Baking and Babies (Chocoholics #3)(13)

“You don’t have to do something like this just because you feel sorry for me,” she says in irritation, pulling my head out of the gutter where Molly was wearing a black leather apron and nothing else while I held a riding crop in my hand.

“Did you miss the part where I told you I like you?” I ask her, realizing she thinks I’m still offering to help her out of some sort of guilt. “I really like you, Molly, and I’d like to spend more time with you. If that means I have to be the fake sperm donor to your fake baby, then so be it.”

I wisely leave out the part where my dick is now handing out “It’s not a boy OR a girl” cigars to my balls in celebration that they still have a chance with this girl.

“You have no idea what you’re agreeing to….” she tells me, trailing off as she scrunches up her face while she thinks it over.

The waitress drops off our check and I leave Molly to her thoughts as I pull out my wallet and count enough for the bill and a hefty tip, even if I’m still pissed about them not having apple pie. Smelling Molly’s hair cured me of my need for it anyway.

Pushing against Molly’s hip with my own to get her to move out of the booth, she slides out and stands next to the table to wait for me to follow. Returning my wallet to my back pocket, I grab her hand and slide my fingers through hers, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on, let’s go tell your family the happy news.” I smile, tugging her towards the door. “I can practice my apologetic looks and fake happiness over this pretend blessing on the ride over and you can tell me more about your family.”

When we get out to the parking lot, I add a little more decency to the D. in my name by holding the passenger door open for her, quickly realizing I might have pushed it a little too far when I made a grand, sweeping gesture with my arm and called her m’lady, going by the annoyed snort and eye roll she gave me.

Making a mental note that she doesn’t seem to like being treated like a princess, I round the hood of the car and get in behind the wheel, looking over at her as I pull my car keys out of my front pocket.

“So, what’s the first thing I should know about your family?” I ask, sticking the keys in the ignition.

“Don’t do all that mushy, girly stuff like hold my hand or open doors,” she begins. “My family will know you’re lying right away because I’m not into all that PDA shit,” she begins. “When my dad starts cracking his knuckles and talking about how he trained as a kickboxer for twenty years, don’t show any signs of weakness. But if he gets his gun out of the hall closet, run.”

Silence fills the car for a few moments until a high-pitch, screeching noise hits my ears and I realize my fingers are still clutched tightly to the key in the ignition and I’ve continued to turn it in a daze even though it started twenty seconds ago.

“Heh, heh,” I laugh uncomfortably, yanking my hand away from the key to clutch the steering wheel. “That’s hilarious, Molly. Good work trying to scare me out of doing this.”

She laughs as I put the car in gear and pull out of the parking lot, her laughter letting me know she really was kidding and her father isn’t going to try and kill me.

“You can’t blame me for trying,” she says with a shrug as I pull out into traffic and head in the direction she points. “My dad’s never taken a kickboxing class in his life, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

Well, that’s good to know. If I couldn’t fight that little shit, Tommy Knittle, there’s no way I could take on a pissed off father who thinks I knocked up his little girl. I’m a baker, not a fighter.

We both share a laugh until she suddenly stops and looks over at me. “But seriously, you can run, right? Because he really does have a gun.”

I can still bake with a gunshot wound, right?





Chapter 5




– Thug Mug –

Molly




As Marco follows my directions home, I throw out a few random facts about my family on the way, doing my best not to freak him out too much. I mean, aside from the whole gun thing, but I feel like I would have done him a disservice by leaving that part out. It’s bad enough I let him think I was pregnant, even if was only for thirty minutes tops before my conscience got the best of me. I don’t want him to be completely blindsided by my family when he’s doing something so amazing for me, but maybe I said too much. He stopped talking and started looking like he might throw up about ten miles ago. Maybe telling him about how my Uncle Drew and Aunt Jenny never shut up about their sex life is where I lost him. Or it could have been when I tried to explain what a Brony is and promised him I’d never let Ava and her boyfriend Tyler force him to wear a horse tail. It was probably when I said that stupid shit about not liking PDA. Normally, I cringe if a guy tries to kiss me or hold my hand in public, but when Marco does it I want to rip his clothes off. Which is why it’s probably for the best that he stop doing it altogether. My family doesn’t need another reason to be freaked out.

“Turn left at the next stop sign,” I tell him, twisting my neck to stare at his profile as he flips on the blinker and slows to a stop.

He’s so good looking it’s almost sickening. With his Italian genes that give him a gorgeous olive complexion, thick dark brown hair he keeps short on the sides with a messy spike on top, and so many muscles it’s a wonder he doesn’t bust out of every shirt he puts on, it’s very hard not to drool in his presence. The fact that he told me he likes me should make me feel better that my crush isn’t one-sided, but it just makes everything worse. It makes me act like a girl around him – a stupid, giggly, shy girl who forgets how to speak when he smiles at her. I might be known as the quiet one in the family, but I’ve never been shy until I met Marco Desoto. Now, not only do I have to worry about what’s going to happen with my family in the next couple of weeks and if I’ll be able to pull this whole thing off, I have to worry about Marco witnessing all of it and hoping he still likes me when it’s over.