The Rampage MC #2: Beard and Emily

Chapter 1 (Emily): That Was Beneath You

OK, keep cool, tell him what you need to tell him and make a plan like reasonable adults. You got this, Emily Louise. You are both adults. He's a nice man. Probably. Just because you don't know his real name and you've been hooking up for three months isn't a bad sign. Things were casual and now they're...a bit more serious. The man runs a flipping MC. He's not going to lose his cool. We'll both stay calm, talk about how we move forward, co-parenting. It's all good.

The two lines on the pregnancy test confirmed what I'd suspected for the last two days. Now, at age 39, when I'd been told by so many doctors that getting pregnant just wasn't in the cards for me, I was pregnant.

Pregnant despite using a condom every single time, I idly wondered what this child I was carrying would look like. Who, I guess, would be more accurate. Beard was an older man, around late fifties, early sixties if I had to guess, and here I was, on the cusp of my fortieth birthday.

When I'd met him at a bar my friends had dragged me to one night -- a bar I soon found out was owned by the MC -- I'd immediately spotted him across the room, playing pool...and his eyes had been on me. Intense and unwavering. And he'd kept them on me as he made his shot.

And missed spectacularly.

I'd smiled huge at that, and he'd grinned right back at me, not caring in the least, and handed his cue off to someone. He headed right for me, blowing past anyone who tried to stop him. He was a handsome man, but those eyes of his captured me with their intensity.

No games. No nonsense. And since I'd been on an eight-month dry spell, when he'd asked want to, I'd said, yes, please. My friends knew of him and gave Beard their not a creeper seal of approval. Since I knew they'd be safe together at the bar if I left, I felt comfortable going off with Beard. I'd offered to Uber to the MC's clubhouse because I'd had a vague idea that bikers didn't let just anyone on the backs of their bikes. Shaking his head, amused, he'd told me to get on.

I got on, held on and enjoyed the ride to the clubhouse. His bike only enhanced his sexiness, and he'd already been pretty darn irresistible.

Somehow, the man had kept his amazing body, and though he was beefy, it was all muscle bulk. And his stamina? I don't know if he had a Viagra drip, but the man could go for hours and was that unicorn lover who was seriously dedicated to his partner's multiple pleasure.

After that night three months ago, we'd meet up at the bar three or four times during the week. If I arrived at the bar first, Beard was never far behind, and I wondered if the bartender was telling him when I arrived because my schedule was somewhat erratic each week. Beard would arrive, we'd leave, and then have some fun.

Despite the passing months, the sum total of what I knew about Beard was that he was the president of the MC, he was called Beard or Prez by everyone, and he was the sexiest man I'd ever seen in my life. I'd thought he was a few years older than I was when I first met him, maybe mid-forties and prematurely gray, but he'd made a few comments that made me revise his age upward. His hair was as gray as his thick beard, but it just made him more swoon-worthy. A complete silver fox.

And now, I could add one more thing I knew about him to my short list: he was the father of my baby.

My mind still couldn't grasp that I was actually carrying a baby and that I was nine weeks along already. A serious lack of periods and no real symptoms other than exhaustion -- which is what had me running to the doctor, finally -- had let me be near the end of my first trimester before I'd even realized anything. Good thing I wasn't a drinker since there was always a possibility I'd be called in for a shift if things got busy at the hospital.