Making His Baby(9)

By: Lulu Pratt

“Does that mean you’re going to join me for a drink?” He leans in, speaking at just above a whisper. The restaurant is crowded, but all that noise is barely registering on me. Like a viper dancing before its master, Blake has hypnotized me.

“What do you think?” I say, swallowing the cake, nice and slow.

“I think you’re going to.” He smiles a little as he speaks. As if he knows the answer before I even say it.

“Again, I’m going to suggest that you fire that fortune-teller of yours because there’s no way that I’m coming back to your place.”

I don’t look at him as I speak, but somehow, I’ve managed to resist him, even though I hate myself at the moment.

“She will be disappointed. But not as much as me.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage,” I say, smirking to myself.

I couldn’t be prouder of the self-control I’m exhibiting. Plus, something tells me that he isn’t used to be rejected. That thought fills me with indescribable warmth.

“I’m sure I will, Carrie.”


Blake drives a very modern, very expensive and very fast car. It’s one that I don’t recognize, and even as he tells me the name, it doesn’t ring a bell.

“So, this is you?” He asks as his car pulls up in front of my apartment building. It’s a small building, only housing four studio apartments. Mine is the smallest of the lot, too, and by the far the cheapest.

“This is me,” I confirm as I open the car door.

As I do, his hand reaches out and touches my shoulder. It sends a shiver up my spine as goosebumps break out across my skin.

“I’ll call you, okay?” He asks.

“I hope you do,” I say, smiling at him.

Then, just as I am about to climb from the car, his hand moves from my shoulder to behind my head. He pulls me to him, and I find myself moving. I can’t stop myself. I don’t want to stop.

I have been glancing at his lips all night, wondering what he tastes like. As our lips meet, I am not disappointed. I could kiss him for hours, days even. But I am playing a game, and at the moment, I am winning.

After no more than a second, I pull myself from his lips, offer him another smile, and climb from the car. Walking up to my apartment, I turn back slightly and offer him a short wave before disappearing.

The entire walk to my front door, I think about what I am doing. Should I turn around, jump in his car and go back to his place? It takes all my willpower to assure myself that I am making the right decision. But even still, as I walk through my front door and into my cold, lonely apartment, I’m not so sure.

I go to the window and see that he has already driven away. Even if I had changed my mind, he has already made it up for me.

Chapter 7


After watching Carrie walk inside, I pull my Aston Martin out onto the street. It’s all I can do to keep my eyes and mind on the road as I slowly navigate my way back to my house.

I just can’t believe how that date went. And not just how it went, but how it ended.

Right from the get go, I could sense the spark. Right from the start, that spark ignited a flame between the two of us that burned brighter and stronger as the night progressed. And as we ate, drank and laughed, I was sure that tonight she would be mine.

And yet here I am, driving home alone.

The funny thing is, now I only want her more. She has this power over me that she is surely aware of. I know she is. She lures me in with her light flirting and playful banter, only to sidestep my advances like a pro. I have never met a woman like her. I am, without a doubt, going to see her again. I have to.

I pull my Aston Martin up to my house, and I have to blink myself back into reality. That drive, one that takes at least thirty minutes, feels like it took ten seconds. The entire way, my mind was occupied with thoughts of Carrie, and even now, I can’t for the life of me think how I managed to get home.

My house is a pretty lush kind of a place. It’s a two-story affair, located just off Beverly Hills. I had the option of living in Beverly Hills, but that isn’t really my scene. The people there are all born into money, and I’ve never really been able to connect with them.

So instead I opted to buy a place that is close enough to carry the same kind of cache as Beverly Hills but houses different sorts. The people I work with remind me that I don’t fit in with them either. Which is fine, as I am doing well enough that I don’t need their connections or their inherited wealth, while I have the drive and intelligence to ensure that I succeed on my own terms.

I’ve always found that’s the problem with coming from nothing. I don’t connect with anyone. Not really, anyway. My high-school reunion           confirmed that I’ve outgrown those I grew up with.

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