Mister Baby Daddy
A Small Town Friends-to-Lovers, Arranged Baby Romance
Cassie-Ann L. Miller
Mister Baby Daddy (A Small Town Friends-to-Lovers, Arranged Baby Romance)
Copyright © 2020 Cassie-Ann L. Miller
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents appearing therein are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be interpreted as real. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status of the various products referenced in this work.
Amazon’s Kindle Store is the only authorized distributor of this ebook. If you have downloaded or purchased it from any other distributor, please note that you have received an illegal copy. This not only violates the author’s copyright, deprives the author of royalties due and puts the book at risk of being removed from Kindle distribution, but it also exposes you to computer viruses, theft of your personal information by book pirates and potential legal prosecution.
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Contents
Stories by Cassie-Ann L. Miller
1. Penny
2. Walker
3. Walker
4. Penny
5. Walker
6. Penny
7. Walker
8. Penny
9. Penny
10. Walker
11. Walker
12. Penny
13. Walker
14. Penny
15. Penny
16. Walker
17. Walker
18. Penny
19. Walker
20. Penny
21. Walker
22. Penny
23. Walker
24. Walker
25. Penny
26. Penny
27. Walker
28. Penny
29. Walker
30. Penny
31. Penny
32. Walker
33. Penny
34. Walker
35. Penny
36. Walker
37. Walker
39. Penny
40. Walker
41. Penny
42. Penny
43. Penny
44. Walker
45. Penny
46. Walker
47. Penny
48. Walker
49. Penny
50. Walker
51. Penny
52. Walker
53. Walker
54. Penny
55. Walker
56. Penny
57. Walker
58. Penny
59. Penny
Epilogue
So, what to read now?
Dirty Cameos & Easter Eggs
Stories by Cassie-Ann L. Miller
The Bad Boys in Love Series
Mister Billions
Mister Baller
Mister Baby Daddy
Mister Bossy (pre-order)
The Blue Collar Bachelors Series
Lover Boy
Play Boy
Bad Boy
Hot Boy
Rich Boy
Dream Boy
Blue Collar Bachelors Box Set
The Dirty Suburbs Series
Dirty Neighbor
Dirty Player
Dirty Stranger
Dirty Favor
Dirty Lover
Dirty Farmer
Dirty Silver
Dirty Forever
Dirty Christmas
The Esquire Girls Series
Amber Nights (Amber – Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Madison’s Story
For Madison, Always (Madison – Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Ruthie’s Story
Ruthie’s Desire (Ruthie – Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Hailey’s story
Moments with Hailey (Hailey - Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Esquire HEAT Series
A Very Eager Intern
A Very Frustrated Attorney
Standalone Novels
Holiday Hookup with the Rockstar
Happy New You
Psst…Join Dirty Folks, my Facebook reader group, to always be in the loop about what I’m working on next!
About “Mister Baby Daddy”
All my life, I've been in love with my best friend. All my life I've waited for him to notice.
I'm done waiting. I'm moving on with my life...I'm having a baby.
I really need to get over Walker Kingston.
My lifelong infatuation with my best friend is sort of embarrassing. The tall, broody hunk of farmer has always been my fierce protector, my constant hero, my knight in flanneled armor.
But to him, I've never been more than a friend, the girl he saves from trouble in the middle of the night.
This whole damsel-in-distress thing is getting kind of old. I'm tired of being a burden on Walker. I'm ready to stand on my own feet.
I may never win his love but I'm ready to focus on the other things I want in my life.
And what I want most? A baby.
I've practically got one foot inside the sperm bank when the overprotective alpha intercepts my plan. Now he says he will father my child.
Nope.
Nuh-uh.
Absolutely not.
I'm trying to get over the guy. So letting him be my baby daddy is low-key dysfunctional.
But Walker insists it won't affect our friendship. Plus, he has all these amazing qualities that make his offer super hard to resist. He's strong and charming and fine as hell. And he's the only person I really trust.
Okay. Fine. Grab the specimen cup. Off to the fertility clinic we go.
Except nothing ever goes to plan.
Now I need rescuing--again. And Walker has made it his mission to take care of my every need--again.
And when the ever-grumpy cowboy introduces me to his soft, nurturing side, I'm a goner.
Well, damn. How the hell am I supposed to get over the man now?
Mister Baby Daddy is a steamy, laugh-out-loud, arranged pregnancy, small town romance featuring a growly alpha with a huge savior complex and a strong distaste for turtlenecks. It is set in small town Illinois and is book 3 in the Bad Boys in Love series.
A full-length standalone. No cliffhanger. HEA guaranteed.
