ROMANCE: MENAGE ROMANCE: Tapped and Taken by Two (Pregnancy Sports MMA UFC Fighter Romance) (Alpha Male Romance) (4 page)

The Soldier’s Baby (Look Inside Preview)

~

“Can I get you anything else?”

The barista grinned as she punched the order into the register decorated with a string of tiny Christmas lights. The varying colors were punctuated with gold plastic bells and sparkling red ribbons. There was a miniature poinsettia next to the tip jar.

“No, just the tea, thanks,” I said, struggling to open the bag at my side while keeping its strap properly balanced over my shoulder. My new winter coat had a ruffled collar that, while undeniably trendy, already got in the way more times than I’d care to count.

As I searched for my wallet, I was well aware of the line forming behind me. I pulled out pamphlets and crumpled receipts, shoving them into my coat pocket so that I could dig further down into my bag. I muttered an apology to the girl at the register. She nodded with an over enthusiastic smile, but there was no mistaking the tension beginning to form in the air. Having worked retail during the holiday season in my early twenties, I understood how waiting customers could make her shift miserable. But of course my wallet was at the very bottom of my bag.

“Here,” I said, finally handing her a ten dollar bill. She gave me my change and the receipt.

“And your name?”

“Claire.”

“Alright, we’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Luck suddenly on my side, I was able to snag a small table against the window looking out onto the square and the towering Christmas tree adorned with cascading rows of white and blue lights that pulsed with life against the dark backdrop of early evening. It was a beautiful night, some stars actually visible beyond the orange city lights, and not as cold as it had been the last couple days. A group of young people walked past the window, huddled together and blowing puffs of white steam into the air. A child tugged on his mother’s sleeve, perky and wide-eyed as if he’d just heard her mention Santa Claus.

I sighed, running a hand over my stomach and glanced a table over. That was where we had sat together, before he left. We had made jokes about how we were trapped right below the over-compensating air conditioner. Somehow, even with the cafe running heat, I still felt a little cold.

“Claire!”

I jerked up at the sound of my name, my heart jumping at the possibility of him being early. But it was just my tea. I bit my lip, scolding myself for getting so foolishly worked up. Leaving my purse on my seat, I darted over to the counter to grab my drink. I topped it with a single shake of cinnamon, and a drizzle of honey. I looked at the tin of flaked of chocolate, stared at it a little and caught the corners of my lips curling up. He had added so much of them to his cappuccino that I informed him he should have just ordered a mocha. He retorted by saying a mocha wasn’t a “man’s drink”, whatever that meant.

Sitting back at my table, I pulled out my phone. Still early. I checked my email, but there were no messages. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, twirled it around my finger a bit. I sipped at my tea then checked my social media feed. I scrolled a bit, but I couldn’t really remember anything of what was there. Something about “10 Ways To Make A Man Crazy” and something else about “Enjoying The Holidays Without Weight Gain”. My thumb automatically tapped to open the articles, but the text blurred, my mind drifting to images of dark, curled hair and how that single unruly lock would peek out behind his ear. I wondered if the one inside my belly would have a similar lock.

It had been nearly eight months since he had left for duty. Nearly eight months since— whatever it was we had. Was it a fling? Having been deployed to a remote location, his actual job in the military really not something he would openly discuss. Correspondence between us regular but not routine. Usually two to three weeks would pass between messages. When I told him I wanted meet when he returned for the holidays, he agreed, but I couldn’t help but wonder if he was just looking for another round of fun before probably getting sent out again.

I scratched at the side of my neck, sighing into my cup. I wondered how would he react to the news. Was any of what we had back then still lingering? Had it truly meant anything? But it could just be my rollercoaster-ing hormones suggesting that. Maybe I should have listened to Tamara when she said to just pretend it was someone else’s and move on… But no. I had made up my mind and asked Derek to meet me today, once his plane landed.

My heart told me I was making the right decision, but my stomach tumbled like there was a little gymnast inside it. I shouldn’t have come so early. I could have easily squeezed in another episode of
Sex In The City
and still made it on time. At least that would have distracted me.

