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Baby Maker Quotes
Baby Maker
by
P. Dangelico4,882 ratings, 3.84 average rating, 558 reviews
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Baby Maker Quotes
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“I will always keep you safe. Even on the days you hate me and wish you never met me…I’ll be here.”
― Baby Maker
― Baby Maker
“He finally gets off the bike and I realize how tall he is in comparison to everyone around him. I’m talking freakishly tall. The pictures online, of him on the football field, do not do this guy justice. He’s proportionate, though. Which is probably why he didn’t look like a freak in pictures.”
― Baby Maker
― Baby Maker
“You’re Puerto Rican.”
“American––I was born here. Half Cuban, if that’s what you’re asking. On my mother’s side.”
“Right,” he said, like it’s the same thing.
“Is that a problem?”
His face lit up with another sly grin. “Hell no. I like seasonin’ on my white meat.”
― Baby Maker
“American––I was born here. Half Cuban, if that’s what you’re asking. On my mother’s side.”
“Right,” he said, like it’s the same thing.
“Is that a problem?”
His face lit up with another sly grin. “Hell no. I like seasonin’ on my white meat.”
― Baby Maker
“I’m having a baby.”
Cue the pregnant pause––pun intended. On the other side of the pond, my brother’s confused expression says it all.
“With who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Jesus, you don’t know who the father is? How many people are you dating?”
“Shut up. I’m not pregnant yet. I’m searching for a man to share parental responsibility.”
“What?”
“Co-parenting. We legally share a child.”
“Like a sperm donor?” He looks unhappy with this turn of events. As much as I love my brother, and I do, he’s a total caveman when it suits him.
“I’ll volunteer my sperm,” a deep voice shouts in the background.
Alex turns in the direction of the voice. “Not if I stuff your nuts down your throat first, Hayes. That’s my baby sister you’re talking about.”
“By a minute,” I feel the need to clarify.
“You’re still my baby sister.” ”
― Baby Maker
Cue the pregnant pause––pun intended. On the other side of the pond, my brother’s confused expression says it all.
“With who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Jesus, you don’t know who the father is? How many people are you dating?”
“Shut up. I’m not pregnant yet. I’m searching for a man to share parental responsibility.”
“What?”
“Co-parenting. We legally share a child.”
“Like a sperm donor?” He looks unhappy with this turn of events. As much as I love my brother, and I do, he’s a total caveman when it suits him.
“I’ll volunteer my sperm,” a deep voice shouts in the background.
Alex turns in the direction of the voice. “Not if I stuff your nuts down your throat first, Hayes. That’s my baby sister you’re talking about.”
“By a minute,” I feel the need to clarify.
“You’re still my baby sister.” ”
― Baby Maker
“It’s not that I don’t believe in love. I believe in it. It’s that I don’t believe it lasts. Over time all the little hurts pile up, inflicting damage upon damage until one day nothing is left other than the chalk outline and the stink of decay of a once great love.
Why bother getting married when the end is already written in. Why fight over old hurts that will never heal? Why make lawyers rich over an ugly side table lamp that neither of you really want?”
― Baby Maker
Why bother getting married when the end is already written in. Why fight over old hurts that will never heal? Why make lawyers rich over an ugly side table lamp that neither of you really want?”
― Baby Maker
“I wasn’t a wallflower in high school. Wallflower implies cute girl that no one notices until everyone does. In other words, implausible fiction perpetuated by Hollywood.
I was more the dull gray wall. I didn’t exist. Not because I was shunned, but because I was so busy trying to escape my life that high school felt like a speed bump, something I had to get over to get to the good stuff.”
― Baby Maker
I was more the dull gray wall. I didn’t exist. Not because I was shunned, but because I was so busy trying to escape my life that high school felt like a speed bump, something I had to get over to get to the good stuff.”
― Baby Maker
“I’m taking a shower,” he announces, not sparing me a glance as he moves past me and into the bathroom.
This is way above my pay grade. I don’t possess the necessary training to make sense of this behavior.
Twenty minutes later, I’m tucked into the cozy bed, reading glasses on, Delia’s latest manuscript on Dane’s iPad when he steps out of the bathroom.
Aaaand I instantly turn into Joan of Arc, burned at the stake. Except the heat doesn’t start at my feet. Noooo. It starts between my legs and spreads forth. By the time it reaches my face, there’s a veil of sweat above my lips. Not attractive.
