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Two
Vee
ColtsFan69: You’re a little hottie. You sure you want a baby and not just a good hard fuck? I can give you both, but why don’t we start with the second and worry about the first later? Or never? Haha.
HungHorse: I’m good to the last drop too, pretty lady. Just call big John and he’ll give you what you need.
Harley4U: Heya, I’m that baby daddy you wanted, hun. All my swimmers are great at finding the target. Ya need proof? I’ve got seven kids already, all strapping sons. I breed true.
All my life, I’d believed my sweet, bucolic hometown of Crescent Cove, New York only contained honest, hardworking, salt of the Earth types like my family and friends. Some were of them were of the slightly wackier persuasion—like my mom, and even me to a point—but all in all, the townsfolk were decent people.
But I’d missed one salient point. Among all these wonderful, homespun citizens lived a secret group of frigging horndog freaks. And thanks to my misplaced post, I’d seemingly drawn them all out into the open.
At least into my inbox. Which I would need to bleach. Along with my eyes, brain, and psyche.
I had too many messages to even count them all. Before I’d posted, my inbox had contained five newsletters from different shops and places I frequented, along with a few emails from friends I still had to answer. I’d had no unread messages.
Now? The tiny number 118 blinked at me. How was that even possible? Crescent Cove wasn’t even that big of a town, and surely not everyone wanted to throw their, um, hat into the ring.
And it had only been three hours since I’d posted. Barely even that. What would be the status of my inbox by tonight?
That wasn’t even saying anything about my voicemails. And my Facebook messenger. And even my Facebook wall. Comments were coming in everywhere people could reach me.
Including through the front door of Brewed Awakening. You know, my job. For pity’s sake, didn’t people have a clue what was appropriate to discuss at work?
And yes, I’d gone down Inappropriate Lane with my accidental post—I’d meant to post on the CNY Singles’ group Facebook page—but still, a person’s workplace should be off-limits, right?
Not according to most of the customers who strolled up to the counter at the coffee shop today. Which of course I had to be working behind, since one of the other baristas had called off due to “bacterial some shit”.
I swear, the world was out to embarrass me as much as possible. As if I wasn’t already humiliated enough by my mistake.
“Victoria, surely a pretty girl like you can find a man the old-fashioned way. Why, when I was your age, my perky bosoms alone had me drawing in a long list of suitors.”
I kept my head down as I filled Mrs. Conroy’s order. She was one of the town’s biggest busybodies, and between her and Mrs. Gunderson, they kept the gossip lines flowing.
“It’s Veronica, Mrs. Conroy. Here’s your lemon-raspberry petit fours and one cherry lips blow pop.” I said the last part louder than necessary, pleased when she flushed from the starched collar of her blouse up to her hairline.
“Thank you, dear. But really, what were you thinking? You have to know no respectable man will want you after they hear you’ve had to…advertise.” Mrs. Conroy made a tsk-tsk noise that caused heat to climb up the back of my neck. I was about to duck my head again when I threw back my shoulders.
I wasn’t anyone’s shrinking violet. So what if I wanted a baby and didn’t want to wait forever for Mr. Right Now to storm into my world? Was that a crime?
No, it certainly was not. So, I was taking charge. Controlling my destiny. Asking for batter to make my own cake.
It was what I did. What I was good at. And I wasn’t going to pretend to be contrite about it either. More people knew about my plans than I’d originally wanted, but that was okay. It must’ve been meant to occur this way or it wouldn’t have happened. One of Andrea Marie Fortuna Dixon’s—also known as my mother’s—life mantras must’ve rubbed off, because I believed in fate. This was destiny, my post going awry. My semen slinger was out there, just waiting, and I was going to bag him and bring him home.
Or to the Hummingbird’s Nest for a night of classy sex. Whatever.
“I didn’t advertise for a hookup, Mrs. Conroy. I placed an ad because I want a baby.” Unfortunately, my voice carried more than I’d intended, and a couple of the guys in line behind Mrs. Conroy snickered. They were college students from the looks of things.
At least maybe they didn’t know about my post? A girl could hope.
Mrs. Conroy shook her head and toddled off, allowing the college guys to step forward. “Tall Americano,” the blond one in front said. “And my man Josh here wants me to tell you he hasn’t tried to make a baby yet, but if you’re asking, he’s picking up the phone.” Much laughter and shoving.
I ignored their antics and glanced at the dark-haired guy that must be Josh. “You want a coffee?”
He shook his head, his eyes huge and his cheeks reddening by the minute.
Inhaling a deep breath, I turned to make the Americano. It was like second nature at this point, thank God. If I’d had to do anything that required serious thought, I’d be screwed.