I leaned back in my seat and watched as an elderly couple entered the cafe holding hands and placed an order to go. The short woman chuckled, adjusting the glasses on her nose, as her husband mispronounced her order twice. Over the speakers, a female voice sang about love and starry, wintery skies. I imagined them walking outside with their coffees, arms laced together to keep each other warm, whispering sweet everythings to each other. They left with their drinks, arms linked together as I anticipated, but lips moving only towards their cups. 

I nestled into my jacket, sipped my tea, and breathed deeply, wondering if Derek and I would leave this place tonight in a similar fashion. Maybe it was just the tea or heartburn, but my chest warmed at the thought. The week I had spent with him was one I couldn’t forget, even after all these months and a couple moments of denial. The way he first looked at me, our first real date… the candles and the touch of his fingers along my waist and lower… the sweet signature his lips left on mine. I took another sip of my tea but almost swore I was tasting him, instead. I wonder if the memory of me is as imprinted on him. I wonder if he can, and does often, replay in his mind the first moment he saw me, kissed me, touched me like I can and do more often than I want. It’s hard not to, I carry the evidence of that week together every waking moment now.

**Keep Flipping for a preview of another Bonus Story included**

**Look Inside Preview of Bad Boy Desire: Luke**

I can tell from the way the manager keeps looking at me that he thinks I have no idea what any of this equipment is for. He definitely has me pegged as some dumb blonde only looking for a job where I can get discount yoga classes. Even if it’s been a while since I’ve been to the gym, I at least know what the machines are called. There’s no need for him to just assume, but I can’t bring myself to blame him. I look down to my bright blue running shorts and my matching running shoes. I probably look like a joke to someone way more serious about their fitness.

I can remember, back in the early days of college, I used to be so athletic. I would hit the gym three times a week: two days of cardio and one for strength training. I remember being able to count my abs. I let a hand slip down to discreetly poke at the layer of fat covering what had once been a well-maintained core. That had been many years and many final exam stress-binges ago. I decide that I need to start doing sit-ups again as soon as possible.

“Are you still with me, Anna?” he asks. He’s all booming voice and neck muscles. Probably a personal trainer. My eyes find the nametag pinned to his chest: Dwight. Names have never been my strong suit, but I decide quickly that I wouldn’t forget his. I nod politely to answer him, keeping my expression attentive as he starts going over protocol for the dead lift weights and bars.

I guess it doesn’t really matter. He’s only showing me around as a formality. I’ll be working at the front desk, and it’s not like any of the members would single me out to get pointers on weight lifting; not with my thin arms and slender figure.

As if he could read my thoughts, Dwight sighs quickly and his voice gets a bit softer. “Look,” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I know that you won’t be using this stuff, and if the world worked a bit better, other clueless idiots wouldn’t touch it either. But a lot of the time, clueless idiots
do
pick this stuff up and they either hurt themselves or they break shit. It gets expensive. I need you to know when to tell someone to stop and have someone else teach them how to use the equipment. Got it?”

I give him a quick thumbs up. “Sure thing, boss.”

He gives me a once over, and I can tell that he hasn’t made up his mind about me yet. He does gently squeeze my shoulder before letting go and continuing with his lecture about proper equipment use. It feels friendly enough, like he was an uncle that I don’t see more than twice a year. I wonder if I might have been too quick to judge. Dwight doesn’t seem like the typical muscle-bound meat head, though he certainly looks the part. His biceps look to be thicker than my thighs and could probably support about three times my bodyweight.

I shake my head to clear it. The first day on the job is no time to get distracted, especially by anything to do with my new boss. I follow after him as he continues walking me through the tour. It doesn’t seem to be anything too special. There’s the pool area and some rooms for group classes and lessons, and separate rooms for weight training and cardio machines. I all but swoon over the rock wall that takes up the entire south wall of the facility and goes up three stories. I haven’t done any climbing since my early days in school and I miss it fiercely. My fingers itch to feel the textured plastic of the fake rocks again. I don’t let my pace slow too much as I trail behind Dwight. He’s talking about the rest of the work that all the employees pitch in to get done.

“We all have to keep up with the towel situation. Gym policy is to provide all members with clean towels to use, which can be a pain in the ass,” he said, a vein starting to bulge out of his temple. “Lots of people just leave them lying around places. Just, whenever you get a chance, take a walk through and pick up any of ‘em that you see and pitch ‘em in the bins. There’s one by every door, so you’d think it’d be easy enough for…” He trails off and gives an embarrassed little cough. “Just, if you see any, put them in the bin.”

