Straight Up Love (The Boys of Jackson Harbor Book 2)

“It’s a turkey baster.” I frown at Teagan—my friend, holder of my latest secret, and bestower of the world’s strangest birthday gift. Teagan laughs so hard she falls sideways in the booth. This is what I get for telling her my big plans. “You’re a bitch.”

All four of us—Teagan, Nicole, Veronica, and I—are crowded into a booth at Jackson Brews to celebrate my birthday, and I’m so damn happy I can’t stop smiling because one, I love these women with the big, warm kind of mushy love that fills you from your gut out to your fingertips. Two, I’ve just turned thirty, and while that freaked me out yesterday, today I’m excited. Because today I have a plan.

And while giving me a turkey baster might make it seem like Teagan is mocking me, I know it’s just her way of showing her support.

“I guess I should make an announcement.” I put one hand on the table to steady myself. Tequila gets me every time.

“I want to hear your announcement, Ava. Spill,” Nic says, tucking her light brown hair behind her ear. Even she indulged in a drink tonight—a rarity for the resident good girl in our group—and her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink.

“Since it’s my birthday, I decided to get myself a present.”

“You deserve it,” Teagan says. She lifts her glass in salute. How lucky am I to have such amazing friends?

“What kind of present?” Veronica asks.

“A baby,” I blurt, excitement turning my voice shrill. Veronica and Nic stare at me as if I just spoke in Latin, so I explain. “I decided I’m going to have one.”

“Like, immaculate conception or . . .” Veronica says.

I squeeze the end of the turkey baster and glare at Veronica. “Okay, bitch. I’m fully aware of the missing piece of this puzzle, but I’m thirty years old, and that doesn’t seem to be changing anytime soon. But I couldn’t conceive the entire time I was married—”

“A blessing in disguise,” Teagan says.

“—so I feel like I should start trying now,” I say.

“Trying . . . to get pregnant?” Nic says.

“Yeah, ’cause who needs a dude to do that?” Veronica says.

I shake my head. Are my friends being intentionally obtuse? “Listen. I swear I’m not crazy.” I scan our small group, feeling a bit like the ugly duckling in this bevy of swans. Next to the beautiful Nic is her identical twin, Veronica. Veronica is the very-pregnant, less-cheerful version of Nic. Across from Veronica is Teagan, with dark hair, olive skin, and a pair of incredible God-given boobs I’d trade my left arm for.

My friend Ellie couldn’t make it tonight—she and my brother, Colton, are fighting again—but she’s just as gorgeous as the rest of them.

It’s not that I think I’m unattractive, but without a good deal of eye makeup and some quality time with a curling iron, I’m closer to “plain” than “pretty.” Add a bunch of baggage to my underwhelming appearance, and ta-da! A recipe for an eternity as a spinster.

“I’ve already been married and that didn’t work,” I explain. “As nice as it would be to find a guy to spend my life with, it’s not necessary. But pregnancy and a baby? That’s something I want to experience.” A burst of adrenaline shoots through me, renewing my excitement. Or maybe that’s the alcohol? It’s hard to tell, but it doesn’t matter. Honestly, since I hatched Operation Pregnancy plan yesterday, my only real question has been why I didn’t think of it sooner.

I smack the table like a judge smacking a gavel when she’s giving her final ruling. “I want a family, and I’m not getting any younger, so I’m making one myself.”

“Good for you,” Veronica says, raising her glass of water. She beams at me, her eyes shining, her smile wide. Maybe she’s proud, or maybe she’s just glad she’s not going to be the only single mom in the group.

“I think that’s great,” Nic says. “Really, really damn brave, but great.”

“So . . .” Teagan scans the room. “Do we get to just pick from the guys at the bar or what?”

I roll my eyes. Teagan knows my plan is artificial insemination—thus the turkey baster—but I guess I should have been more specific about where I plan to get the sperm. “I’ve already talked to some sperm banks. I’m looking through donors now, but here’s the deal—what if these men are crazy? There’s no checkbox for that on the questionnaire. How do you know you’re not putting crazy-man semen up in your business? I want to love my child, not wonder if maybe his dad had some weird rubber-glove fetish.”

Teagan nods. “This seems like a reasonable concern. Because genetics.”

“I’m confused,” Veronica says. “You’re using the sperm bank, or you’re not?”

I sigh. Okay, I’m really excited about my plan. And I’m determined. And I’m not going to change my mind. Only, I’m not sold on buying sperm. “I haven’t decided. Obviously, that’s the easiest way to get a baby in a position like mine, but . . .” I groan. “But ever since I got this crazy-guy thought in my head, none of the profiles are good enough. I’m nervous.”

Teagan shrugs. “Why not just ask for some sperm from a friend? The turkey baster works the same way if the sperm is free, you know.”

Free sperm from a friend? “That’s a thing?”

