As a single mom in a small town, there's only one thing I want. Another baby. When all the roads to getting what I want lead to dead ends, I turn to one of my best friends for help.
In my mind, Trent Castillo is the perfect baby daddy. He has good g...
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My phone is face up on the table when it vibrates with a message. My Emily is on my screen as the sender, and I'm sure Carrie, my date, has seen it when her eyebrows go up. She gives me a furtive glance, probably because she knows I don't have any sisters. We've done the idle chit-chat while we ordered and waited for our food to arrive. She knew who Grady, my brother, was when she asked me out.
Honestly, having a super famous brother hasn't been so bad for getting dates. Fame adjacent appeals to a surprising number of women.
We've been having an okay enough time, but I'm pretty sure no matter what Emily has said, this date is going to end early.
"Who's that?" Carrie asks, clearly trying to read whatever Emily has written.
I put down my fork and pick up my phone without letting my internal sigh out. My Emily has been saved as her contact for a while. We were all drinking and hanging out when my drunken self imputed it as a joke along with My Lila, which turned out to be less of a joke when Lila took it a little too literally.
Thankfully, Emily has not.
"I hate to do this," I hedge as I read Emily's, clearly, drunken text message that is a mash of garbly goop. She either needs to learn how to use voice to text better, or she really does need glasses, like I suggested last time she sent me something that almost required me to download a translation app. She claimed her incoherence was because she was speaking instead of typing—basically blaming her tech. Even I know you gotta proofread that shit before you hit send.
I check Emily's location on my phone and pull out my wallet to put some bills on the table. "I've got a friend in need."
"Is "friend" code for girlfriend? Are you one of those guys?" Carrie glares at me, already deciding I'm guilty.
"Nah," I say. "Em's my buddy, but I do admit I have a soft spot for damsels in distress." I don't suggest we can redo our date again sometime. If a first date leads to accusatory and possessive behavior, that doesn't bode well for the casual relationships I enjoy most.
After my brother, Grady, met the last woman I went out with a handful of times, he told me that for a guy who claimed to dislike drama, I certainly liked fucking it. His comment gives me a brief moment of pause now every time I find a woman attractive or get hit on by someone. Given my history, marriage and kids isn't exactly the goal, so high drama women in short stints is entertaining, at least. But even I know those relationships aren't sustainable long term. That's kinda the point.
"Guys like you don't put "my" anyone in their phone if they don't mean it," she says, rising from her seat in a huff. "Don't insult my intelligence. You're clearly lying."
"You can finish your meal," I say, gesturing to her half-eaten fish and chip dinner. There was no point in trying to convince her that a tattooed ex-con like me is exactly the kind of guy who'd put "my" in front of a good friend. I did it as a joke after Emily and Lila said I was the softest tough guy they'd ever met, but I kept it because the label is true. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for the Sullivan women, which included Lila until it couldn't anymore.