A wall of finely sculpted flesh walks further into the room with only a scrap of towel to hide the extra good parts. There’s so much razzle dazzle to take in my mind locks onto one area. His abdominal muscles.
Mother of gee oh dee, what kind of torture must one endure to get those? So cut they don’t even look real. Mentally, I’m poking them with my index finger to see if they poke back.
Until something intrudes in the periphery of my vision. South of these spectacular ab muscles, the towel wrapped around his waist starts to rise. That’s when I hear a snapping of fingers. A large hand immediately comes into view and more snapping of fingers.
“Eyes up, Shorty. Or you’ll get more of a show than you bargained for.”
My gaze makes a swift trip back up to his face. His mouth is twisted in a grimace and his eyebrow arched.
He’s not happy I was looking…whatever. “Don’t look so scared. I pinky promise not to molest you.”
His eyes widen while his lips thin. “You know what, it’s still early. I’m gonna get a workout in. I’ll be back later.”
A workout? At 9 p.m.?
He doesn’t even wait for me to respond. He grabs his clothes in a hurry, and a moment later he’s gone. I know I don’t have a ton of experience with men but this can’t be normal behavior. This has got to be far from normal behavior.”
― Baby Maker
This is way above my pay grade. I don’t possess the necessary training to make sense of this behavior.
Twenty minutes later, I’m tucked into the cozy bed, reading glasses on, Delia’s latest manuscript on Dane’s iPad when he steps out of the bathroom.
Aaaand I instantly turn into Joan of Arc, burned at the stake. Except the heat doesn’t start at my feet. Noooo. It starts between my legs and spreads forth. By the time it reaches my face, there’s a veil of sweat above my lips. Not attractive.
A wall of finely sculpted flesh walks further into the room with only a scrap of towel to hide the extra good parts. There’s so much razzle dazzle to take in my mind locks onto one area. His abdominal muscles.
Mother of gee oh dee, what kind of torture must one endure to get those? So cut they don’t even look real. Mentally, I’m poking them with my index finger to see if they poke back.
Until something intrudes in the periphery of my vision. South of these spectacular ab muscles, the towel wrapped around his waist starts to rise. That’s when I hear a snapping of fingers. A large hand immediately comes into view and more snapping of fingers.
“Eyes up, Shorty. Or you’ll get more of a show than you bargained for.”
My gaze makes a swift trip back up to his face. His mouth is twisted in a grimace and his eyebrow arched.
He’s not happy I was looking…whatever. “Don’t look so scared. I pinky promise not to molest you.”
His eyes widen while his lips thin. “You know what, it’s still early. I’m gonna get a workout in. I’ll be back later.”
A workout? At 9 p.m.?
He doesn’t even wait for me to respond. He grabs his clothes in a hurry, and a moment later he’s gone. I know I don’t have a ton of experience with men but this can’t be normal behavior. This has got to be far from normal behavior.”
― Baby Maker
“You’re carrying my child. That makes us family…whether you like it or not, Shorty.” His voice is gentle, but the force behind it brooks no argument.
“We don’t know if I’m pregnant.”
“Let’s think positive. And you need to lie down. Doctor’s orders.”
“There’s no real data supporting––”
“The doctor said you should lie down,” he says, talking over me. “You wanna do somethin’ to jeopardize this baby?”
Sigh. I’m not going to argue over semantics. One of the things I’ve learned to appreciate about him is the transparency of his thoughts. I seldom have to guess what Dane is thinking or feeling because his face tells me. And right now I can tell by the look on his face he’s ready to argue to his last breath over this.
“Fine…but I don’t like to eat in bed.”
He replies with a smug grin. No surprise.
Leading Dane to my bedroom feels weird, weirdly intimate. I pause at the threshold. He takes one look at the bed I speak of and gasps, eyebrows high up his forehead.
“A California king?”
Everybody’s got a fetish. Mine is oversized luxury mattresses. No doubt this stems from the lumpy twin I grew up sleeping in. A shrink would have a field day with this, among other things, which is why I’ve never seen one.
“I like big beds,” I mutter, as I lie down, propped up by a stuffed headboard and a mountain of pillows piled up behind me.
“Marry me?”
“No.”
“Glad we got that out of the way. Hand me the remote.”
Placing his dish down on the side table, he gets into bed, legs spread apart to accommodate the size of his ego. Once he’s made himself comfortable, he grabs his dish and starts eating.