1
Penny
I'm gonna get laid tonight.
My charcoal-lined eyes connect with the Jason Momoa look-alike seated at the far end of the dark bar. The sexy stranger gives me an Aquaman-style smolder then licks his lips and sends a slow, flirty grin my way.
A little bit cheesy but I can work with that, I guess.
I smirk back. Push up my boobs. Emphasize the sultry pout I practiced a million times in my bathroom mirror before leaving the house.
His grin widens. His eyes heat further. The man’s reaction to my flirtation seems promising.
Okay, Penny. Good work. This is good.
Every note of the bar's too-loud country music tangles with the raw nerves dancing in my belly. I’m working on my third drink and trying my darnedest to enjoy the feel of this stranger’s lusty attention on me. And from the fascination in his expression, I just know—my upcoming night of hot, sweaty sex with Mr. Mysterious is pretty much guaranteed.
God, I need this.
After the long dry-spell my poor vajayjay has weathered, a regular old orgasm won't do. I deserve an industrial-strength orgasm. And this man looks like he might know how to give me one.
It’s my only night off from work this week an
d my sole focus is of the male variety. I’m at a random bar in a town that's just far enough from home that no one I know will witness my moment of hoochie-liciousness.
I made a deal with myself. Tonight, I'm here to find a bed buddy. And if, by some miracle, I end up walking out with Mr. Right—the guy I can fall in love with and build the white-picket-fence life I've always dreamed of—then, great. But if that doesn't work out, then it's onto ‘The Dreaded Plan B’.
I shudder just thinking about that.
“Can I get you a refill, hun?” I nearly jump out of my skin at the chirpy bartender’s interruption. The happy-go-lucky brunette juts her chin at the near-empty tumbler dangling from my fingertips.
“Um, yeah. Definitely.” I gulp down the last of my drink and slide the glass toward her. “Don’t be shy with the whiskey,” I tell her. The girl has been mixing these up so weak, I’ve been downing them like Kool-Aid. I'm half-tempted to climb over the counter and show her just how to mix up my Manhattan. “I need the alcohol to hit me. So I can do something a little…out-of-character tonight,” I explain. Feeling self-conscious, I tuck a lock of red hair behind my ear.
I’m in desperate need of a buzz because I’m about to go home with a stranger and I’m not sure I could pull this off sober.
She glances at my hunky admirer across the distance. A knowing grin curls her mouth. Her tone goes low and conspiratorial like she’s in on my dirty, little secret. “I’ve got your back, hun.” She winks, no judgment in her expression. Then she grabs my glass and struts off toward the whiskey shelf.
My confidence is a little wobbly right now so I appreciate the bartender's dose of female support. I left my girlfriends at home. I didn't tell them I was going out by myself because I can just imagine what Iris, Lexi and Jessa would say.
Penny, you're an independent woman. You are not defined by your relationship status.
Penny, just be your bomb-ass self and enjoy being single until your Prince Charming shows up.
Penny, you're perfect just the way you are. You don't need a man to complete you.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. All that may be true. But here's the thing—I’m in a rut. A deep, well-grooved rut.
For the longest time, my life has been stalled in every flipping aspect. I'm paying student loans for a degree I've never used. I'm tending bar at a drinking hole I outgrew five years ago. And the worst part? I'm now 33 and every night when I lie alone between my cold sheets, craving the feel of one man's big, calloused, perfect hands on my body, I can almost hear my biological clock ticking down.
I'm feelin' the pressure, y'all.
People make all kinds of assumptions about me. I suppose that’s my fault. I’ve built up this sexy, confident redhead bombshell image for so long, and I just let everyone think what they want. I’m the one other girls hate. The one who gets dirty looks because every woman thinks I’m after her man. The one that everyone assumes is hopping onto all the dicks in town just because I work at a bar and I like to get all dolled up.
Ha—if they only knew. I won’t even admit how long it’s been since I’ve had sex. Though, no one would ever guess it.
And as for dates? I haven’t been on a date in forever. Sure, I get asked for my number while slinging drinks or when I'm in line at the local coffee shop. Hell, I get groped by some creepy oldtimer every time I visit the nursing home with Walker.
But a real date? One with dinner, drinks, and a hot, hungry male body for dessert? Those don’t seem to happen for me.
Attracting a cute guy has never been my problem. But, unfortunately, there’s only one man my body yearns for, and he’s never looked at me ‘that way'. It doesn’t matter how much makeup I wear. Or how much time I spend on my hair or outfit. I’ve effectively been friend-zoned by the man of my dreams since the first grade.
