Who’s the Daddy Read online

  Who’s the Daddy

  Dirty DILFs #3

  Taryn Quinn

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Who’s the Daddy

  © 2018 Taryn Quinn

  Rainbow Rage Publishing

  Cover by: LateNite Designs

  Photo by Shutterstock

  All Rights Are Reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First ebook edition: Taryn Quinn, July 2018

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  He was only supposed to deliver a pizza. And yes, I ordered sausage, but I never expected such a personal…touch.

  I’m a good girl. I teach little kids, brake for squirrels, and always donate to cookie drives though I so don't need the extra ten pounds.

  My sympathetic nature led to me sleeping with my ex after his granny’s funeral. The next day, he dumped me—again—via text, and I decided I needed a fresh start.

  Luckily, I found a new apartment near my new school. Yay me. I also found myself unexpectedly naked with Dare, the smoking hot, single dad mechanic who works next door.

  Dare did more than clean my spark plugs that night, let me tell you.

  Then my worlds collide when Dare shows up at his son’s parent-teacher conference.

  Next thing I know, surprise! Pregnant.

  Dare knows I’m worried about my job at the Catholic school. And about how I’m going to handle the baby that might be his.

  Please, God, let it be his.

  I just never expected Dare to propose marriage. And he wants me to become his wife in all ways.

  Especially the Biblical ones.

  Author’s note: Who’s The Daddy is a romantic comedy with a HEA ending and no cliffhanger.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Taryn Quinn

  Oblivion Series

  The Boss

  Cari Quinn

  Taryn Elliott

  About the Authors

  One

  I faced the chaos in front of me and propped my hands on my hips.

  What had I done?

  Oh, right. I had declared to the universe that I deserved the perfect new home. And somehow I’d gotten one.

  Well, I’d gotten this.

  I’d driven up Main Street in Crescent Cove with Oblivion playing on satellite radio and my hair blowing in the breeze, determination oozing from my pores. Every building with a “for rent” sign was out of my price range. I didn’t have a roommate, and a lot of the places had views of Crescent Lake, which drove up their asking prices.

  Also, I was still paying the last month’s rent on my other apartment. Because, sure, a kindergarten teacher could totally pay rent on two places at once. That was completely feasible.

  I could’ve asked my parents for help. A short-term loan. Money for a lobotomy. Whichever. But I wasn’t going to do that, because I’d rather be tight for a bit then lean on my already plenty generous parents.

  My little sister, Rylee, was the one who needed loans and emotional support and all that jazz. I was the responsible older daughter who tried to hide her moments of irresponsibility and didn’t have that many to start with.

  Socially awkward might could have been the title of my theme song. But the reality of my world wasn’t nearly so zany.

  I taught little kids. After school, I tutored students in advanced reading and two days a week, led the school’s newly created “music is fun” program. Once a month, my parents, Rylee, and I met at Spaghetti Warehouse for our standing date of—wait for it—spaghetti and meatballs.

  That pretty much summed up my version of excitement, unless I was feeling particularly frisky and made myself come twice via whatever naughty fantasy was currently turning my crank. Often involving Tom Hardy. Most of the time, I was too worn out from school to self-service once, never mind twice.

  And dating? Yeah. Please drive through.

  Minus the impromptu hookup I’d had a few weeks ago with my ex after his granny’s funeral. The next morning, I’d awakened to a text brushoff.

  And after I’d rocked his world in the sack.

  Pfft.

  I had dated sporadically after Tommy had broken up with me the first time, citing “different life directions” and “unclear goals as a couple.”

  Okay, then.

  So this whole being impetuous and finding-a-new-place-or-bust plan of mine was so outside my sphere, I was practically dizzy.

  But my life needed some shaking up. As did I.

  I stopped in many places that day post-Tommy breakup part deux, and the next few that followed. Until I happened to be making oh, my fiftieth trip down Main Street and noticed the square building being renovated between the auto shop and the florist. That seemed like a convenient spot. Auto repairs and overpriced sunshine in a vase were both things I needed in my life, especially since I had no one to buy me flowers and my SUV had been on its last legs forever.

  The only thing that could’ve made the building better was closer proximity to The Spinning Wheel, but I probably didn’t need to mix dubious decisions with fifty proof. At least not until I was moved in and could walk home.

  And also probably not until Christmas break. Principal Gentry would not be amused by my need for spirits of the liquid kind, rather than being filled by the Holy Ghost.

  Prayers and blind optimism and possibly a healthy dose of stupidity had led me to this place. I’d signed the lease and gone back to my home in Turnbull to pack up the rest of my things—not that there was much, thank goodness, because it would’ve been relocated into storage—and wait for moving day.