“You have two choices,” I tell him. “Housewives of Atlanta, or the Food Network?” He stops chewing his pasta to give me a dirty look. “Housewives it is.”
― Baby Maker
“We don’t know if I’m pregnant.”
“Let’s think positive. And you need to lie down. Doctor’s orders.”
“There’s no real data supporting––”
“The doctor said you should lie down,” he says, talking over me. “You wanna do somethin’ to jeopardize this baby?”
Sigh. I’m not going to argue over semantics. One of the things I’ve learned to appreciate about him is the transparency of his thoughts. I seldom have to guess what Dane is thinking or feeling because his face tells me. And right now I can tell by the look on his face he’s ready to argue to his last breath over this.
“Fine…but I don’t like to eat in bed.”
He replies with a smug grin. No surprise.
Leading Dane to my bedroom feels weird, weirdly intimate. I pause at the threshold. He takes one look at the bed I speak of and gasps, eyebrows high up his forehead.
“A California king?”
Everybody’s got a fetish. Mine is oversized luxury mattresses. No doubt this stems from the lumpy twin I grew up sleeping in. A shrink would have a field day with this, among other things, which is why I’ve never seen one.
“I like big beds,” I mutter, as I lie down, propped up by a stuffed headboard and a mountain of pillows piled up behind me.
“Marry me?”
“No.”
“Glad we got that out of the way. Hand me the remote.”
Placing his dish down on the side table, he gets into bed, legs spread apart to accommodate the size of his ego. Once he’s made himself comfortable, he grabs his dish and starts eating.
“You have two choices,” I tell him. “Housewives of Atlanta, or the Food Network?” He stops chewing his pasta to give me a dirty look. “Housewives it is.”
― Baby Maker
“I still don’t know what possessed me to invite myself on this trip. Except, as he stood there in my doorway in a suit––and bless his heart he’d tried to tame his hair––looking so unlike himself, so concerned and a bit lost, my heart leapt in my chest. It did all the speaking for me. This is the father of your child and he needs your support, it said and since my heart rarely, if ever, speaks to me, I listened.
Also, and this must be said, when it speaks, my heart sounds a lot like Morgan Freeman. So, as you can imagine, it’s hard to ignore. Only after I boarded the small jet did I remember how much I hate flying.”
― Baby Maker
Also, and this must be said, when it speaks, my heart sounds a lot like Morgan Freeman. So, as you can imagine, it’s hard to ignore. Only after I boarded the small jet did I remember how much I hate flying.”
― Baby Maker
“I know the food isn’t…okay but…” he tells his father. Trying to pacify Mr. Wylder is beginning to seem an impossible task and to Dane’s credit, he’s been having this conversation since the crack of dawn and hasn’t lost his temper once.
Side note: it hasn’t escaped my notice that witnessing how patient he is with his father means he’ll be patient with our child. I grasp onto this discovery with both hands and hold it close to my heart.
“No, you’re not. And if you give me one more minute of grief, Stella and I are gettin’ on the next flight back to New York…that’s what I thought…okay. We’ll see you in a couple of hours. Yep.”
I stand corrected.
Ending the call, he exhales tiredly. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“That was a bit harsh, don’t you think?”
“He was seconds from runnin’ out of there bare-assed. I had to steal his clothes last night ’cause I knew what was coming.”
“Oh,” is all I can say, a smile overtaking my face.”
― Baby Maker
Side note: it hasn’t escaped my notice that witnessing how patient he is with his father means he’ll be patient with our child. I grasp onto this discovery with both hands and hold it close to my heart.
“No, you’re not. And if you give me one more minute of grief, Stella and I are gettin’ on the next flight back to New York…that’s what I thought…okay. We’ll see you in a couple of hours. Yep.”
I stand corrected.
Ending the call, he exhales tiredly. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“That was a bit harsh, don’t you think?”
“He was seconds from runnin’ out of there bare-assed. I had to steal his clothes last night ’cause I knew what was coming.”
“Oh,” is all I can say, a smile overtaking my face.”
― Baby Maker
“Let me get it,” he says, standing much too close for my comfort. It’s downright suffocating.
“Not a chance, darlin’,” I drawl, giving him a dose of his own medicine.
I hand the youngish sales lady my tags and bury my gaze inside my purse in search of my wallet. When I look up, I find a loopy smile on her face and it’s directed at him. The happy bastard smiles right back.
“Are you two done? Can I pay for these, or would you like to go on a date before you ring me up?”
