Pregnant by the Playboy (Fong Brothers, #1) Read online

  She smiles.

  “Does Evie like dinosaurs?” I ask.

  In response, she makes some inarticulate noises.

  “Dinosaurs were biiiig and scaaaary,” I say, “but Evie’s not scared, is she? She’s a tough little girl.”

  The dinosaur—out of its own accord; I have nothing to do with this, of course—bites Evie’s earlobe, which she finds even more amusing than when the dinosaur bit her foot.

  “Oh, no. Where did your ear go, Evie? The dinosaur took it! Maybe you should be scared of dinosaurs after all.”

  The dinosaur opens his mouth and returns her earlobe.

  “Wow, isn’t that nice of him. He returned your ear. Let me sew it on.” I mime stitching her ear together with one hand. “Uncle Vince is a hero, isn’t he? He stitched your ear back on like a very competent surgeon.”

  The doorbell rings. Cedric said he might stop by today, so I head to the door. Sure enough, it’s my brother.

  “Hey, Evie.” He shakes her little foot.

  “Sing ‘I’m a Little Teapot.’ She likes it.”

  Cedric raises his eyebrows but dutifully starts singing as he takes off his shoes. Since when did my brother do what I ask?

  “Man, you have a terrible voice,” I say. “Look, you’re making her cry!”

  It’s true, Evie is wailing. So it’s not just my singing that upsets her today. Good to know.

  The results of this experiment, however, may not be reproducible. Who knows what she’ll like tomorrow.

  To cheer Evie up, the dinosaur decides it’s the perfect time to bite her little toes. She giggles in delight.

  “You’re so good with her.” Cedric sounds a little deflated. “Do you want to be a dad?”

  It’s a good thing I wasn’t drinking anything because I would have spit it all over him.

  Actually, I’m going to be a dad later this year.

  It’s hard to keep that to myself, but Marissa made me promise not to tell anyone yet.

  “Maybe, one day,” I say nonchalantly. “Right now, I’m too busy having fun and jetting around the world.”

  “You really haven’t done much traveling lately.”

  “I went to New York City.”

  “That was a while ago. And you seem to be in bed by three in the morning these days. No partying until the sun rises.”

  “Getting old, you know.” I don’t particularly like being questioned about my life, so I turn the tables. “Do you want to be a father?”

  Evie takes this opportunity to touch my face. Her hand is a little slobbery, but I’ve gotten used to slobbery baby hands and it doesn’t bother me. She’s definitely gotten grabbier in the last few weeks, though.

  Cedric still seems to be pondering my question.

  “No,” he says at last.

  I’m tempted to say that he’ll change his mind one day, but that’s stupid. Not everyone wants the same things in life.

  “I wasn’t sure,” Cedric said, “and I thought maybe Evie would help me figure it out. And she’s fun and all...” He lightly covers her ears. “In small doses. I see what Courtney and Julian have to do for her and think, ‘God, no.’”

  “Fair enough.” I swallow the rest of my words, about how I want to be part of a child’s everyday life. Not gonna lie, I think I’ll cry the first time my child calls me “dada.”

  That condom failing was the best thing that happened to me in a long time.

  But Marissa Chan—yes, I know her last name!—just wants me as her baby’s father. For now. I’m still hoping I can change her mind and we’ll have a happy family life together.

  Evie sticks her little fingers in my mouth, and I nibble them.

  “Oh, no! Where did your fingers go? Should I stitch them back on?”

  Instead of suddenly figuring out how to answer yes or no questions, Evie shoves her whole hand in my mouth, and this is a little weird, but if she’s having fun—

  “Oh my fucking God!”

  That shriek is me.

  Holy shit. That hurt.

  I pull Evie’s hand out of my mouth and pass her over to Cedric so I can curl up in a ball and whimper.

  Okay, that’s not quite what I do, but it’s easier to nurse my pain without a baby in my arms. Especially a bloodthirsty baby like Evie.

  “What happened?” Cedric asks, and I can tell he’s holding back laughter. The bastard.

