Baby by Design

“I hope not, Tone.”

He hoped not too. But just in case, ready or not, he and Trish needed to speed things up.

After hearing pretty much the same thing about Nonna’s condition from Ma, Tony swung by Angie’s and worked until his fingers ached. When he left, the car was ready to roll.

Riding away from the garage with wind in his face, he questioned the extreme he was willing to go to in order to give his grandmother something special. A baby. But when he stopped by her apartment, and witnessed the weak smile she offered for a loaf of Mancini’s bread, he was convinced he’d go to any extreme to give her bigger joy. Besides, Tony was used to gambling and living at the extremes. How was this plan of Trish’s any different?

Trish. Thinking about the way she responded to his attempts to make her relax made him smile. At least their kid would have one conscientious parent who towed the line. And that was better than he always feared he’d do. You’ve got Vegas wedding written all over you, Vin used to say. Considering the women Tony usually dated, that was a scary thought. Waking up tied to the likes of Brandy the Bartender was bad enough. Having a kid with her was a million times worse.

He thought about it as he parked his bike and jogged the steps to his flat. Ultimately, he wasn’t worried he’d end up married in Vegas, because after seeing the pain of his mother becoming a widow and Vin’s ugly divorce, marriage lost its luster—not that it had much before. If you could get the goods without the gold, then why bother. And if you could get the kid, too? Bing-to-the-O.

Tony showered, shaved and thought some more. Nonna was dying. There was no question about that. Ma said ovarian cancer was tricky, sneaky, and symptom-free—until it was too late. There wasn’t much they could do, but wait. For her to die. And that wasn’t okay with Tony. Weddings and funerals, baptisms too. He had power here, power to give his family something to wait for besides Nonna’s funeral.

He buttoned his shirt, zipped his jeans, and shoved into his boots. Stopping in the kitchen, he grabbed a six-pack of Heineken, 100 percent certain Trish DeVign didn’t stock a fridge of beer. He wasn’t nervous but after the pressurizing news about Nonna he wasn’t feeling his usual carefree self either. Under the circumstances, he tried not to stress over it. He’d get to Trish’s, have a drink, settle her down, and then they’d have some fun.

Thinking again about Nonna, he knew…there were worse ways to spend an evening.

By the time Tony made it to Trish’s front door, he was ready. Having spent the last five blocks conjuring up images of her grinding in that grass-green dress and fishnet hose, he was halfway to a hard-on.

She opened the front door, eyes shiny and wide. “You came.”

“Not yet.” He smiled, unable to hold back the crass but teasing comment. She made it too easy for him to enjoy shocking her, making her blush. Somehow those little thrills wiped a lot of big worries away.

“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.” She clutched the doorknob in her left hand as she smoothed her right hand up and down her cotton-covered thigh. Black stretch pants clung to her legs with only the shirttails of an oversized oxford hiding the goods.

“I’m not changing my mind.”

“Okay, then.” She released a shaky exhale and stepped aside, waving him in. “But before we get started you should know that I don’t actually ovulate for a few days. I read that sperm can live inside a woman for three to five days, so we should be good.”

She was walking away from him, toward the stairs, but he heard the quiver in her voice.

He itched to crack open a beer. “Hey, wait.”

She stopped on the first step and turned. “Yeah?”

“You’re going to take advantage of me without even offering me a drink?” He lifted the corners of his mouth and the six-pack of beer.

“Tony, I read it’s not good to drink alcohol when you’re trying to conceive.”

“You need to stop reading,” he said with a chuckle. “Relax. Remember? Come on. One bottle won’t hurt. Do you know how many babies were conceived because Mom and Dad got tipsy?”

She clutched the railing. “I don’t want to get tipsy. I want to remember every detail. This is a big deal.”

No pressure, Tony thought, rubbing his free hand on the back of his neck. Heck, he never felt pressure to perform when his performance was the focus. Here he was simply a cog in Trish’s baby-making machine, and he was white-knuckling the six-pack. “Yeah, well, I need the beer. Consider it foreplay.”

The corners of her eyes and lips drooped, and Tony had the distinct impression that he’d somehow insulted her without meaning to. “Fine. I’ll get a glass.” She bounded off the step and down the hall to her right.

“I don’t need a glass.”

“But I do,” she called. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”

Okay. So much for the playfulness he managed to cultivate in her office today. Maybe after the beer.

He took the steps two by two, six-pack in hand, not knowing where he was going in a house this big. At the top of the landing, he saw one room with lights on. Walking there, he wrestled with weirdness. Angie would shit. Vin would shit. Heck, Ma would shit, too. But as much as he loved his family, there was no room for them in this bedroom—even though they were the reason he was here.

Standing in the doorway, he took it in. Opulent, feminine, floral, plaid, and gold. Decidedly Trish DeVign. He smiled, because she’d lit candles, dozens of them, despite her admission that she worried he wouldn’t come. And there was music. He wondered if this seduction scene had always been part of her plan, too.

“Maybe I went a little overboard. Sorry.” She pushed past him, pilsner glass in hand. “When I’m nervous I over plan. I mean, I’m a planner to begin with, but…” she waved her hand. “Never mind. Just give me a beer.”

His smile widened, because, damn it, if she wasn’t the most charming woman he’d ever met. He loved the way she flustered, but powered through. Setting the six-pack on a nearby table, he snatched two bottles, twisted the caps, and took the glass from her. As he poured the beer down the side of the glass and watched the golden liquid pool, the fun kicked in.

He stepped closer to her. “You know it’s all in the head, right? So pay close attention to that. How it looks. How it feels on your tongue.” He winked at her.

“Give me that,” she spat, and taking the beer, she polished off half before he had his bottle to his lips.

“You know, I was talking about the beer.”

“I know that,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “But there’s always a double meaning with you, isn’t there?”

“What can I say? I enjoy myself.” He set the bottle on the table beside him. “And you’re going to enjoy yourself, too.”

She drained the glass. “No pressure, Tony. I’m serious. Let’s just make sure it counts.” And with that, she turned, walked to the bed, dropped her glass on the bedside table, and crawled fully clothed beneath the covers.

He watched as she drew the comforter to her shoulders and shimmied beneath it. First the black stretch pants peaked out from beneath the blankets and dropped to the floor, followed by black panties.

“I’m ready,” she proclaimed with a crisp nod.

Just like that. “You can’t be serious.”

She sat up, clutching the comforter to her chest, even though she wore a shirt. “I am.”

“Why? Why would you want to do it like this? You have candles and music and…”

“You said downstairs that you needed a beer and the beer was foreplay. I get it, Tony. You’re doing me a huge favor. Huge! And you’re hoping to get something awesome for your family in return. This isn’t about you being attracted to me. I can live with that.”

But he couldn’t, because nothing could’ve been further from the truth.

CHAPTER NINE

Trish wanted a baby, she didn’t want to be a baby, and yet here she was with feelings hurt because Tony made a joke about beer being foreplay.