  That day was now here. One new life, coming right up.

  First, I should probably unpack. And dust. And try not to laugh hysterically until I cried.

  Swallowing hard, I let my gaze wander my infinitesimal space. That echoing sound in my head was the universe chuckling at me now, I was sure.

  You wanted a place near school? Ta da. Enjoy.

  It wasn’t as if the apartment was bad per se. Yes, it was small. Optimistically, the listing had called it a one-bedroom. So what if the closet in my place in Turnbull was almost as big? I wasn’t one of those women with mountains of shoes or a ton of clothes. I actually had a few sensible basics that I paired with some of the more eclectic pieces in my wardrobe.

  See, practical. That was me.

  Perhaps that was why Tommy had dumped me twice. What I considered being a freak in bed might be Tommy’s version of ho-hum.

  God, now I was getting depressed over something other than my choice in living spaces. Hell, choice? I’d had no options if I wanted to liv
e in town and not put it off any longer.

  Now I was here. And I was going to make the best of it.

  I moved to the gigantic window, the best selling feature of the apartment—okay, the only selling feature of the apartment—and smiled at the view. The building was at angle across from the lake, and from up here, I could see the brightly colored sailboats merrily bobbing along the water. There was one of my students from last year, Sara Wilkes, running along with her puppy’s leash in one hand and a kite in the other on the grassy area near the gazebo. Her mother stood nearby, chatting with a few other women about her age. Her friends.

  That was what I needed. A bunch of girlfriends. I had some in Turnbull, mostly teachers at my former school and a few women I’d known in high school, but no one especially close.

  I didn’t have a best friend. Well, I’d sort of started calling Sage my best friend in my head, but I didn’t tell her that because it was probably creepy. We hadn’t known each other all that long and she already had a best friend. But she was definitely the closest pal I’d had in…well, ever.

  Yet another reason I’d wanted to move into the town proper. Along with a new view to wake up to every day, I wanted to find a peer group. But not in those words. That was teacher speak.

  I was looking for a bunch of bad-ass bitches who didn’t think I was a weirdo for feeling sorry for my ex and sleeping with him instead of just, I don’t know, sharing a pizza and commiseration over his grandmother. Instead I’d shared my nether regions and…

  Sigh. My stomach was growling. I shouldn’t have thought of pizza. The diner was just down the block, and maybe Sage was working—

  Duh, she so was not. She didn’t work Saturdays anymore, not since she had a smoking hot husband and a little one to get ready for.

  Two things I would probably never have.

  Pizza, however? That I could make happen.

  I sat down bare-legged on the still sawdust-y floor and grabbed my purse to dig out my phone. I swiped it on and blinked at the flurry of texts from Ally, Sage’s real best friend. She was super nice and seemed to have her hands full with her baby boy and a little girl who’d been in the other kindergarten last year. We didn’t know each other that well, but we’d hung out a bit recently after Sage had introduced us.

  We’d also chatted at the dinner after Sage and Oliver’s Vegas wedding. As much as we could anyway, considering the night had been fun chaos mixed with some Sage-sized pandemonium.

  Still, Ally and I were only acquaintances at best. Perhaps that would change.

  Already smiling, I read her texts.

  Hey there, hope it’s ok I’m texting you. I got your number from Sage. Well, she didn’t give it to me. I stole it.

  My smile turned into a frown. Hmm. Okay. My interest was piqued.

  I’m planning Sage’s surprise baby shower. She has no idea I’m doing it. I’m actually tormenting her a little, making her think I just haven’t thought of it. Is that mean?

  Seemed a little mean to me, but hey, Ally had figured out how to have a best friend and I was just in the newbie stages, so what did I know?

  I kept reading.

  I want it to be a total surprise for her. Something special. She so deserves it. But her fretting about details while I’m trying to make it awesome is stressful. Performance anxiety & all that.

  I nodded even though Ally wasn’t in the room. I so understood.

  Also, this might’ve been the longest series of texts I’d ever been involved in, and I hadn’t even responded yet. Hell, I didn’t even know where I fit in.

  But now Alex is sick. You remember my son? Laurie is too. Plus, dear God, I think Seth is also. I have to reserve the space this wk. The place I had in mind is booked & I tried a couple other spots but everything is reserved. Poor planning on my part, I know.

  I winced in sympathy. Aww, poor Ally. She had way too much on her plate.

  Unlike me. Other than work, which did keep me pretty busy, my plate had room for a full course and then some.

