Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
I picture myself with a grinning baby in my arms, both of us beyond happy. I don’t really need a guy to give me that, do I? Maybe freezing my eggs waiting for the man isn’t the way to go.
Of course, getting a donor from a sperm bank is pricey and clinical. I’ve never even considered it an option, but the more I think about it…
My eyes wander back to my phone. I could get a donor myself, the old-fashioned way. Hook up with some super hot, super smart guy without protection. A guy like Charlie.
Biting my lip, I know that’s sooooo wrong.
I’d have to tell him.
I definitely wouldn’t be his pretend date then because… yeah, no way. No way would that work.
A small piece of me wonders, if I just asked him, would he say yes?
He's hotter than fire, smart and runs his own business. Plus, Charlie wouldn’t ask that many questions about a baby, right? Maybe he’d do it in exchange for me helping him out? It’s crazy. I’m sure he’d think I was a fucking lunatic.
I’m sure there’s a consent form or legal... thing.
Oh my God, I’m literally losing it. Pulling my covers around myself I huff out, “I have officially gone off the deep end,” to no one. Further validating the fact that I have lost my mind.
Charlie
“Don’t you ever sleep?” Maggie’s voice rings out from the back room.
Looking over my shoulder to spot her and her bright yellow tee sporting a beer company on the front, I set the box of craft beers, same brand, on the floor in the stockroom. It’s a local company a friend of Mags started a couple of years ago. Damn good, too. The bottles rattle slightly as I stand up, stretching my back.
“Morning,” I tell her, stifling my yawn. My shift last night ended around three in the morning, but the food trucks will be here first thing. Going through inventory was more important than sleep apparently.
Maggie sets her purse down on the long bench just outside my office door. The kitchen and storage are in one area, and my office is all the way in the back. It’s not the best setup, but it works.
There are so many things I’d change if I could. One day. Little by little I get it all done. A grateful sigh leaves me as I crack my neck and I walk past her to grab my coffee. I can’t believe it’s eight already. I need to get home, get into my bed and actually sleep. But first, coffee. Black with a hell of a lot of sugar.
The thought of sleeping, and burying my head in a pillow forces another yawn to creep up on me, and I cover my mouth, looking at the back door that leads to the parking lot and therefore my car before bringing the mug of coffee to my lips. It’s lukewarm now, a little cold even. I drink it anyway. I’m used to having caffeine however I can get it at this point.
“Good morning to you, too,” Maggie says with a tone that matches the worried look on her face. I ignore it. Maggie’s always worried about something. If it’s not me, it’s someone else.
“You good to get the food prepped when the trucks come?” I ask as I walk across the kitchen to the sink. “James should be here for the heavy lifting and I’ll wait for him to come in before leaving it all to you.” She’s done this before and I trust her more than anyone to do it right.
I rinse the mug out before setting it into the dishwasher and when she doesn’t respond I know she’s waiting for me to turn off the faucet and face her. Which is just what I do. Leaning against the sink makes me feel that much more tired.
“I am. And you didn’t have to do this,” she says as she gestures outward.
I shrug. Throwing the dish towel back down, I push off the sink. There are a number of issues I have, I know as much because my sister and Mags are real good at pointing them out. One of them is that I don’t like handing off responsibility. It matters too much. This bar is what I have. It’s all I have.
“You have control issues,” Maggie tells me. Okay, so I have the bar and control issues. I’m fine with those two. She checks one of the boxes closer to her, peeking in and nodding before she crosses her arms across her chest.
“What else am I gonna do other than keep my baby in shape?” I ask. I’m trying to be lighthearted, but the question makes my stomach sink.
I’ve got no one waiting for me at home and nothing to do besides run the bar. It never used to get to me, but the thought is making me second-guess everything as I close up the box she just opened.