Page 28 of Desperate Desires

I’d been invited, of course, but had been preoccupied with a certain tall, dark, and blue-eyed guest I’d yet to push out of my mind.

Damn him.

I put on a fake smile for my friends, ignoring Micky’s laser like stare as Andrea and Lucy prattled on about this and that.

“Can you believe Mom wants me to take the job that agent offered me? I mean, me modeling for Javier DeSoto?” Lucy said, rolling her beautiful blue eyes.

“Um, yeah, Lucy, we can believe it. You look like a fucking superstar and Javier DeSoto is the next big thing to hit the runway,” Micky said, rolling her eyes.

“That may be. But the guy he sent with his offer and the business contract gives me the fucking creeps,” Lucy returned.

“So, tell our dads. I’m sure they’d be happy to deal with him,” Andrea put in her two cents.

“Oh yeah, just what I want, to send our fathers on a mission to hunt down some sleazy agent. He’s not worth it. Tell them, Shelly,” she scoffed.

“Listen to Lucy. It’s her life,” I chimed in, only half paying attention.

Baby Michael was clutching at my hair, and I grinned as I pulled my braids from his tiny little grip and tossed them over my shoulder.

He was a sweet baby and growing like a weed.

“How does he like the new helmet?” I asked Michaela, referencing the lighter, thinner therapy helmet I’d helped design for his minor positional skull abnormality.

It was a common condition in infants. That or problematic head tilting, and a lot of innovations had been made in that field to correct whatever the issues might be with helmet therapy.

“Oh, he likes this one so much better! I have to say, Shelly, you’re like a wizard. Why don’t you go into this kind of thing for real?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, kissing his chubby cheeks for a proper hello now that I’d unwrapped him from that insanely cute snowsuit he had on.

I always thought I’d have kids around the same time as Michaela. Always dreamed our children would grow up together.

But I didn’t even have any prospects for a husband, let alone a father for my imaginary future children.

Babies with various shades of skin from my tourmaline to pale ivory, with mixes of brown and electric blue eyes and thick straight hair.

Fuck. No.

I couldn’t even believe I’d had that thought.

Shaking off any images of Ono and any fictional children we might have in the recesses of my overworked and under-fucked brain, I led the girls into my apartment with a wide smile that clearly bordered on psychotic if the looks they gave me were anything to go by.

“Shelly? You sure you’re feeling okay?”

We settled in my cozy living room, and I slid to the floor with the baby while Micky opened one of those travel play mat things mothers seemed to pull out of nowhere.

This one was adorable, done in jade green with tiny crawling bears all over it. I grinned. I didn’t know why, but it seemed like every single thing they made for baby boys had bears, dogs, cars, or balls on it.

“Yep. Cold’s gone. Now, is it tummy time?” I asked little Michael and blew raspberries on his sweet-smelling skin before laying him down.

“How is he doing with it?” I asked Micky.

“Oh, he’s doing great. So strong, like his father,” she said, grinning at her son.

“Micky here is already planning for rug rat number two. Can you believe it?” Andrea teased.

Lucy and Micky joined in, and I just sat back and watched, smiling softly at their playful needling.

Andrea pulled out a box of cookies from a local pastry shop. I took a jam filled one and nodded when Lucy got up to make tea without asking permission.

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