“Towels in bins. Anything…else…?” I can’t help but get distracted this time. Underneath the stairwell, there’s a small ring set up like a boxing arena, but it’s an octagon rather than a square. Inside, two men are beating the living hell out of each other. I probably wouldn’t have noticed at all, if not for the crowd growing around the stairwell and on the walkway above. They’re getting all riled up by something going on in there, and the curiosity gets the better of me.

My entire face must be a question, because without even asking, Dwight says, “Ah, looks like Stark’s got another victim. Care to watch?”

Violence for the sake of violence has never really appealed to me, but something in Dwight’s tone convinces me that this is something that I want to see. I nod, and we walk over to join the crowd. We’re not the only ones. People flock over to gawk at the spectacle.

And what a spectacle it is. Two men in shorts and gloves circle each other, and there’s the distinct smell of testosterone in the air. They’re both somewhere between twenty and thirty, and both are drenched in sweat. Both men step close, and one throw a sweeping punch towards the other’s head, but misses as the other man leans back to kick the first in the ribs. The puncher takes the hit easily, pulling back to circle around and throw an elbow directly into the kicker’s kidney.

“Luke Stark,” Dwight says, pointing to the puncher as the other man buckles and falls to his knees. “One mean son of a bitch. He keeps it in the ring, though. Never met anyone so polite.”

“Luke…Stark…”

It isn’t the violence of the event that draws me in, but I can’t help but appreciate when someone seems to be doing exactly what he wants, and I could have watched for hours. Luke’s tan arm extends to connect a punch straight into his opponent’s jaw. His muscles aren’t bulky like Dwight’s, but they’re by no means small. They have such distinct shape that I wouldn’t call him wiry, but he’s a good deal smaller than his opponent, a hulking bear of a man. From the blood on his face, it looks like Luke’s taken his fair share of punches, but he still seems to be winning. His grin seems to imply as much.

“Luke does most of his training here. He’s nice enough, but I’ve heard some talk that he might be involved in some underground fighting. Probably best to stay clear of all that,” Dwight says. He gestures for us to move on with the tour, and I follow after him, taking one last look over my shoulder at the dark-haired fighter. There’s a tattoo on his left shoulder, but he won’t stay still long enough for me to figure out exactly what it is. It could be a Celtic knot, or maybe some kind of tribal band.

The image of Luke dodging around his opponent in the ring stays with me all day, even when I take my place behind the reception desk and make casual small talk with my co-worker there, Justin. He’s a bit younger than me, and does his chemistry homework after showing me the basics of the computer system. I don’t much mind, as my thoughts insist on wandering back to that fight. And it isn’t like the job is mentally taxing; I swipe membership cards and the system tells me if they’ve paid their fees or not. It’s January, so there are still plenty of people pouring in to keep up with their New Year’s resolutions. I find myself uncharitably thinking that things will slow down a lot in the upcoming weeks, but for now, I’m glad for the distraction.

‘I’ve really got to stop thinking about that fighter,’
I tell myself as I get my things ready to go.

“Don’t forget to do a walk through,” Justin reminds me as I pull the strap of my purse over my shoulder. “Gotta’ get those towels under control.” The sardonic tone makes me laugh as much as the jaded look on his face. I remember college being pretty rough; apparently that’s still the case for Justin.

As I wind my way through the facility at a more leisurely pace than before, I notice a few things that I hadn’t on my whirlwind tour with Dwight. For one thing, the gym is spotless. Everything looks so meticulously cared for that I have to wonder what kind of magical janitorial staff works here.

‘If they’re working this hard, I guess picking up a few towels is the least the rest of us can do,’
I think, pulling a grossly damp towel from the seat of a stationary bike. I make a note to check out the showers at some point. They’re probably cleaner than my entire apartment.

I shake my head and continue on my way. There are more instruction rooms than I remembered from Dwight’s whirlwind tour that morning, and they all seem to be empty. Most have large windows to make the whole room visible from the hallway, but there are a few that are entirely private. I make a mental note of where those rooms are, in case I need to duck away from work for a few minutes.