  “She scratched the roof of my mouth with all five of those sharp little claws.”

  Evie smiles, as though pleased with her accomplishment.

  “Don’t worry, I still love you,” I say.

  She lets out a whopper of a fart in response, and given how Cedric is holding her, the smell goes directly into his nose. He makes a disgusted face. Before he can put her down, she farts again, extra moist.

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Yeah, I really love you, Evie. I forgive you for all the stitches I’m going to need. Always fart in Uncle Cedric’s face, okay?”

  “Do you think she pooped?” Cedric asks. “We should find Courtney.”

  “Nah, I can change a diaper.”

  “You’ve done it before?”

  “A few times, yes.”

  Soon, this will be a regular occurrence in my life.

  I’m okay with that.

  * * *

  That evening, rather than changing poopy diapers, I’m living the Vince Fong lifestyle.

  I’m wearing a three-piece suit—I think I look particularly fine in a three-piece suit, if I do say so myself—and sitting in the lounge of a fancy Financial District restaurant with Brian Poon. The restaurant is on the forty-second floor, so we have a nice view of the city at night.

  I met Brian when I came back to Toronto after selling my company. He was also young and rich and not terribly busy, plus he hosted great parties. We started hanging out regularly.

  Brian takes a sip of his very expensive whiskey—he has ridiculously posh tastes, whereas I’m not quite as picky—and glances again at the trim white guy in the corner. The man is casually dressed for a venue like this, though I bet that sweater wasn’t cheap.

  “Just go talk to him already,” I say. “You’re undressing him with your eyes.”

  “We need to find a lady for you first.”

  “Nah, I’ve had enough sex lately.” A lie, but I will not be picking up a woman tonight.

  “Not interested at all?” Brian frowns. “Is something wrong with your dick?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Just don’t feel like picking up tonight.”

  My friend looks at me like I have three heads. “What about that lady in the red-sequined dress by the window?” He tilts his head toward a South Asian woman.

  I picture Marissa wearing the same dress.

  I picture that dress pushed down around her waist, her tits bare and her legs wrapped around me.

  It’s a lovely thought.

  Yeah, when I jack off in the shower now, it’s always to thoughts of her.

  “No, I’m fine,” I say.

  Brian appears truly concerned. “I can’t leave you alone when you’re down like this.”

  “I’m not down. I’m doing just fine.” I smile at him.

  “That’s your fake smile.”

  “No, it’s not.” I smile wider.

  “Definitely your fake smile.” He glances toward the corner once more. The man has his eyes on Brian now.

  My phone buzzes and I immediately reach for it. I have a text from Marissa.

  You busy?

  I feel a genuine smile coming to my lips.

  “Booty call?” Brian asks.

  “Something like that. You go have your fun.”

  Brian leans forward and looks at me for a long moment. I think he’s going to say something else, but he shrugs and saunters off.

  Nope, I reply to Marissa. Not busy.

  Then I realize that if she’s texting me, it might mean something’s wrong.

  Shit.

  I stare at my phone, fearful as I wait for her re
ply.

  I’m having some cravings, she says.

  Oh, thank God.

  For me? I ask, though I knew that’s not when she means.

  No, you self-absorbed asshole.

  I laugh.

  I’m craving some very specific foods, and I was wondering if you could get them for me. You at home?

  Excellent. I can be useful for once!

  Nah, but I’m close, I reply.

  But you’re not busy?

  The guy I’m with is trying to pick up. And as I said, I’d like you to tell me whenever you need anything. Don’t worry about my exciting life. What do you want?

  Matcha double fromage cheesecake from Cheese & Me, she says. Plus beef and celery dumplings from Yang’s Dumplings. You know the places?

  Yep. I’ll bring you the food as soon as I can.

  I unfold myself from my chair. The woman in the red dress slides her gaze over my body, but I just wave at Brian, who looks up briefly, and head out.

  Cheese & Me is a popular Japanese cheesecake place downtown, fortunately quite close to where I am. I jump into the car that’s waiting for me and tell the driver where to go.

