 by Brenda Rothert.jpg)
Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Those were Shelby Grant’s first words to me. Didn’t even want me to buy her a drink first. See, Shelby isn’t like other women. After researching Denver’s most eligible bachelors in search of her ideal sperm donor, she chose me.
As a pro hockey player, I’m used to women wanting things from me, but my swimmers? That’s a new one. Somehow, though, with her color-coded parenting plan, sales pitch and contract, Shelby sells me on the idea. After my donation, she doesn’t want anything more to do with me.
I can’t seem to stay away, though. As her belly grows and I get to know the tightly wound mom-to-be, I get attached.
Shelby’s jaded about men and I’m not looking to settle down. There are countless reasons why crossing the contractual line between us is a bad idea.
But once Shelby gives birth to our child, all bets are off. Whether I planned for it or not, I have a family now, and I’m not letting go without a fight.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
Shelby
It started with a kiss. Or more accurately, with a screaming baby.
An hour ago, I was immersed in a state Supreme Court opinion on local ordinance enforcement, a Schubert vinyl record serving as the soundtrack for my home office. Soon, though, the only thing I heard was the racket coming through the wall of the apartment above mine. It wasn’t just your average crying baby—it was a shrieking, incredibly pissed off baby.
I told myself to focus. Get in the zone and tune out the noise. I’d somehow gotten through contractors reroofing the neighboring building last fall, hadn’t I?
The contractors didn’t wail, though. I would have preferred an incessant alarm clock to the baby upstairs, and I couldn’t say the same for the nonstop hammering. My god, the absolute lung capacity of that child.
Glaring at the ceiling, I yelled, “Enough, already!” and started reading a paragraph of the opinion for the fourth time. I’d budgeted exactly enough time to finish this job and start my next one on time, but thanks to my new neighbors, I was going to have to work this weekend.
The baby’s cries were turning from angry to mournful, and I frowned at my computer screen. What if my new neighbors were trash humans who had abandoned the baby? Clearly someone wasn’t taking care of it.
I stood up, scolding myself for waiting an entire hour to go up there. The kid couldn’t feed itself, after all. This had to be a problem with the blond twentysomething with a pixie cut I’d seen carrying boxes up the stairs a week ago, or her partner. Whoever it was, they were about to get an earful from me.
Grabbing the keys to my apartment, I walked out the front door, locking it behind me, and stormed up the stairs, stomping my feet on each one to show Blondie how annoying loud neighbors could be.
If she was even there. I pounded on the door of apartment five, vowing to kick it open and go help the baby if no one answered within a minute.
“You’ve got thirty seconds,” I yelled at the closed door. “Then I break it down!”
The door flew open, and Blondie gave me a wild-eyed look, cradling the crying baby in her arms while bouncing up and down gently.
“Break it down?” She looked me up and down. “With what, your hands?”
This bitch. I shook my head.
“More importantly,” I said sharply, “I work from home. And I can’t focus with your kid screaming at the top of its lungs.”
I crossed my arms and held her gaze, waiting for her to go on the defensive. Instead, she surprised me, her shoulders sinking.
“She’s not my kid, and I don’t know shit about babies. My friend had to rush to the hospital because her dad had a heart attack, and she couldn’t find a sitter, so…I’m sorry.”
An hour of built-up rage drained out of me in an instant.
“Try feeding her,” I suggested. “Or changing her.”
“I’ve tried every single thing on Josie’s list, and nothing is helping. I fed her, changed her, walked around with her, talked to her…”
“Well, can’t you just…rock her or something?” I asked.
“I’ve rocked her while sitting, while standing, and while walking. I even turned on some Soundgarden and tried rocking while rocking. Nothing.”
I rolled my eyes. “You tried to soothe a baby with Soundgarden?”
“I’m desperate. Got any better ideas?”
I frowned at her, because yes, I did. “Brahms?”
“Are they on Spotify?”
I was twenty-eight, and ashamed of my generation. Shoving my keys into the pocket of my cardigan, I sighed softly.
“Look, I have some music that might help. Why don’t you bring—” I gestured at the infant and Blondie interjected.
“Iris. This is Iris, and I’m Marlowe.”
Iris unleashed her fury again, the noise deafening.
“I’m Shelby,” I said loudly. “Let’s go. Like right now.”