‘Or whatever else I would need privacy for,’
I think with a sly smile. As it is, even with the ring fighter fresh in my mind, that sort of thing doesn’t sound appealing in the least. I’ve been in a good place recently, but that’s only due to a lot of effort and healing. There was a rough patch a few months back, fallout from my breakup with Sam. He was what I thought I wanted, with a collection of qualities that I’d told myself I was looking for. Little by little, it became clear that he had a rather serious drinking problem. It drove us apart, ruining a relationship of almost two years.

‘I just need time to sort out my feelings,’
I think, shaking my head.
‘Dating is the furthest thing from my mind right now, and I need casual sex even less.’

I meander back towards the entrance, waving goodbye to Dwight. He’s jogging on one of the treadmills, staring intently at the heart rate monitor on the console, so I doubt that he sees me. It’s still early enough in the day that I don’t have to worry about the lack of lighting in the parking lot, but I do decide that any time I stay late, I’ll have Dwight or somebody walk me out.
‘Better safe than sorry.’
Maybe I’m just too nervous for my own good, but being vigilant rarely ever got anyone into trouble.

With the thought that the day had been plenty of excitement, I drive myself back to the apartment that I share with my best friend, Monica. She’s always good for a laugh, and I find that I can’t wait to tell her about this mysterious Stark guy. Of course, when I walk through the door, Monica’s already dressed to go out. Her low cut dress shows off her wealth of cleavage, and the bright yellow of it makes an amazing contrast against her dark brown skin. Her lips are stained a deep plum, and I’ll never know how she does her contouring to show off her magnificent cheekbones, but they look as perfect as ever.

“How was your first day?” she asks, fiddling with one of her earrings and staring at herself in the mirror.

“Oh, you know,” I say. I know she’s only asking to be polite and that there will be plenty of time to talk about Stark and everything else later. “Job’s a job.”

Monica frowns and tweaks her hair to sit more securely in place. “That’s no way to think,” she says. “Positive, Anna! You gotta’ think positive!” She winks at her reflection and then turns to me. “Am I good?”

“Flawless,” I say. She ducks in close to me and kisses the air beside my cheeks.

“I won’t be long. Promise.”

“I won’t wait up,” I reply.

She laughs. Her purse is in her hand and she’s out the door in a flash. I smile vacantly after her. Same old Monica, always in a hurry. I hang my keys on the hook by the door. Monica brought in the bills and left them in a pile on the kitchen table, and I flip through them with a groan. I’m already late getting my rent to Monica. She told me not to worry about it, to just pay her when I can, but I worry anyway. I’ve been trying so hard to not be a burden while I get my life back on track. Breaking up with Sam had taken its toll, and I’d lost most of my friends, my job, and more. Maybe this job is what I need to turn things around.

I find myself wishing once again that I had done the reasonable, responsible thing and gone to trade school, but no, I had insisted on pursuing a major in art history. Even knowing that it was inevitable that I would find myself in the sort of situation I’m in now, I had forced my way into the program and stuck with it, and now I have my degree for all the good it does hanging on my wall, reminding me of all of my debt.

And with that, all my stress comes flooding back. It always does when I think about my finances, though that’s all I can really think about these days. My head drops back and I let out a long groan. I can feel the telltale signs of a stress headache building up behind the bridge of my nose, and I decide that maybe a bath will help calm me down and let me relax.

I head over to my bedroom and stretch my arms high above my head, rolling my neck to try to alleviate some of the tension forming there. Knowing how much I love taking baths, Monica let me have the room with the attached bathroom because it came with a gorgeous claw-foot tub. I trace a finger over the cool porcelain as I start the water running. I wait for it to get scalding hot before putting down the stop. I like to resemble a cooked crab by the time I get out of the bath.

As the tub fills, my mind wanders back to that fight. Watching Luke in the ring, he looked more like a dancer than a fighter. His body moved with such grace, he had such complete control over every tiny motion; I can’t help but wonder if he had choreographed the fight, if he had practiced that specific set of movements over and over, or if it had only been his instincts paired with intense amounts of skill and training. It’s easy to see why people would think that fighting like that could be fake, but the determination in his face was so different than the expression of a man trying to remember the right steps. He had stared down the other man, reading into his movements, reacted, circled around, fully committed to the fight. The dance.