There's a pretty good chance

“What?” Apparently, the sex education in Alison's high school was pretty much limited to 'just say no' and the evils of abortion in any form, because I had to explain about how a woman's cycle affects ovulation and her chances of conception.

“My last period was almost two weeks ago.” Alison's voice drops to a whisper clearly not comfortable with sharing this information with a man. “Does that mean I'm ovulating?” Shit! I may have just fucked up this sweet girl's life all because I couldn't keep my prick in my pants.

“Well, not necessarily,” I equivocate with **** optimism, “every woman is different, but it is a dangerous time.”

“So, I might be pregnant?” I am expecting some panicked histrionics, but Alison is surprisingly calm under the circumstances. “I'll be carrying your baby, Mr. P?”

“I'm sorry, Honey.” I try one more time to get her to take a plan B pill, but she refuses to even consider the option.

“I can't make up for one sin by committing a worse one Mr. P.” Alison's hand drifts down to cover her belly protectively. “All I can do now is pray.” A younger version of me might have tried to pressure the young woman a little more, but I know enough about my tenant's views on terminating pregnancies under any circumstances that I realized that it is pointless. Besides, it could be a lot worse.

Both of us are legal adults, and in spite of my age we are both healthy. I have the money to make sure the child won't lack for anything ... my hand covers Alison's much smaller one and press it firmly against her soft belly. “I'll take care of you.” When she looks up at me in surprise I nod slowly. “I'll take care of both of you.” The surprise and relief in Alison's face is worth every dollar that this will cost me.

“Really?”

“Of course, really.” I brush a bit of her pretty blonde hair back from her face, “Did you think I was going to send you back home and wash my hands of my responsibility?” I can only imagine how Alison's conservative family might react to their daughter returning to Tennessee with a bun in the oven.

“You could.” She murmurs, “I'm not your wife, I'm just a stupid girl who got myself knocked up. You could even claim that the baby was Richard's and not yours.” In this day and age of DNA tests, I doubt that would work, but Alison's point about how men shift the blame onto the pregnant mother is not without merit.

“Trust me, Honey.” My finger brushes her cheek softly, “I don't want that shithead anywhere near my child.” I pause for a second before following up with the obvious. “Now that I think about it, even if you're not pregnant, I don't want you to have anything to do with him.” This could be a mistake. What right did I have to tell Alison who she could and could not associate with? Still, I am the man who is supporting her, it doesn't seem unreasonable to do what I can to set a few rules about what goes on under my roof.

“There are going to be some changes around here. Do you understand?”