  When I arrive five minutes later, it’s packed with people enjoying cheesecake and cheese tarts. The line-up is long, and I try not to tap my foot as I wait.

  Finally, it’s my turn.

  “One matcha double fromage cheesecake,” I say.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman says. “We just sold our last one.”

  Another server deposits what I’m pretty sure is a matcha double fromage cheesecake into a box. He hands it to the man beside me. Goddammit.

  “But we do have our regular matcha cheesecake,” the woman suggests. “Really, it’s quite good.”

  I turn to the man. “I’ll pay you double for that cheesecake.”

  He shakes his head. “This is for my mother. It’s her birthday tomorrow.”

  “Triple,” I say, but it’s half-hearted. I’d feel like a monster, taking the cake he picked out for his mom’s birthday. Surely there’s some amount of money that would make him cave, but I’m not going to try to find it.

  “Tempting, but no. Look, there’s a place that’s almost as good, and it also does double fromage cheesecakes. It’s on Dundas.”

  But Marissa said the matcha double fromage cheesecake from Cheese & Me, and I’m determined to get exactly what she wants.

  I turn back to the server. “Okay, I’ll get a regular matcha cheesecake.” Just in case my plan doesn’t work out.

  After she boxes up the cheesecake for me, I walk around the crowded seating area, trying to see if anyone has a matcha double fromage cheesecake. There’s a group of teenage girls in the corner with one, but they’ve already finished most of it.

  The young couple at the back, however, is more promising. They each have a slice of cheesecake on their plates, but more than half the cheesecake is left, and it looks like they haven’t touched it with their forks.

  I approach their table. “I’ll give you twenty bucks for the rest of your cheesecake.”

  The girl looks at me suspiciously. “Why don’t you buy your own?”

  “They ran out.”

  “What’s the catch?” the guy asks. “Surely they have lots of other things you could buy. Why don’t you get a cheese tart?”

  “I don’t want a cheese tart. I want a matcha double fromage cheesecake, and you two have about sixty percent of one, which is good enough. I can give you half of my regular matcha cheesecake, too.”

  “As well as thirty bucks?” the girl asks.

  “He said twenty,” the guy hisses across the table. “The cake cost us twenty-two bucks. Twenty for what’s left is a good deal.”

  “He seems pretty desperate. Might as well try to get more money out of him.”

  The guy looks at the girl like she just said the smartest thing he’s ever heard. They get lost in each other’s eyes for a moment.

  “So, do we have a deal?” I say impatiently.

  “Why do you want the cake so badly?” the girl asks. I figure they’re about nineteen—students at one of the nearby universities, perhaps.

  “My wife is pregnant and she’s craving it.”

  It sounds better to say “my wife” instead of “the woman I knocked up.”

  “And she’ll probably be really disappointed if you don’t bring it home. She might make you sleep in the spare room for the week. You really need this cake, don’t you?”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Look, Vi,” the guy says. “Thirty bucks is good. Don’t force him to pay a ridiculous sum for a half-eaten cake.”

  “Why not? He’s wearing a three-piece suit. I’m sure he can afford it. Who the hell wears a three-piece suit?”

  “Most women find it sexy,” I say defensively.

  “And why are you even thinking about any woman but your wife?”

  I don’t know how a simple conversation got so far off the rails.

  “Forty bucks.” She crosses her arms over her chest.

  “Fine,” I say. “Forty it is.”

  I take out the box with the matcha cheesecake. I use a knife from their table to cut it 60/40, then switch the larger piece with their matcha double fromage cheesecake. I don’t know what on earth a double fromage cheesecake is, but it’s what Marissa wants, and that’s all that matters. Then I place two twenties on the table.

  “Thank you,” I say. “My wife will be very happy.”

  “You’re a sucker,” the girl says. “I would have given it to you for thirty.”

  I’m tempted to make some asshole comment about how much money I have, but I let it go. As I head to the door, I hear the guy say, “What a weirdo.”