I wish I didn’t love a guy who’s unattainable.
You can't go on like this, girl. It’s time to move on with your life...
I shut down the self-pity and snap back into vixen mode because Momoa is on the move. With the grace of a prowling wildcat, he's headed in my direction.
This is it, I shriek internally. This is it. I might be doing a pretty good job of keeping myself together on the outside—but shit—I'm nervous.
I sit a little straighter. Lick my lips. Adjust my cleavage inside my itty-bitty faux-leather mini dress.
“Get it, girl.” The barmaid grins slyly and sets my drink in front of me. She ambles off just as the sexy hunk of man lowers onto the stool next to me.
On instinct, my fingers clench on my glass. I take a fortifying gulp of my Manhattan.
The vapors from the cheap whiskey fry off my nose hairs. I throw a glare at the ditzy bartender...I know I said to be generous with the liquor but—oh my god—what the hell did she put in here? Rubbing alcohol and gasoline? I can usually drink most guys under the table. But this is extreme.
Vixen mode, Penny. Vixen mode.
I forcefully suppress my cough. Because it’s downright impossible to look sexy when you're coughing up a lung.
The man's dark, mysterious eyes drink in my every move. He sticks out a big hand. "Connor." He’s all teeth and sexy predator when he grins.
I arch a brow and pause just long enough to make him sweat. "Penny," I say when I finally take his hand.
He brings his stool closer. His wolfish grin expands. “I just had to come over here and introduce myself 'cause I've got the distinct impression that you've been objectifying me all night."
Wow, cocky much?
Arrogance is usually a major turn-off for me. But I remind myself that I need a human touch. A male touch. I've been taking things into my own hands for far too long. I swear—when I reached into my drawer for my vibrator last night, the thing groaned with annoyance and rolled its eyes at me. You again...
I really don’t want to do the self-loving thing tonight. Plus, I’m all out of AA batteries, and since it’s past ten o’clock in Crescent Harbor, all stores of the battery-buying variety are closed for the night. And if I show up on any of my friends’ doorsteps asking for batteries in this dress, at this time of night, they’ll know exactly what I’m up to.
My eyes settle on Connor's face. I smile. He’s not Walker but for tonight, he'll more than do. You know what they say—if you can't be with the one you love, fuck the Jason Momoa look-alike from across the bar…or something like that. In any case, I just need to shut off my inner dialogue and mindlessly play along.
I trace a fingernail along the rim of my tumbler. I bat my mascara'd-up lashes. “Maybe I am objectifying you. Maybe I need an object for all this affection I’m feeling tonight.” I wink.
I'm no good at winking—especially when I'm half-drunk—so I probably just look twitchy.
If Connor notices my horrible, cheesy flirting, he’s obviously willing to overlook it. He gets a couple bonus points for that.
He laughs. “Well, I’m your object tonight, sweetheart. All you've gotta do is say the word.”
I let my eyes freely roam his body, silently searching for one flaw, one physical fault that I can hitch onto. Unfortunately, I can't find one.
This is what I always do. I see a cute guy from a distance and I hype myself up about going home with him but the minute he approaches, I get nervous and I start looking for a way out. Tonight will be different.
Connor glances around then pins me with a downright naughty expression. One elbow on the bar, he leans close and his husky voice goes low. “You wanna get out of here?”
My smile slides off my face at his question. My insides twist. A trickle of perspiration glides down the valley of my boobs. Well, this is moving...fast. "Out of here?" I squeak, suddenly not so badass anymore.
But I mean, shouldn't we get to know each other some more? This man hasn't even told me his last name. What if he’s a serial killer? I can just imagine the look of disappointment on Walker’s face when he has to come identify my dead body at the morgue.
I laugh, but it falls flat. “Ho
w about another drink?” I suggest. “The night is still young, don’t you think?”
Connor shakes his head. “Got an early morning, sweetheart. Teeth cleaning. Oral hygiene is important." He flashes me a neon-white smile. "Besides, I’m at my limit." He tilts his chin at his empty beer bottle. "But I can always make time for the affection of a gorgeous woman like you.” His gaze zeroes in on my exposed cleavage.
I feel my shoulders curl in a few degrees. My heart is pounding. And boob sweat. So much boob sweat. Why the hell did I wear this? I resist the urge to pull my dress up higher, because the only thing worse than showing a little boob is flashing the whole bar my hoo-ha.
"A-are you sure you don't want to, y'know, talk first? Get to know each other a little?” My fingers go tighter around my glass. I take another huge swallow, hoping to drown my nerves.