9. Let It Rip

Other than Duke, I haven't told the guys yet about the baby. No sense until I know for sure I'm the father, although I hope I am. From the moment I laid eyes on Whitney holding Remy, something stirred inside of me. I think I want this, to have an instant family.

As I'm heading out the door to Whitney's to do the paternity test, there's Storm in the kitchen of our apartment with all the ingredients out for homemade pizza. My mouth waters.

This is his thing, cooking, reading, and nerding. Only, he also loves video games and lifting weights. As a brawny guy, he takes up almost our entire kitchen, standing in the middle and stretching the pizza dough. Ex-man sits at the island counter eating pepperoni out of a bag and gawking at the box of the latest Red Dead game.

"There's the pro," Storm addresses me. "Just in time. Making my special pizza pie, thick with cheese, sausage, spinach and olives. After that, I'm ready to kick ass at video games all night."

"Can't. I have big plans," I announce. Despite my mouth watering, I put my loafers on by the door.

"Hm. No holes in your jeans, a button-down shirt, and after shave? The mighty pro player has a date," Ex-man observes. He's probably just jealous. "Tell us. Is it easier to get pussy now that you're on the Vipers?"

My smirk is the last thing they'll see of me tonight. "I don't know what you're talking about. I never had a problem getting pussy in the first place."

I play it off with my swagger out the door, when in reality my back muscles tense up, and I sweat. In the truck on the way to Whitney's, my left knee jiggles up and down, and my hands grip the steering wheel too tight.

"Hey Siri, call Baby Mama," I say, and the dashboard lights up with a phone icon, the line ringing through.

"Hello?" Whitney answers, the baby babbling in the background.

"I'm on my way. What kind of pizza do you and Remy like?"

"Pizza?"

"Yeah, you know, the Italian-American dish. Flat round dough with red sauce, sausage and cheese on top?"

"I know what it is. Why?" she chuckles, a light lilt through the phone into my ear.

"I'm starving. Thought I'd pick up dinner on the way."

"Oh. I didn't think you'd be staying."

Ouch. I'm only slightly deterred by that. "What'd you think? I'd stand at the front door, do the swab on Remy's cheek and leave? I thought I'd at least come in, talk with you, and see Remy again."

Her sigh comes through the phone loud and clear, as if she held the phone to her mouth on purpose to amplify the sound. "I only like cheese, and Remy still breast feeds, although recently I have him sampling baby food."

The mention of breasts puts an image in my head that distracts me, considering I'm driving. "I'll be there soon."

I'm starving. Since the Vipers' team nutritionist has me on this new eating plan, and today is my cheat day, having passed up Storm's pizza, I need to eat. So I arrive with an extra large pizza from my favorite shop, only second best to Storm's pizza pie.

She and Brad live in a penthouse apartment in a high-rise luxury building with a very prominent address on Rodeo Drive. I looked it up last night. With a price tag of ten thousand a month, Brad's sports management business must do very well.

"Hi," I greet Whitney when she opens the door, immediately noting the black minidress she's wearing, and her hair done nice, looking fit for a night on the town rather than a night in with the baby. If she dressed up for me, I like it.

"Hello." She gestures at me to walk in, and as I pass, there's her lemony fresh scent reaching my nose, very familiar from our night in Montana. My entire body lights up.

"Nice place," I comment, noting the magazine quality living room with rich brown leather couches, glass tables, and brass accents as I step inside.

"It's Brad's. Take your shoes off here and follow me to the family room. He prefers the baby and I use that room, as it's where the furniture and things are more kid-friendly." I follow behind her, mesmerized by the sway of her hips and her bare feet with sexy red painted toenails.

We pass through a child-proof gate and into a room off the kitchen with pale gray walls, and dark gray fabric covered sofa and chair. Children's toys are strewn about a thick rug of bold colors.

"Where's Remy?" I ask.

She scans the area. "He was hiding behind the arm of the couch, playing with something. Remy?"

On cue, the boy pops his head up and points. "Ne ne."

"Ne ne?" I quirk a brow, and she rolls her eyes.

"Brad calls me that, and Remy picked up on it, so instead of mama I'm?—"

"Ne ne," Remy shouts again. The grin on the little bugger is so cute. Still, that's not right. She deserves to be called mama. Definitely something we'll work on if I have any influence on the situation.

"I think he looks a lot like you. He has your eyes. Something about the mouth, too." I observe.

"You think so?"

"Yeah. He'll be a total heartbreaker someday." We stand awkwardly for a minute, watching Remy mouth a round purple ball in his hand, drool running down his chin. All of a sudden, he rips one, a guilty look on his face as he eyes his mother.

"Remy!" Whitney covers her forehead with a hand. Then he lets another fart fly.

"Good one, dude." I crack up. Can't help it. Then Remy laughs with me.

"Ugh. Don't encourage him. I've been dealing with poop all week. He had a little bug for a couple of days," she complains.

"Sorry, it's just funny."

"Well, if he was your child, I'd make you change him." She chuckles, but stomps across the room. "Come here, you. I can tell your diaper is ripe."

She carries him down the hall, and I make myself useful, scrounging plates and forks and napkins from the kitchen, and bringing it all and the pizza to a little table beside the island.The fancy dining table in the adjoining room seems a bit much for this occasion.

I also take in the view at the window from up here on the twentieth floor, not a patch of grass in sight for a child to play on. How can a kid be a kid in a tower like this? If he's mine, I'll give him a proper home. It honestly shocks me how willing and I am to change my single, playboy life for them so quickly.