My (Mostly) Secret Baby: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy(6)

The condom broke.

“It broke,” I said it aloud, just because that’s what my shocked brain seemed to think it needed to do. “The fucking condom broke. He came inside me.”

I jumped up and put both my hands on my head. I did some frantic calendar counting and determined that I shouldn’t be ovulating. And thank God for that, because I read this terrifying article about what Plan B does to your body once. I swore I’d never touch the stuff after that, except this might’ve justified an exception.

I briefly thought about running after him and telling him the truth—of slapping his shitty quality jacket pocket condom remains in his face. But no. I just needed to calm down. Biology was on my side. It was okay. I’d get tested to make sure I was still clean, and that would be that.



Note from my future self: you see where this is going, right?





3





Damon





I wasn’t particularly proud of it, but I was the king of the one and done routine. If I had my way, I’d eradicate the biological urge to stick my dick in warm, wet holes entirely. As it was, I couldn’t do that, which meant I occasionally took detours. The more temporary, the better.

Except my little session of bumping uglies with tennis Tinkerbell felt like the kind of detour I could get used to taking. I liked that she had stood up to me. Of course, she’d ultimately folded like all of them did, but the resistance had been a welcome change. It was also entirely possible I’d just enjoyed fucking her and the rest were excuses to pursue a second-round performance.

I straightened my tie and double checked that my belt was in place. Whether I would’ve liked to revisit Chelsea again at some point in the future, it was irrelevant. I couldn’t afford to tie myself down with commitments, and she’d only disappoint me at best and betray me at worst.

The only thing to do was move on and leave her where she belonged: my past.

When I found Chris, his hair was a mess, like usual, and he was trailed by a long-legged woman in a skin-tight dress.

Chris was a quarterback in the NFL, and he’d always had a way with girls, even before he was rich and famous. It was probably the rugged bad boy aesthetic he had going on. Tattooed, muscular, and quick with a joke. He also occasionally needed guidance like an over-eager dog, but as his bigger brother, that was a job I was willing to take.

He caught my eye, tugged the woman in for a quick, playful kiss on the neck, then waved. “Call me in a few hours. I’ve got to hydrate and pop a zinc pill before tonight.”

I almost made the wise decision and didn’t ask, but curiosity got the better of me. “Zinc?”

“Yeah. It helps raise your sperm production. Like volume, I mean.” He spread the fingers of one hand and made a popping sound, then mimicked something splattering all over his face and chest.

I squinted. “You want to come all over yourself more aggressively?”

Chris snorted. “No. I never let it touch my own body. Do you?”

“What?”

“When you jack off. Do you spray it on your stomach? Because… I don’t want to judge or anything, but I mean—”

“Oh get over yourself,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief both at my brother and at myself for knowingly walking into such an idiotic conversation.

He patted and squeezed my shoulder. “Zinc. You should try it. Some girls go crazy for a little DNA shower.”

I nearly gagged but couldn’t stop from chuckling instead. “I’m almost positive if you ever called it that, no girls would love a ‘DNA shower.’”

“Well, I’m assuming you didn’t come track me down to talk about the contents of my balls. So what’s up?”

“You’re supposed to be at the meeting. With me. Did you even remember why you were here?”

Chris had sandy blond hair and a strong, square jaw with vertical lines that dimpled in his cheeks when he smirked—which was most of the time. He reached out and pulled one of my lapels a little straighter. Then he licked his finger and tried to flatten part of my hair. “Strange how you were M.I.A. as well. It’s not like the Terminator to take this long to find me. Almost like you were scrotum deep in your own business for a little there.” Chris leaned in and sniffed the air. “Hmm. It’s not strange that you smell like pussy, you know, given how you are. What’s strange is you smell like someone else’s pussy.”

“You’re an imbecile. And it took me half an hour to find you because I had to check the balloon vendor outside for you before I could search the hotel.”

“Were they folding them into shapes? Because the last balloon guy I saw said he couldn’t do a giant penis and I really want one.”

I stared.

“Not for me,” he laughed a little nervously. “I wanted to give it to you. Just the thought of how happy it’d make you, you know.”

“Come on, we’re already late enough as it is. If I’m going to have any chance of getting you to the Olympics, we need to show our faces.”

“You forget I couldn’t give a shit about playing in the Olympics.”

“As your agent, I advise you to give a shit. Right now you’re just a cog in the machine of your team. Getting you out there as the pioneer who brought the NFL to the world—”