Chapter Seven
W ren stepped into Brews and Chews with her shoulders back, ignoring the nervous fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Her gaze searched the modest crowd of patrons inhabiting the rustic bar and grill, pausing on a smiling man in the corner booth. A trophy moose with large antlers hung on the wall above the secluded table, and as she approached, he stood up and she got a look at him. His picture online was accurate, give or take a few years, and Wren appreciated the honesty. While they’d exchanged pics, she hadn’t gotten a full body look.
Handsome, check. Takes care of himself, check.
“Hi, Steve,” she said, holding out a hand to him. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he murmured.
Wren could feel his appraising gaze drifting over her as she removed her jacket, revealing her black cowl-neck sweater and jeans. She hadn’t had a lot of time to primp between getting off work and their meet-up time, so her only makeup was a coat of mascara and a touch of lipstick. She’d released her bun and let her long blond hair fall around her shoulders in loose waves she’d tried to fluff up.
“Sorry about being a little late.”
“Not an issue. I ordered us drinks and a basket of Idaho nachos.”
“Thanks,” Wren said, sliding into the booth across from him. She set her bag and coat on the bench next to her and folded her hands, leaning onto her forearms as she turned her brightest smile on him. “I appreciate you coming to meet me here. I can give you gas money.”
Steve chuckled. “That’s not necessary. I’m a grown man who makes money; I can pay for my own gas.”
“I’m sure. I was just saying I appreciate you making the drive. I couldn’t find a place where we could meet halfway, and by the time I got out of work and drove to you, it would have been almost eight thirty...” She trailed off, realizing that she was rambling. “Anyway, we’re here.”
“Yes, we are.” His eyes sparkled, and Wren could admit that if she was looking for someone to date, he wouldn’t be a bad candidate. He seemed sweet, and his background check came back with all green flags.
“Before we get started, I have something I need you to sign.” Wren opened her satchel and pulled out a short stack of papers.
“What’s that?” he asked, his green eyes following her motions with interest.
“It’s an NDA.”
“A what?”
Wren glanced up at him, frowning. “You’re in finance, and you’ve never heard of a nondisclosure agreement?”
“I have, but why do I need to sign one to have drinks with you?”
A server brought over their drinks and the Idaho nachos, which was a basket of French fries covered in nacho cheese, meat, beans, sour cream, guacamole, and salsa.
“Thank you, Larry,” Wren said, then turned back to Steve. “Because some of the things we may talk about during dinner are sensitive information, and I’d rather go into this without any worry or stress.”
Steve picked up the papers, flipping through them until he reached the back page. “Are you a former CIA agent or something?”
Wren laughed. “No, but my job is another reason why I want to keep my private life private.”
“You know that to make this legal, you have to have it notarized, right?” Steve asked.
“That’s why Larry is still here. He works at the post office during the day and at Brews and Chews on weekends.”
Larry nodded grimly. “Child support, man.”
“Alright, do you have a—” Wren held out a pen to Steve before he could finish, and he signed the document, setting the paper and pen off to the side. Her breath whooshed out with relief as she took the pen and the contract, handing them to Larry.
“I’ll be right back with this,” Larry said, leaving her alone with Steve again.
Steve released an awkward chuckle. “Well, now that we’ve gotten all the legalities out of the way, are you ready to tell me your deep, dark secrets?”
“I really don’t have any,” Wren said, nodding at him. “You?”
“No, not really.”
“That’s good. Have you ever donated sperm?”
Steve was taking a drink when she asked, and he spewed the liquid back into the glass and down his chin.
“Oh, sorry! I guess I should have waited until you finished drinking before I dived right in.” Wren twisted her hands in front of her on the table. “I’m a little nervous.”
Steve grabbed the napkin she held out to him and wiped his chin. “No, I haven’t donated sperm before.”
“That’s great, because I saw this documentary about a guy who donated so much sperm that he fathered over a thousand kids, and it grossed me out.”
“I haven’t fathered any children, through donation or otherwise,” he said slowly, as if trying to figure out where she was headed with this conversation.
“Would you be open to private sperm donation?” Wren asked, tapping her pen on the tabletop.
“This is a strange line of questioning for a first date,” Steve said, spooning out a section of Idaho nachos onto his plate.
“Oh, this isn’t really a date.”
Steve quirked a brow. “Okay, whatever you call it, I thought you were interested in something casual.”
“There isn’t exactly a category for what I’m looking for, but casual seemed to be the closest.”
Steve frowned. “I thought you were looking to hook up.”
“Mostly, I’m looking for sperm.” At his horrified expression, she continued, “Not for anything weird! I want to have kids, but not necessarily be in a relationship, so I am looking for professional men between twenty-five and forty who would be willing to donate and sign over their parental rights. There is a clinic in Sun Valley—”
“Whoa!” Steve held up his hands, waving them in front of him like he was surrendering. “Are you being serious right now?”
