Baby on the Bad Boy’s Doorstep
She stopped crying and opened her eyes, and he swore to God in that moment, when her large blue eyes latched onto his, when he felt a jolt of recognition run through his body, that this was his kid.
Except she was scarier than him, especially as her mouth opened wider and she let out a roar that would scare the crap out of a bear. What the hell was he going to do? Jack. Jack knew about babies—he had two.
He grabbed his phone and called his friend. “Yeah?”
“I have a situation,” he managed to choke out.
“Take a cab.”
“No, you idiot, I’m not wasted, I’m at home. You need to get over here. Now.”
He heard grumbling, muttering, and then finally, “Be there in ten.”
“Wait. Bring baby things.”
“Baby things. Like, whatever a baby would need to, you know…live.”
“Oh man, this is starting to sound really bad.”
He hung up the phone and looked down at the baby. His daughter. Or Tess Junior, as the name on the birth certificate stated. He was going to have to change that when he applied for paternity. If he applied. If she was his.