“Sure,” Teagan says. “My cousin did it. She was like you—wanted a baby, didn’t want to wait—so she just asked her best friend for some sperm, and he filled a cup for her. Nine months later, voila! A baby of her own who she knows has no rubber-glove fetish gene.”

“That would definitely be ideal.” Honestly, a simple call to the sperm bank was awkward for me, and with my track record, I don’t expect this to be a one-and-done kind of situation. “But how do you even decide who to ask?”

“Well,” Veronica says, “not that I get to choose, since I already made my bad decision.” She grimaces, and I feel a stab of pity for her. She effed up royally when she fooled around with her sister’s ex-fiancé, but she eventually saw his true colors and has spent the last four months doing everything she can to get back in her twin’s good graces while preparing herself to raise her baby on her own. There’s a mischievous gleam in her eye when she says, “But if I were you, I’d definitely go after some Jackson genes.”

“They do make some good-looking boys,” Nic says. “And they’re all brains, too.”

There’s no denying that the Jacksons are all in possession of sublime genetics. But weird. “I’ve been friends with the Jacksons all my life.” They were literally the boys next door when I grew up. “Levi’s probably the hottest,” I say, referring to the youngest Jackson brother, “and he’s easygoing and stuff, but I’m pretty sure that conversation would be awkward even with him.” I lower my voice and look around to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “And I think he might secretly have a thing for my friend Ellie.”

“And he’d want to actually fuck you,” Veronica says. “No turkey baster.”

Levi isn’t the kind of guy who’d pass up an excuse to get a woman in bed, but I think these ladies underestimate the “sister” vibe I have going with all the Jacksons.

“Jake’s your best friend, isn’t he?” Teagan says. “What about him? I bet he’d do it for you.”

I make a face. Jake? “It’s kind of weird, isn’t it?” I instinctively search the crowd, and my gaze lands on Jake behind the bar, his dark hair and the eyes the girls say are so dreamy. The broad shoulders they drool over, and the ink peeking out under the sleeves of his fitted shirt. Jake would do anything for me. Never mind the fact that he’s a really good guy. Wouldn’t it be a relief to know my kid came from that kind of genetic stock?

Teagan slides my glass closer to my hand. “Finish this and ask him to fill a cup for you.”

There’s a flutter in my stomach. Could it be this simple?

I don’t want to think about it. When I think about things, I freeze. I just want to make this happen. “I guess it is my birthday. It can’t hurt to ask, right?” I swallow hard. “Here goes nothing.”

Jake

Ava McKinley meets my gaze from her table at the back of Jackson Brews, and there’s such an intensity in her eyes that my gut tightens. For a beat, I can imagine those dark eyes on me in a very different context. Maybe right here after last call, when she’s seated on the polished walnut bar and watching me with hunger in her eyes. I’d step between her legs and untie the wrap dress that’s been taunting me all night. I’d lower my head to her perfect breasts and tease her nipples with my tongue until she begged me for more.

Dream the fuck on, Jackson.

I can’t fault myself for the fantasy, though. What man wouldn’t imagine all that and more? Ava’s easily the most gorgeous woman in this bar. Add in the fact that she has a wicked sense of humor and loves my cooking almost as much as she loves my beer, and it’s no freaking wonder I can’t keep my eyes off her.

Never mind that she’s your best friend and one hundred percent off-limits.

She slides out of the booth with her glass in hand, leaving her group of friends behind as she marches straight toward me. The slight sway in her step reminds me she’s been drinking. Nevertheless, I recognize a woman on a mission. Anticipation races down my spine before I can shake the feeling away or remind myself of the enormous divide between fantasy and reality.

Cindy nudges me. We’re both working behind the bar tonight—me because it’s Friday, and I like to keep an eye on the place on the busiest nights of the week, and Cindy because she’s filling in for Ava, who I insisted take the night off for her birthday. “Are you in trouble or something?” she asks.

“I . . . don’t think so?” Ava’s been celebrating with her friends all night, and I’m glad to see it. She works too much, and having a group of girlfriends who won’t let her sit at home and grade papers is the best thing that could have happened to her.

Tonight, for her thirtieth, she’s really been letting loose. The table she’s been sitting at with Nicole, Veronica, and Teagan is littered with now-empty glasses formerly full of Long Island iced tea and beer.

“Good luck,” Cindy says, sneaking away just as Ava comes behind the bar to stand with me.

Ava stutters to a stop in front of me and puts her empty glass on the bar. Her proximity makes longing whip through my gut, sharp and impossible to ignore. She’s always been beautiful, with dark hair, tight curves, and deep brown eyes that can put a man in his place without her ever having to speak a word, but lately, the old angst of wanting what I can’t have has been hitting me hard. I blame my brother Ethan and his newfound happiness with his girlfriend, Nic.

“Hey there, birthday girl.” Maybe it shouldn’t be so easy to hide the fact that I’m half-hard right now, or that ten seconds ago I was fantasizing about getting her off on this bar. Then again, I’ve had years of practice.