  Pity party for one. Table in the back.

  Rolling my eyes at myself, I continued reading.

  Now I’m sneezing too & I have a fever. That’s probably why I’m sending you these crazy texts. But can you help? Pretty please? I’ll owe you forever. I know Sage thinks of you as another bestie.

  My eyes filmed over. It was probably just part of buttering me up, but that was so sweet. I was already onboard with whatever she needed. She didn’t even have to throw the best friend cherry on top.

  If you can help, I’ll send over my lists so far & maybe you can take over? I’ll jump back in and help in whatever way you need. I’m sure we’ll be better in a few days so I can think again. But dear Lord, man flu is the worst. You’re single, right? So lucky. Talk later. TYSM!

  I frowned. So lucky? Well, that was a matter of perspective. Though I didn’t envy her dealing with man flu, whatever that was.

  I could practically hear Sage’s bubbly voice in my head.

  That’s when a man is near death from the slightest sniffle. And if Seth has the man flu, then Oliver will get it too, and if he gets me sick after getting me pregnant, he’s going down.

  She might change some of the phrasing around, but I had the gist. Sage could make me smile even when she wasn’t in the room.

  That was what I wanted to be like too. Fun and spontaneous and wild, and not just when it came to big talk. Up for anything. Ready to grab the bull by the horns and ride that steer all the way home.

  I would start with taking charge of Sage’s shower. At least until Ally could take over again.

  Planning was something I was good at. Even better now that I’d started working on planner layouts with Sage. We’d hit the craft store and now my boring school schedules were prettied up with paper tape and cute stickers and fun borders. Even my Type A nature appreciated a little embellishment of my lists.

  I tugged my leather planner and one of my colorful pens out of my bag and flipped open to a fresh sheet, writing the details I knew so far at the top. Time. Date. Important info.

  Right now, I had none, other than the shower was for Sage Evans-Hamilton and she was having a girl. A very spoiled little girl already, and she hadn’t even been born yet. I expected Sage to tell me Oliver had purchased the baby a pony any day now.

  I wasn’t jealous.

  Not even a little.

  The fact that I’d chosen a green pen was just coincidence.

  I grabbed my phone and sent Ally a quick reply.

  Sure thing. I’d love to help! Just send me what you have so far, incl the guest list & where Sage is registered. I’ll get right on it. Thanks for thinking of me. Hope you & the fam feel better soon!

  Ally’s texts saying thanks were profuse and plentiful. She promised to send over her list within the hour, which gave me plenty of time to order that pizza and get started on unpacking.

  The day was looking up already.

  My whole life was. A girl couldn’t be down for long when pepperoni was in her future.

  And I had a project.

  I freaking loved projects. And getting to buy more school supplies for said project. Hey, I’d become a teacher for a reason, and it wasn’t just because I loved little kids. I also had a pen and notebook fetish. Not all the fetishes I had, though I couldn’t safely explore most of them.

  And Tommy thought sex with me was just “nice”? Ha. Here I’d been holding back.

  Whatever. He didn’t deserve me.

  So said Gloria Gaynor as I put on one of my favorite feminist anthems—I had a whole playlist of them, in fact—and doubled down to do some serious unpacking.

  Along with a little booty dancing in between.

  Sure enough, as I was digging through my box of my grandmother’s china, an email came in from Ally with an attachment. I grinned as I opened it up. Almost pizza time too. The guy on the phone had told me an hour, and it was almost sunset. Busy time on a Saturday night. But I didn’t want to run down and get another lo
ad of my stuff until I finished with what I had in here and refueled.

  The refueling would happen quicker than finishing unpacking. I was currently in a state of hardcore flux. Boxes were open everywhere, stuff spilling out in every direction. The few sparse pieces of furniture I had were covered with crap. Luckily, the place had been semi-furnished because my old sofa was a mess and I couldn’t have afforded movers in any case.

  See, I needed more friends. That was yet another reason why. I was like an island, adrift without pals to help me move and make me laugh and drink cheap wine with me while I lamented ex-sex that hadn’t even led to an orgasm. At least that I could remember. So that probably meant a big fat no, it had not.

  I narrowed my eyes on Ally’s attachment. Hmm, had she sent over the right file? This had almost nothing on it. About as little as the new page in my planner.

  Quickly, I texted Ally back, sure she’d sent me an early file instead of the updated one.

  Her response?

  Nope, that’s the one! Sorry, I told you I was totally lame & so far behind. But I know we can get caught up. Ugh, there’s the baby crying again. Did I say thank you? TY so much! Xo