They both turn to stare. She’s cherry red and pushing all the wrong buttons on the register while Dane’s busy scowling at me. I hand her my credit card without taking my eyes off of him.
“Did I do something to you, Stella?”
The thing is, I’m not mad at him. I’m mad at myself. I cannot believe that I allowed myself to fall under his spell. I don’t blame the sales girl either. She never stood a chance under the magnetic force that is Dane Wylder. I fell for it and I’ve been vaccinated against this particular virulent disease. I have Paul Donovan to thank for that.
Turning back to the sales person, I take the receipt she hands me. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “Hormones––they’re wreaking havoc.”
“Oh, I get the same way when I get my period,” she replies in the sweetest drawl.
“Thanks for your help,” I tell her in an apologetic tone.
With that I walk away from the counter, and the two of them. A second later a big hand grabs a hold of my upper arm. I stop and turn, my expression not a happy one.
“You didn’t answer me?”
“No, Dane. You did nothing. Like I said, it’s the hormones.”
He looks pensive, his sexy lips pursed as he’s mulling this over. “We should get you some ice cream.”
I don’t know whether to laugh, or cry. He genuinely thinks ice cream is the solution to our problem? Then again he doesn’t have a problem.
I’m the one with the urge. I’m the one with the craving. Unless ice cream comes in a flavor called Sweaty Sex With Dane, I don’t want it…and about as smart as jumping out of a plane with no parachute. The ride will be fast and thrilling and most certainly prove painful when I hit bottom.
“What does ice cream have to do with it?”
“Maybe it’ll make you nicer. You know, take the edge off.”
My eyes automatically narrow. “Maybe we need to give each other space.”
“No,” he huffs, arms crossed in front of his broad chest, his shirt straining against the swell of his pecs, expression locked in the determined position.
“No?”
“No. No space. I see what you’re doing here. This is some kinda female mental jujitsu. You say you want space, but you don’t really want it.”
I’m seconds from punching him in the nut sac, which is almost directly in my line of sight. There is something to be said about being short. Or for him being grotesquely tall.
“I…I’m going to…I can’t.” I flee to the cosmetics department in search of the Holy Grail, a flat iron, before I do or say something I’ll regret.
And find one. Thank the Lord. This goes a small way to propping up my mood. I’m almost tempted to purchase two.”
― Baby Maker
“Not a chance, darlin’,” I drawl, giving him a dose of his own medicine.
I hand the youngish sales lady my tags and bury my gaze inside my purse in search of my wallet. When I look up, I find a loopy smile on her face and it’s directed at him. The happy bastard smiles right back.
“Are you two done? Can I pay for these, or would you like to go on a date before you ring me up?”
They both turn to stare. She’s cherry red and pushing all the wrong buttons on the register while Dane’s busy scowling at me. I hand her my credit card without taking my eyes off of him.
“Did I do something to you, Stella?”
The thing is, I’m not mad at him. I’m mad at myself. I cannot believe that I allowed myself to fall under his spell. I don’t blame the sales girl either. She never stood a chance under the magnetic force that is Dane Wylder. I fell for it and I’ve been vaccinated against this particular virulent disease. I have Paul Donovan to thank for that.
Turning back to the sales person, I take the receipt she hands me. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “Hormones––they’re wreaking havoc.”
“Oh, I get the same way when I get my period,” she replies in the sweetest drawl.
“Thanks for your help,” I tell her in an apologetic tone.
With that I walk away from the counter, and the two of them. A second later a big hand grabs a hold of my upper arm. I stop and turn, my expression not a happy one.
“You didn’t answer me?”
“No, Dane. You did nothing. Like I said, it’s the hormones.”
He looks pensive, his sexy lips pursed as he’s mulling this over. “We should get you some ice cream.”
I don’t know whether to laugh, or cry. He genuinely thinks ice cream is the solution to our problem? Then again he doesn’t have a problem.
I’m the one with the urge. I’m the one with the craving. Unless ice cream comes in a flavor called Sweaty Sex With Dane, I don’t want it…and about as smart as jumping out of a plane with no parachute. The ride will be fast and thrilling and most certainly prove painful when I hit bottom.
“What does ice cream have to do with it?”
“Maybe it’ll make you nicer. You know, take the edge off.”
My eyes automatically narrow. “Maybe we need to give each other space.”
“No,” he huffs, arms crossed in front of his broad chest, his shirt straining against the swell of his pecs, expression locked in the determined position.
