Page 118 of One Baby Daddy
“I do. You’re the father of my baby, so it would be great if you wore a helmet while skating. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. You didn’t wear protection while conceiving this child but from here on out you’ll be wearing protection on your head, your shoulders, your shins, and even your balls.”
That causes him to throw back his head and laugh. “You’re concerned about my balls?”
“Only because I’m sure if you didn’t take care of them properly you would whine more than the baby when they get hurt and there is only so much whining I can take, especially from a grown man who should know better.”
“Brutal.”
We spend the rest of the drive making small talk, talking about things like the weather, the ever-present sun in California, and the lack of rain. Really boring, but it fills the silence. I’ve had easier conversations with Hayden before, but for some reason, with the elephant in the room—ahem, the baby—we seem to be awkward as hell.
Will it always be like this?
I sure as hell hope not because if we’re going to remain friends, I’d like some sort of camaraderie between us. It will probably take time and more nights like this.
Pulling in front of a brick building, Hayden puts the car in park and hands his keys to the valet right before opening my door. Taking my hand in his, he helps me out of the car but doesn’t let go as he guides me into the restaurant. I allow it because I’ve held hands with friends before . . .
When I’m drunk.
On the side of the dark brick, painted in white is a very modern logo with the name Waffle Me in the middle of a circle, established in 2016. That makes me giggle. Usually when a restaurant claims establishment, it’s at least twenty years, but I guess you have to start somewhere, and a waffle joint is exactly where I would want to start.
After my pizza-day extravaganza, I texted Hayden earlier and asked him if we could maybe not have pizza tonight. Waffles seem right up my alley.
When we step into the restaurant the sweet aroma of homemade waffles hits me along with a myriad of smells ranging from sweet maple syrup, to fried chicken, to chili. The seating is modern and sleek, wood-slatted benches, black leather cushions, and clear partitions hanging from the ceiling, giving parties privacy. I like it here. Casual and comfortable, just what I need, especially in my leggings and tunic.
“Hello, I have a reservation for Sergio Valentino.”
The hostess checks her computer and nods, grabbing two menus, she motions to follow her. “Right this way, Mr. Valentino.”
With his hand on my lower back, we follow the waitress to a curved booth in the back. She places the menus on the table and says, “Your waitress will be right with you. Her name is Sandy.”
“Thank you.” Hayden helps me into the booth.
When I get settled, I hold my menu but give my attention to Hayden. “Mr. Valentino?”
He shrugs, a smirk tilting the ends of his mouth up. “You’ve never used a fake name before?”
“Never had to.”
“Ah, come on, there’s always a time to use a fake name. Next time you order a coffee, give them a fake name, if anything, it will give you a little giggle when they call it out, and you know it’s not really your name.”
I stare at him for a few beats. Did he just say giggle? “Are you nervous?”
Rubbing his palms on his pants, he nods. “Yeah, a little and I have no fucking clue why?” Turning toward me, he takes my hand in his and laces our fingers together. Staring at our connection he speaks, his voice soft and gruff. “It’s not like I haven’t spent time with you before. It’s not like we haven’t been alone together. Hell, I’ve been inside of you before. I know what you taste like on my tongue, but for some reason, tonight seems monumental.”
“We’re just here to hang out, Hayden, nothing more.”
Slowly moving his head up and down, he squeezes my hand and looks at me past his dark eyelashes. “You might think we are just going to be friends, but as much as I wish I could settle for that, I can’t, but out of respect of your request for tonight, I will remain friendly. But if I say out-of-character things like . . . giggle . . . please know it’s because even if I might seem like I have it altogether on the outside, being by your side unable to claim you like I want to is twisting me up in knots on the inside.”
Unsure what to say to that, I turn to my menu while the words swim around together, making it incredibly hard for me to understand.
This is going to be a long, hard night and not in a good way. I’m pretty sure I’m going to leave tonight with a heavy heart and a confused mind.
* * *
“Did you take a pregnancy test or did you see a doctor?” Hayden asks, wanting to know more about the pregnancy, about all the moments he’s missed.
“Pregnancy test with Emma in a janitor’s closet.”
He takes a bite of his banana and caramel waffle and quirks an eyebrow at me. “A janitor’s closet?”