  Well, whatever. This weirdo now has sixty percent of a matcha double fromage cheesecake and forty percent of a matcha cheesecake, which will hopefully be enough to make a pregnant woman very happy.

  I jump into the car waiting a block away, and I’m about to tell my driver to head to Marissa’s building when I remember the rest of her request.

  Beef and celery dumplings. Right.

  Hopefully this will be easier than the cheesecake.

  Chapter 12

  Marissa

  Cravings are weird.

  Earlier this week, I craved salted caramel ice cream. And pretzels. Every night, as soon as I got home from work, I’d serve myself a small bowl of salted caramel ice cream with crushed pretzels on top. I’d sigh in bliss when I slid the spoon into my mouth.

  It was as good as an orgasm.

  Then today, I got a sudden craving for matcha cheesecake. But not just any matcha cheesecake. No, the matcha double fromage cheesecake at Cheese & Me.

  This presented a problem. Cheese & Me is downtown, and I do not live downtown. And it’s Friday night, and I did not want to head downtown just to eat cheesecake.

  But dammit, I really wanted that cheesecake.

  Vince said I could text him if I needed anything, so I decided to take him up on that offer. I also asked him to get me some dumplings, which I’m not exactly craving, but they sounded really good to me, and why not? The dumpling place is near Cheese & Me.

  I just buzzed him in, so my cheesecake will be here any minute. My mouth is watering.

  There’s a knock on the door. I’m standing right next to it—yes, I’m that excited—so I open it right up.

  “Did you get everything?” I ask, suddenly worried he failed in his mission.

  “Yep.” Vince hands me two bags, then takes off his shoes and coat, and oh my God, he’s wearing a three-piece gray suit underneath.

  My mouth is really watering now.

  “What were you doing tonight?” I ask.

  “Just having a drink at a lounge.”

  “You certainly drink at fancier places than I do. Than I used to, I mean. I’m not drinking anymore.” I don’t want him to think I’m endangering the health of his baby.

  I carry the bags into the kitchen and take out the Cheese & Me box. What greets m
e when I open the lid is a surprise. He has indeed gotten me matcha double fromage cheesecake—a generous half of one. There’s also a smaller half of a different cheesecake.

  I don’t understand, but I don’t care. I grab a fork and stab my beloved double fromage cheesecake. When I put the first bite in my mouth, I moan.

  “Good?” Vince asks.

  I don’t answer. I’m too busy shoveling cheesecake into my mouth.

  I eat a third of it before I look at Vince again. His lips are quirked up. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and it works well on him.

  “Explain this situation.” I gesture at the box of cheesecake with my fork. “Why are there two different cheesecakes?”

  “They had just sold the last matcha double fromage cheesecake to another man. I tried to buy it off him for triple the price, but he refused—it’s for his mother’s birthday. So, I bought a regular matcha cheesecake, then walked around the room until I found a couple with your desired cheesecake who were willing to part with what they had left. I gave them forty bucks and part of my cheesecake for it. They drove a hard bargain, but I wasn’t going to turn up without any matcha double fromage cheesecake from Cheese & Me.”

  Oh my God. This man.

  I drop my fork and kiss him.

  He’s caught off-guard, but then his arms come around me and he kisses me back. I cup his slightly-scruffy jaw and slide my tongue between his lips. He tastes of liquor—I’m not sure what kind, but I bet it’s expensive—and some kind of spice. It’s perfect. At least as good as my matcha double fromage cheesecake, and isn’t that a disturbing thought, since a minute ago I was thinking that cheesecake was the pinnacle of human achievement. His mouth is warm and welcoming, and we meld together just right.

  At last, I step back and return to the cheesecake.

  “Uh, sorry,” I say, somewhat sheepishly. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  He puts his finger under my chin and tilts my head up. “I think you do.”

  “Fine. You’re really fucking handsome in that suit. What is it about three-piece suits? They look so good and I rarely see men our age wear them. You also brought me that magnificent cheesecake—”

  “And you were helpless to resist me. Got it. Kind of like the time you walked up to me at a party and shoved my hand up your skirt.”