Nixon: A Raleigh Raptors Novel

by Whiskey, Samantha

  Harper opened and closed her mouth several times. “He told you about his ex?” She ignored my question.

  I blew out a breath. “Yeah. He kind of had to after the way he reacted when I told him about this.” I motioned to my stomach, and she nodded. “But now that reaction makes sense. And I really hate that woman for it.”

  “Yeah,” Harper said, backing toward the door.

  “Harper?” I asked, following her. “Are you going to answer me?”

  “It’s not my story to tell,” she said.

  I narrowed my gaze at her but appreciated her fierce loyalty to these brothers. It spoke volumes about her character and her love for them both.

  “I’ve never seen him so…cheery,” she said as she pushed through the doors.

  I snorted. “Yeah, he likes to brood.”

  “That’s an understatement,” she said as we returned to the table.

  “What’s an understatement?” Nathan asked as we reclaimed our seats.

  “Girl talk,” she said and planted a kiss on his lips.

  I flushed again as I sat next to Nixon, knowing I’d wanted to do the same thing but didn’t know if that is where we were at—kissing in public—or if we should ever actually go there. Cameras were never far away, and honestly, I didn’t know what he wanted when it came to his public life.

  “All good?” he asked, tucking an arm around my shoulders.

  “Yes,” I said, leaning into his embrace. “Baby has decided it doesn’t mind this restaurant.” I tried to laugh off the statement, but emotion and doubt and questions clogged my throat.

  Harper’s knowledge of both Nathan and Nixon’s history only made it that much more obvious how little I really knew about the father of my child.

  An hour later, we settled into the guest room at Nathan’s giant house in what he’d called Reaper Village. Nixon had climbed into bed while I’d occupied the shower for nearly an hour, and I hovered in the doorway, marveling at the sight of the man. Nathan had offered us separate rooms, and Nixon said it was my choice. No expectations. But ultimately, it was silly for us to mess up two different guest rooms for such a short trip.

  I padded barefoot to the bed, sinking under the covers as quietly as I could. Nixon’s eyes remained closed, a steady rise and fall to his sculpted chest. His dark hair was a bit unkempt, like he’d ran his fingers through it a few times before falling asleep. The heat from his body sizzled like a live current between us as I laid there, facing him, scanning the hard line of his jaw that somehow softened during sleep.

  I wanted to trace a finger over those hard edges and lower, over the bare chest peeking from beneath the covers. Wanted to explore him with my tongue, as he had done with me. A need tightened inside me, a coiled spring of hunger I couldn’t explain as I settled peacefully against my pillow.

  I rested my hand over the little swell to my tummy, silently ensuring the baby that I’d try harder.

  Because while every day I grew more and more fond of Nixon, I knew it was time to dig a little deeper. We owed it to the baby to wade through the tough stuff and see if we came out whole on the other side.

  I just hoped like hell he’d let me in.

  9

  Nixon

  The sun had already set by the time I hit the remote that opened the driveway gate. The thing was bulky, and honestly pretty damned ostentatious, but after a fan walked right up to my door and rang the doorbell my rookie year, I quit playing around and bought this house…and the damn gate.

  Besides, now I had Liberty and our kid to protect.

  I drove through the gate and parked in the garage, shaking my head at Liberty’s very loved wreck of a car that sat in the space next to me. She needed a new car. This week. God only knew how many more miles she had before that thing stranded her on the side of the road, and the safety standards were at least three decades old.

  After making sure both the gate and the garage were closed, I grabbed my away bag and a much smaller one and headed inside. My pulse jumped up a notch, and I couldn’t deny the smile on my face as I walked in through the mudroom, dropping my bag at the washing machine and ditching my suit coat. I’d unpack later, after I’d seen Liberty.

  “Honey, I’m home,” I called out like we were in a fifties sitcom as my feet hit the hardwood of the kitchen.

  “Nixon?” Liberty dropped her pencil onto a pile of open notebooks that lay scattered across the island. “I thought you weren’t going to be home until later?”

  “Don’t look too happy to see me or anything,” I teased, setting the gift bag down on the counter and grabbing two recovery drinks from the refrigerator.

  “Oh. No, I didn’t mean it that way,” she assured me, catching the drink that I slid across the granite at her. “I just would have cleaned up all my school stuff.”

  “And added it to the pile in the dining room?” I nodded toward what had once been a formal dining room, but was now Liberty’s study, and twisted the top off my drink.

  “Guilty.” Her cheeks flushed.

  “I know.” I shrugged, then drank half the bottle. Flying always sucked the water right out of me, and after a hell of a game in Baltimore this afternoon, I could use all the hydration I could get.

  “You don’t mind coming home to a mess?” She asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “I like coming home to you.” I loosened my tie and leaned on my elbows, facing her across the island.

  Her lips parted, and my chest tightened as that perpetual electricity that wove itself around us rose again. It had been two weeks since I’d pinned her to the locker room door and made her my personal post-game dessert, and we still hadn’t had the what does this mean conversation, which basically meant we were stuck in sexual and emotional limbo.