She sways a little in her red Mary Janes and grips my wrist. Normally, any touch from Ava is something I tuck away to fantasize about later. This touch, however, is more a drunken attempt at balance than affection—not that she ever touches me sexually outside of my imagination.

“I’m gonna have a baby,” she says, her voice a failed attempt at a whisper.

Goodbye, erection. “You’re what?” I stare at her for a beat, trying to make sense of her words. I look to the crowd at the bar to see if anyone else heard this, but they’re all too preoccupied with each other and their drinks to notice us. My gaze shifts to her group of friends, as if they might be able to explain what’s happening here. She can’t be pregnant. I didn’t even know she was seeing anyone.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I can do it. I don’t need a man. I can do this on my own. So . . .” The expression on her face makes me wonder if her last drink is on a short trip back out of her. She’s not the only one feeling queasy. Her news is making me feel like there’s an elephant playing hopscotch on my chest. “So, can you help me?”

I really have no idea what to say because I’m not sure what she’s asking. Can I help her raise her child? Or will I work her hours at the bar around daycare? I frown and realize she’s still holding something by her side. “Is that a turkey baster?”

“It was a birthday present. Aren’t you listening? I’m gonna have a baby, and I want your help.”

I still don’t know what my help entails, but who am I kidding? It doesn’t matter. If Ava needed my right arm, I’d look for the nearest hatchet. “Anything you need, Ava.”

She fucking beams at me. “Oh! Seriously? I thought it might be too much to ask.”

There’s nothing she could ask me that would be too much. But this hitch in my gut at the idea of her having another man’s baby? I can deal with that later. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“So drunk.”

“Right.” Another thing to deal with later. Tomorrow, we’ll have a conversation about drinking and pregnancy. An absurd conversation to have, considering she’s the most responsible person I know, but we’ll have it anyway. Maybe she just found out. Maybe liquid courage made her take a test in the women’s restroom.

She giggles. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

That makes two of us. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

She grips her turkey baster with both hands—I’ll have to get the story on that tomorrow too—and dutifully follows me up the back stairs to the apartment over the bar.

As I shut the door behind us, I see my home with new eyes. I moved here in college while I was managing Jackson Brews and taking a full course load. It was convenient at the time, and then I never bothered to find anything else. It’s never mattered. But if Ava’s going to have a baby, is she really going to want to hang out here with the kid? While it’s nice enough, the loft-style one-bedroom, one-bath isn’t exactly childproof. As I imagine a kid falling through the rebar spindles and down the open staircase, I grimace. I’ll definitely need to find something more suitable.

A baby. She’s having a baby.

It’s like the day she told me she was engaged to Harrison all over again. Except instead of making a fool of myself, this time I’m going to take it in stride. I’m going to deal with this like a friend should. Not like a lovesick idiot.

I head to my tiny kitchen and fill a glass of water for her, and when I turn around, she’s right there. She scans my face with those big brown eyes. “I’m so lucky to have you in my life, Jake.”

She’s close. So close I could dip my head and kiss her, and long-denied desire makes my chest tight. “I’m not arguing.” I hand her the glass of water. “Drink this.”

She obeys, downing half the glass before handing it back to me. “Do you think I’ll be a good mom?”

“The best.” Swallowing, I take a step back to put some space between us. I half expect the ache in my chest to subside with some distance, but it doesn’t. She’s having a baby. “Come on. Bedtime.”

She turns toward the couch, where she insists on sleeping when she crashes here, but I place my hands on her shoulders and turn her toward my bedroom.

“I need the couch tonight,” I lie. “You’re going to have to sleep in my room.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Sure. I don’t want to be in the way.” She steps into my bedroom and unbuckles her Mary Janes. I pull back the covers, and she crawls into my bed, eyes already at half-mast. Will a baby put an end to girls’ nights that lead her giggling and pink-cheeked at my place?

“Wait,” she says as I pull the covers up over her. “Did we talk about the baby?”

I’m not sure she’ll ever be able to talk about a baby without my gut knotting painfully. If anything, I’ve been cool and patient with Ava—just waiting for the day when she’d see me as something other than the goofy kid next door or the high school jock who’d jump into bed with any girl who was willing. I’ve been patient. Too patient. Because now she’s having some other guy’s baby. I’m already making plans to restructure my whole life to help in any way I can, but I’ve forgotten one essential piece to this puzzle. What happens when she tells the baby’s father? Whoever he is, he’d be an idiot if he didn’t find some way to make her his.

I swallow hard and tuck the blankets in around her. “We talked about it. We’ll talk about it more in the morning, okay? And we’ll talk about the drinking too.”

“No more drinking. My body is a temple starting tomorrow.” She closes her eyes and smiles. “You’re such a good friend, Jake. The best.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’d be the best kind of anything you’d let me.”