Junkyard Dog(13)

“You didn’t break anything having those twins?”

“You mean my beloved children? No, I didn’t break anything. What are you getting at?”

“I’ll need to breed with a woman capable of carrying my large kid. You carried two at once so I figure you’ll do.”

“Well, that’s a tempting offer. Whenever you’re ready, just fill a cup with your swimmers, and I’ll pick up a turkey baster on my drive home. We’ll make you an heir.”

“There are easier ways to make a kid.”

“Easier?” I say, looking him over. “I’d say a turkey baster is simpler than climbing you, boss.”

“No climbing necessary,” he says, and I realize he might actually be serious. “You lay on the bed, and I’ll do the work. I’ve heard women make boys if they get f*cked in the missionary position.”

“You heard that, huh? Where?”

“Donna was telling some broad at the Waffle House.”

“Well if Donna said so, I can’t really disagree. She’s the Google of diner waitresses.”

I snicker at my joke while Hayes just watches me.

“I’m not kidding.”

“I sense that,” I say, feeling a little overheated. “What would you name our giant baby? It wouldn’t be something stupid like Angus, would it?”

“Said the lady with the stripper name.”

“I didn’t pick my name.”

“You picked your kids’ stupid names.”

“No, their father did, and he only picked them to punish me.”

“Punish you for what?”

“For not having an abortion. He didn’t want kids. He nagged me constantly until I was ready to pop. When I wouldn’t give into his whiny bullshit, he chose the names,” I explain with a hint of anger and then add more casually, “The joke was on him because my kids are cool enough to walk off silly names. I’m not sure our giant baby would be, though.”

“My kid won’t give a shit what anyone thinks.”

“Or he’ll be very sensitive and cry easily. You never know.”

“I know,” Hayes insists.

“So you’re saying you’d name him something dumb like the dad in the song A Boy Named Sue?”

“I’d name him something strong.”

“Like Bullet?” I ask, snickering again. “Shotgun maybe?”

“Buckaroo Banzai actually.”

“It has a nice ring to it.”

Hayes frowns. “It’s a movie title. You know that, right?”

“I don’t watch movies.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Fine, Marvel and Pixar movies. That Banzai thing isn’t one of those, so it doesn’t exist to me.”

Hayes crosses his arms and glares super ugly at me. I love when he does that shit. He’s especially hot when he tries to intimidate me. I especially like how his lips get pouty like a really grumpy baby. I smile at his expression and wonder if he’s messing with me with all of this heir talk.

“Not everything is a f*cking joke,” he grumbles when I don’t stop smiling at him.

“See this from my point of view, boss. You always seem full of shit. How can I tell when you’re not?”

“Pay attention.”

“Or you could talk differently when you’re not full of shit,” I suggest.

“No.”

“Have you interviewed any other wide-hipped women for this great heir-making opportunity?”

Hayes gives me his junkyard dog expression, and I should be scared. He’s a scary guy, but he won’t do anything besides yell at me. When I think of all the effort he goes through to terrify me, I begin laughing.

“Idiot,” he grumbles, walking back to his office.

“I’ll think about it. I mean, giant babies are a lot of responsibility.”

I see him shake his head in irritation, but I can’t believe he actually thought I’d agree.

Leaning back in my chair, I consider breeding with another rich guy. With Toby, I felt no emotional connection to my baby daddy. It’s why his nagging about an abortion never affected me. He could have said anything, and I wouldn’t falter. He was simply a means to an end. Of course, Hayes isn’t Toby.





ELEVEN - CANDY


On the kids’ first day of school, I’m a basket case of mommy's nerves. I walk them to their separate third-grade classes and admit they won’t have fun today. No doubt Cricket will spend the day comparing everything to her old class while Chipper will disappear into the crowd. They’ll meet up at recess and recharge their twin powers. I promise to take them out to dinner and let them complain about everything they hated.

By the time I reach the office, I want to cry. It’s a mommy reaction. I know they’ll be fine, but I feel guilty for giving them a bad day. It’s my job to hurt for my babies, and I see no reason to deny the feeling.

“What’s your problem?” Hayes asks, walking out of his office when I arrive.

“My babies started school today.”

“You should homeschool them,” he says casually. “Schools today are failures.”

“You told me to put them in school so they wouldn’t become morons,” I mutter.