  But it wasn’t like we’d had a lot of time. With the season in full swing and Liberty knee-deep in her dissertation, we were both busy as hell, preoccupied, and pretty much doing everything we could to ignore the elephant in the room just in case we didn’t like what the other one had to say. Communication wasn’t our strong point. It wasn’t even our weak point. It wasn’t a point at all because it didn’t exist.

  “I like being here when you come home,” she said softly.

  “Good.” And just like that, I wanted her. Hell, it was pretty much a constant thing these days. She could probably offer me a sandwich, and I’d get hard for her.

  “Nice tie.”

  “Coach’s rules.” I’d have it off as soon as I got upstairs.

  “You did great today.”

  “You watched?” My eyebrows rose, and a bubble of pride worked its way up my throat. We’d handed Baltimore their ass, and I’d thrown for two-hundred-and-sixty yards.

  “Of course, I did.” She tilted her head at me. “Remember, I’ve been watching you long before you ever started watching me. You were my celebrity crush.”

  “Huh. Right. I do remember something about a giant cardboard cutout.” That bubble expanded, making me feel ten feet tall and bulletproof.

  “It’s not like you were shirtless or anything,” she mumbled, but I heard her.

  “Tell you what. You just let me know when and where to show up, and I’ll watch you study. Day. Night. Afternoons. The dining room table. The library. It’s on. I’ll even get a jersey made.” A corner of my lips lifted in a smirk.

  “Geeze, you don’t have to get all stalkery or anything,” she teased. “I mean, I know someone with my impressive GPA is going to pull the stats that bring the fans, but I have to tell you, there’s a line between my professional life and my personal one, and I take it very seriously.”

  “Oh, do you?” I laughed.

  She sighed dramatically. “You have no idea what it’s like to be hounded by legions of adoring fans.”

  “I only care about one fan.” I quickly downed the rest of my drink to keep from seeing her reaction to my unintentional confession.

  “Don’t you want to know what my favorite part of the game was?” she questioned, rolling he
r pencil over her notebook.

  “I’d rather hear about your weekend,” I answered honestly. There were enough people either gushing over my game performance or criticizing it.

  “I kept you updated via text about my entire weekend, which was spent either at the dining room table or right here.” She patted the counter. “I like this seat better because it’s closer to the food. And I’ll have you know that my favorite part of the game was when you bent over during the second quarter to pick something up, and the camera zoomed in on your ass.” She stared at me unflinchingly.

  My jaw dropped for a second and—yep. Hard. So. Fucking. Hard.

  “What?” Her eyebrows drew together. “Like you don’t know that you have a nice ass? Was that some kind of surprise? Because I’m pretty sure you always make the hottest-athletes-of-the-universe list, so it’s not like you should be shocked.”

  I blinked, then finally got my mouth to move. “There isn’t a hottest-athletes-of-the-universe-list that I’m aware of, but…thank you?”

  She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “What’s in the bag?”

  “I picked up a little something.” A jolt of excitement barreled through me as I handed the little bag to her.

  “For me?”

  “Kind of. But not really. That’s a complicated question at the moment. Open it.” I walked around the island as she peeked inside the bag and pulled out a tiny, purple jersey with NOBLE across the back.

  She made a little squeaking sound and held it out, blinking rapidly as she studied it. Then two tears fell down her cheeks.

  “Oh shit. No,” I rushed, coming to her side. “Liberty, don’t cry. Baby, please. I’ll take it back. It’s not like he or she’s going to play football or anything, I just thought it was cute—”

  She silenced my ramble with a kiss. It was short—just the soft press of her lips, but I felt it shoot through my system like a drug.

  “Ignore the tears.” She swiped at her cheeks. “My hormones are all over the freaking place. This is the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.” She folded the little jersey into a tiny square. “Wait—” Her gaze swung my direction. “Why wouldn’t our baby play football? I mean, if she’s a girl, there’s definitely going to be some professional barriers there, but if he’s a boy…” She shook her head, not understanding.

  “It’s not safe,” I said simply. “Our protective equipment isn’t nearly good enough, and I’m not taking any risks with our kid.” I’d already failed to protect Nick. I wasn’t failing our baby.

  “I can’t decide if that’s incredibly sweet, or if you have a fever or something.” She looked at me like I’d grown two heads.

  “How’s the dissertation coming?” I asked, completely deflecting the conversation. We’d just sweep it under the rug like we did everything else.

  She arched an eyebrow, calling me out on my bullshit, but she let it slide. “Oh, you know, one day closer to bringing mental health care to those in need.”

  I loved that about her. She had this vision—this drive—to help people.

  She flinched, then rolled her head back along her shoulders. “Just wish it didn’t require sitting still for hours.”

  I stepped behind her and stroked my thumbs along her spine, rubbing small circles from the bare skin of her neck to where the fabric of her tank top started.

  She groaned and leaned into my touch. “You’re so hired.”

  “You can’t afford me,” I joked.

  “God, don’t I know it. But still, don’t stop. Your hands feel so good,” she moaned that last word.

  My thoughts immediately jumped back to the way she’d moaned as I’d licked her to orgasm, and my dick went from hard to granite. Still, I kept my touch professional, locating her knots and working them softly. “I can go get some massage oil,” I offered, my voice coming out like it had been sent through a cheese grater.