“No?”
“No. No space. I see what you’re doing here. This is some kinda female mental jujitsu. You say you want space, but you don’t really want it.”
I’m seconds from punching him in the nut sac, which is almost directly in my line of sight. There is something to be said about being short. Or for him being grotesquely tall.
“I…I’m going to…I can’t.” I flee to the cosmetics department in search of the Holy Grail, a flat iron, before I do or say something I’ll regret.
And find one. Thank the Lord. This goes a small way to propping up my mood. I’m almost tempted to purchase two.”
― Baby Maker
“While we ate, Mr. Wylder regaled me with stories about Dane’s childhood. During which the person in question sat quietly in the corner, sullenly feigning disinterest, and devoured his food.
Much to his chagrin, I now know that Dane was still wetting the bed at five and his first word was kiss. Apparently, his mother was always asking for a kiss and Dane took to kissing like a boss. Hence, a player was born.”
― Baby Maker
Much to his chagrin, I now know that Dane was still wetting the bed at five and his first word was kiss. Apparently, his mother was always asking for a kiss and Dane took to kissing like a boss. Hence, a player was born.”
― Baby Maker
“The hollow knock of boot heels against the wooden porch catches up with me. Low and behold, I have company.
“Stella.”
“I can’t do this.” Without a pause, I cross the gravel driveway on my way to the barn. “I feel gross lying to your father. I’m mortified of what he’ll think of me if he ever finds out. I should go back to New York.”
“You’re calling an audible now?!”
My feet skid to a stop, kicking up dust. Pivoting, I direct my confusion at the man who spoke. “In English would be good. Spanish works too.”
“You can’t leave me. Band of brothers!”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“We’re a team. No man left behind!”
“You’re getting weirder by the second. First, we’re not on the gridiron. And second, if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, it’s no child left behind. And you are no child––most of the time.” I mutter the last part, though judging by the v between his brows he heard me all the same.
“Birds of a feather stick together?”
― Baby Maker
“Stella.”
“I can’t do this.” Without a pause, I cross the gravel driveway on my way to the barn. “I feel gross lying to your father. I’m mortified of what he’ll think of me if he ever finds out. I should go back to New York.”
“You’re calling an audible now?!”
My feet skid to a stop, kicking up dust. Pivoting, I direct my confusion at the man who spoke. “In English would be good. Spanish works too.”
“You can’t leave me. Band of brothers!”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“We’re a team. No man left behind!”
“You’re getting weirder by the second. First, we’re not on the gridiron. And second, if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, it’s no child left behind. And you are no child––most of the time.” I mutter the last part, though judging by the v between his brows he heard me all the same.
“Birds of a feather stick together?”
― Baby Maker
“I love women. I love their bodies. I love their brains. But as fun as they are, and they are fun, they are also devious, faithless creatures.
Who do you think tracked down Bin Laden? That’s right, a woman. You want loyalty? Get a dog. You want to be robbed of your money and your masculinity? Get married.”
― Baby Maker
Who do you think tracked down Bin Laden? That’s right, a woman. You want loyalty? Get a dog. You want to be robbed of your money and your masculinity? Get married.”
― Baby Maker
“Life is not lived in absolutes. Life is lived in between absolutes.”
― Baby Maker
― Baby Maker
“Can I have your sperm?”
“Umm, no,” says my very handsome friend. He’s standing in the doorway of his stunning Upper East Side townhouse, wearing a completely bewildered expression. Who can blame him? It’s 10 p.m. and I’m in my pajamas, my bunned-up hair hanging askew off my head.
“Before you say no, hear me out––”
“No,” he repeats as if I haven’t just given him instructions. He eyeballs my pjs with the pigs with wings pattern on them. A joke gift Delia bought me when she told me she sleeps naked and I said I would do that when pigs fly. They’re very comfy.
“Are you in your pajamas?”
“Yes.” I push past him to get inside. “I’m prepared to assume all cost,” I rush to say, my voice high and marked with desperation. “You know my financial situation. You know I don’t need help in that regard. And you can participate as little or as much as you want in raising our child––”
“Slow down, Stella––”
“Jeff said no...”
I walk directly into his living room and come to an abrupt stop. Stacks of cardboard boxes are everywhere.
“Are you moving?”
“Yes.” Ethan brushes a hand over his gorgeous face. “Where’s this coming from?”