“Yes.”
“You—” Steve laughed, the sound ending on a high, panicked note. “I have been out on some weird dates, but this is the first time I’ve had anyone ask for bodily fluids.” Steve leaned forward, smirking. “You know, you could have just taken me home and gotten it the old-fashioned way?”
“Only twenty-five percent of men don’t use condoms during one-night stands, and the chances of conception are twenty percent during ovulation.” She realized that she sounded like an encyclopedia, but there was no way an arrangement like that would be feasible. “We would have to continue the arrangement until it took, which increases the likelihood of feelings developing, and I’m looking for a detached arrangement.”
“So, you want me to hand over my DNA to a clinic so that they can use it to impregnate you? Exactly what do I get out of this?”
Wren cleared her throat. “I am willing to compensate you for expenses, like mileage when you go to the clinic.”
Steve grabbed his drink and downed the rest of it before he took a long, bracing breath. “As interesting as this has been, I was just looking for a little dinner conversation before getting laid. This is a bit”—he paused, as if searching for the least insulting word—“much for me.” He pulled out his wallet and dropped a fifty-dollar bill on the table. Once he was on his feet, he gave her a rueful smile. “Good luck with your quest, though.”
Larry came back to the table with the contract. “Do you need a copy of this NDA?”
“Believe me, friend, I’m not telling anyone about this,” Steve said, shrugging into his jacket and heading toward the door.
Larry set the contract and receipt down on the edge of the table. “Here you go, Wren.”
“Thanks, Larry. I have one more coming in about fifteen minutes. What time are you off?”
“I’ll be here until ten, so don’t worry.”
Larry walked away, leaving Wren to play out the exchange in her mind. Maybe she should try a one-night stand and roll the dice. She’d never have to talk to the man again or tell him that he had a child.
Wren shook her head. She wasn’t going to lie to anyone, even a lie by omission. Plus, at least the clinic would check for any STDs. She wasn’t about to trust the word of a man if she didn’t know that he was clean.
She pulled up her dating profile, which was a picture of her from behind in a boudoir shoot she’d done for her thirty-fifth birthday. The black negligee she wore was backless with strings crisscrossing along the open back. She had her feet crossed under her butt, and she lifted her blond hair so it appeared to be falling from her fingers.
It was tantalizing and sexy, and it had worked to get the attention of plenty of men on the site. Poor Steve probably felt like he’d gotten the old bait and switch. Maybe talking about her needs in person was a bad idea, and she should lay it all out on her profile? It had crossed her mind, but she was afraid of getting a bunch of weirdos reaching out and messing with her. Plus, she didn’t want anyone to recognize her and talk about it.
Wren read over her profile, starting with the tagline. Thirty-something professional seeks unique agreement with open-minded individual.
Wren didn’t think that sounded misleading. She glanced over her main profile and wrinkled her nose. Maybe she should just lay it all out and see what happened.
She highlighted and deleted everything, typing, Hi, I’m just looking for an absent baby daddy with healthy sperm and good genes. Must be educated, gainfully employed between the ages of twenty-five and forty. I am not seeking a partner but someone who will be willing to donate to a clinic of my choice, sign over parental rights, and never speak of this again.
Wren took a deep breath and hit submit, her stomach twisting in knots. This was the right thing to do. Better to not waste anyone’s time.
“Hello,” a man said, and Wren glanced up as he came up alongside her table. He had dark, curly hair and a fluffy salt-and-pepper beard.
“Hi.”
“I’m Carl Bevin. We were supposed to meet at eight, but I got here a little early.”
Wren quirked a brow, pulling out the background check and social media dive she’d done on him. Although there was a resemblance, the Carl Bevin she pulled was marked as six foot on his driver’s license, topping this man by several inches, and probably a good ten years younger.
“Really? You don’t look much like your pictures, Carl .”
“So, it’s a bit outdated.” He took the seat across from her, grinning. “Damn, you’re gorgeous.”
“May I see your driver’s license?” Wren asked.
“What for?” Faux Carl asked, reaching for the appetizer Steve had left and popping a hunk of fries and toppings into his mouth.
“So I can verify you are Carl, since I pulled his background check,” she said, taking the folder with Carl’s information out of her bag and setting it on the table, “and some things don’t add up.”
Faux Carl’s eyes widened. “You did a background check? What are you, a cop?”
“Yes.”
Carl stilled with his hand hovering over the fries. “Really?”
“I am. Would you like to see my badge?”
“Honestly?” Carl cleared his throat before bailing out of the booth with a “bye” over his shoulder.
“Someone should let Mr. Bevin know that his identity’s been stolen,” Wren muttered.
“What did you say to him?” Larry asked, coming up to the table.
“Politics, Larry. Never discuss politics or religion on a first date. Doesn’t end well.”