with his warm stomach, I groan, loving the way his body feels beneath my fingertips.

“Lexi,” he mumbles without removing his lips from my own.

“Yeah?” I pant like the true hussy I am.

“Are you really going to use some jackoff’s sperm to get knocked up?” His pained words make me stop my full-on lip assault. Pulling back, I gaze up at him with half-lidded, lustful eyes.

“What?”

“The whole baby thing. Are you serious?” he asks, running his thumbs down my cheeks and around to caress the back of my neck. It’s a tender touch that doesn’t match the burning in his eyes.

“Uh, yeah. I am.”

He nods his head before taking a step back. I feel the draft between us instantly, and it makes me shiver. Linkin reaches down and grabs my hands with his own, pulling me along behind him. “Come on. Let’s get you home,” he says, leading me towards the back door. He never lets go of my hands as he flips switches, bathing Lucky’s in darkness.

Outside, the wind sweeping off the Bay is cooler and tastes of the salty sea. Even though I’m wearing a sweater, a chill races through me, peppering my skin with goose bumps. He doesn’t say a word as he leads me towards a blue Blazer with beefy wheels. It’s old and well used, but is in decent shape. You can tell he’s put some work and time into the old truck.

Without saying a word, he lifts me into the passenger seat and walks around to the driver’s side. I can feel the tension filling the truck as he pulls out of the lot and heads towards the apartment building. He doesn’t say a word the entire drive, his knuckles turning white as he chokes the steering wheel. I feel like I’ve done something wrong, but I haven’t a clue what.

Was it the kiss? Maybe he didn’t want me the way I thought he did. I mean, he was hard in his pants, but maybe that was just a reaction to having a woman crawl all over him. Maybe he realized it was me who was kissing him, and therefore, felt the need to put on the brakes.

Fine. Whatever.

I don’t have time for the sex anyway. I’m getting ready to knock myself up with donor number G45629’s sperm.

The closer we get to home, the worse I start to feel. Maybe those last few shots weren’t my best idea. Closing my eyes, I will my stomach to settle and my mind to stop spinning. With each turn and brake of the truck, I start to wonder if I’ll be able to make it to my bathroom before losing what little food I ate on my ride home from Richmond.

Ugh, this is horrible.

The darkness wraps around me, pulling me under, and I welcome it.

My last conscious thought is that I’m never drinking again.

 

* * *

 

The sunlight is peeking through the blinds of my bedroom window, my blankets a tangled mess around my legs. My entire body is heavy and my head pounding as I slowly rouse myself to a somewhat conscious state.

Why in the hell did I drink so much?

Groaning aloud, I rub my sleep-matted eyes and beg the pounding in my head to subside just enough to get a glass of water and some pain killers. When I finally crack open my heavy eyelids, I notice the painting on the wall is missing. What the hell? Did I get robbed and not realize it?

Glancing around, I notice Abby’s dresser is missing too! Frantically, I search for any sign of personal belongings and come up empty. I sit up and catch my first glance at navy blue sheets.

Not. My. Sheets.

Holy. Shit.

I’m in someone else’s bed.

The shirt I’m wearing isn’t my own. It’s big and roomy and frankly, smells fucking amazing. No. Wait, Lexi. I could have been abducted by some crazy person who dressed me in his clothes and is going to force me to feed him and his thirty-five cats with my toes, and all I can think about is how great the shirt smells.

Or maybe I had sex last night.

Oh. My. God.

I had sex last night and don’t remember it.

Great. My first sexual experience in about six months, and I have no clue who the guy is and if he was any good. It’s just my luck, ya know? I couldn’t get my husband to sleep with me and the one time I find someone willing to play hide the purple headed mushroom slinger with me, I have no recollection of the entire event. I mean, my luck the guy has an eight-inch shlong and I rode the flesh rocket all night long until I was boneless and spent from too many orgasms.

Then the door opens and a small scream slips from my lips.

“Settle down, Firecracker. You’ll wake the neighbors.”

Oh. My. God.

I slept with Linkin.