“I want a baby and the gays said I was too structured. And we’re friends, right? We respect each other, right?”
“Wait? What gays?”
“The architect, and the professor of economics at Columbia. Keep up, will you.”
Ethan chuckles and I glare back. This wasn’t supposed to be this hard. And it’s poking at all my sore spots.
“I really liked the professor. He’s the one that said I was too structured. The architect said he found a more geographically suitable candidate, but I’m pretty sure he was lying because I would’ve moved uptown if that was the only issue.”
“Okay––” he says, taking a deep breath, his hands on his hips. “You want a baby.”
“Yes.”
“So go to a sperm bank.”
“Too anonymous.”
“I’m not giving you my sperm, Stella. I’m moving to Los Angeles in less than two weeks and I’m getting married. I don’t think she’d be too keen on me handing over my sperm.”
Stunned, I rock back on my heels. “What?! To who?”
“To a woman I’m in love with.” He smiles then, the sweetest of smiles, and I know he’s serious. “Camilla’s friend.” At my blank response he continues, “The actress––we haven’t talked in months.”
“I called.”
“To tell me my investments are up thirteen percent.”
“You’re up fourteen for the year now. And you said you were too busy for a drink.”
“You canceled the last time.”
Totally dejected, I slump down on the armrest of his couch. “You were the last name on my list.” I can’t keep the disappointment out of my voice. I’m so bummed I may start to cry and I am not a crier.
Ethan chuckles softly. “Wow, thanks.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Why not a sperm bank?”
“I want my kid to know his or her father. I don’t want to tell them I bought their father.”
― Baby Maker
“Umm, no,” says my very handsome friend. He’s standing in the doorway of his stunning Upper East Side townhouse, wearing a completely bewildered expression. Who can blame him? It’s 10 p.m. and I’m in my pajamas, my bunned-up hair hanging askew off my head.
“Before you say no, hear me out––”
“No,” he repeats as if I haven’t just given him instructions. He eyeballs my pjs with the pigs with wings pattern on them. A joke gift Delia bought me when she told me she sleeps naked and I said I would do that when pigs fly. They’re very comfy.
“Are you in your pajamas?”
“Yes.” I push past him to get inside. “I’m prepared to assume all cost,” I rush to say, my voice high and marked with desperation. “You know my financial situation. You know I don’t need help in that regard. And you can participate as little or as much as you want in raising our child––”
“Slow down, Stella––”
“Jeff said no...”
I walk directly into his living room and come to an abrupt stop. Stacks of cardboard boxes are everywhere.
“Are you moving?”
“Yes.” Ethan brushes a hand over his gorgeous face. “Where’s this coming from?”
“I want a baby and the gays said I was too structured. And we’re friends, right? We respect each other, right?”
“Wait? What gays?”
“The architect, and the professor of economics at Columbia. Keep up, will you.”
Ethan chuckles and I glare back. This wasn’t supposed to be this hard. And it’s poking at all my sore spots.
“I really liked the professor. He’s the one that said I was too structured. The architect said he found a more geographically suitable candidate, but I’m pretty sure he was lying because I would’ve moved uptown if that was the only issue.”
“Okay––” he says, taking a deep breath, his hands on his hips. “You want a baby.”
“Yes.”
“So go to a sperm bank.”
“Too anonymous.”
“I’m not giving you my sperm, Stella. I’m moving to Los Angeles in less than two weeks and I’m getting married. I don’t think she’d be too keen on me handing over my sperm.”
Stunned, I rock back on my heels. “What?! To who?”
“To a woman I’m in love with.” He smiles then, the sweetest of smiles, and I know he’s serious. “Camilla’s friend.” At my blank response he continues, “The actress––we haven’t talked in months.”
“I called.”
“To tell me my investments are up thirteen percent.”
“You’re up fourteen for the year now. And you said you were too busy for a drink.”
“You canceled the last time.”
Totally dejected, I slump down on the armrest of his couch. “You were the last name on my list.” I can’t keep the disappointment out of my voice. I’m so bummed I may start to cry and I am not a crier.
Ethan chuckles softly. “Wow, thanks.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Why not a sperm bank?”
“I want my kid to know his or her father. I don’t want to tell them I bought their father.”
― Baby Maker
“That the Japanese believe broken things are more beautiful for the history they tell. They even go a step further, repairing pottery with gold and silver, turning the damage into something precious. Kintsukuroi, they call it.”
― Baby Maker
― Baby Maker