  She stiffened.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I said quickly. “I just don’t like to see you in pain.”

  “You…didn’t mean it like that,” she said slowly. “Right.” She slid off the stool and strode to the other side of the kitchen.

  “Fuck,” I muttered as she glared at me. “I’m sorry. The lines between us are…blurred at best. I never meant to imply—”

  “Of course, you didn’t.” She said it in a way that was understanding, yet still sounded alarmingly irritable.

  “You want to tell me what’s going on?” I took my chances and approached her slowly, leaning against the side of the counter about a foot away from her.

  Her gaze raked down me hungrily, but she spun away, bracing her hands on the counter. “Nope.”

  “Okay…” I was at a loss. The only woman I’d ever lived with was my mother, and she was unflinchingly direct. If something was on her mind, you knew it. “Do you want me to rub your shoulders? Your feet? Leave you alone? Is this where I’m supposed to run out and get ice cream and pickles? Because I can do that, too.”

  “My neck, please?” Her entire posture softened, and she flashed me an embarrassed, tight-lipped smile.

  I was so out of my depth. The last eight years had been full of willing women who made themselves annoyingly pleasing, which meant I was completely out of practice in the relationship department. I had no fucking clue how to read Liberty, or how to make her happy. She was a five-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, and I didn’t have a box to see the full picture.

  “Come here.” I tugged her wrist lightly and drew her back toward me.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “It’s killing me right here,” her fingers pressed into the spot where her neck met her shoulders.

  I definitely wasn’t about to offer massage oil again, so I worked the knot lightly.

  “God, that’s good,” she praised, shifting her weight.

  “Want to sit down?”

  “I’m good right here.”

  I fought the urge to trade my hands for my mouth. I wanted to taste every inch of her skin, to worship the lines of her body slowly until I knew exactly what made her tremble and sigh.

  She shifted her weight again and leaned back.

  I angled my hips away. The last thing we needed was to get into another elephant-in-the-room miscommunication about my intentions here. Besides, if she’d wanted me that way, wouldn’t she have said something—anything about our little locker room moment? I wasn’t insecure—I knew she’d orgasmed, but maybe that unspoken line was just that…unspoken and a line. A big, fat line.

  Her sigh turned to frustration, and she stepped out of my hands and turned to face me. Her face was taut, her brows knit, and her eyes somewhere between plea and irritation. “I can’t do this.”

  “Okay.” I put my hands up and stepped back, only to realize I was already against the damned counter.

  “No, I just…” She bit her lower lip as her gaze slid down my chest to my tailored Armani slacks and dress shoes. Then she groaned and covered her face with her hands. “Ijustneedyoutocomecloserorgoaway,” she mumbled.

  “What?” I moved a little closer. “Liberty, honey, I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

  She dropped her hands and glared at me. “I said I need you to pick one. Come closer, or go away, because I’m dying over here, and you look like that!” She waved her hand toward my torso. “And I get that it’s the hormones. I’ve read the pregnancy books. I understand that an increase in…drive is to be expected, but no one in those fucking books had to live with Nixon-freaking-Noble while they were pregnant!”

  I tilted my head and studied the quick rise and fall of her breasts, the color rising from her neckline to her cheeks, and the blatant hunger in her eyes. She was turned on. “And my only choices in this scenario are come closer or go away?”

  “Going away is probably safer,” she muttered.

  “You’re horny.” I grinned.

  She scoffed. “That’s a stupid word.” Her expressions shifted about twenty times in that many seconds. “Fine. Yes! But only for you.
It’s not like I’m out there scoping out guys. I only want you,” she ended softly.

  I took a breath and counted to three while I reminded my dick to behave. It gave me a mental playback of the words I only want you and started throbbing.

  “And if I come closer, what’s that going to look like?” My voice dropped.

  “What do you want it to look like?” It was nearly a whisper.

  Fuck it.

  “I want you naked and writhing beneath me.”

  Her eyes popped wide, but her lips parted.

  “I want to put my hands, my mouth, my tongue on your skin, and I want to watch you unravel.” I moved forward, bringing us inches apart. “I want to hear you scream my name when you come, and then I want to slide so deep inside of you that I’m seared into your memory. And then I want to make love to you, all slow and easy, so I feel you come around my cock, all tight and hot and wet.” I got up in her space, forcing her to tilt her head back to keep eye contact.

  Her breaths stuttered.

  “And then—” I leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I’m going to fuck you in every way I know how, and learn a few new ones just to keep you in my bed as long as possible.”

  She shivered.

  “So maybe it’s not really me who needs to make the choice of coming closer or getting away.” I brushed my lips against her ear. “You’re the one with the choice, Liberty. I’ve always known what I wanted.” My heart slammed out a pounding rhythm as I lifted my head to see her eyes.

  She grabbed my tie and pulled me into her kiss.

  Our mouths were ravenous, our tongues rubbing and stroking as I tilted her head to take her deeper. I kissed her senseless and lost myself along the way.

  I gripped her ass and lifted her against me, rubbing my erection against the thin fabric of her pajama pants that covered her core.

  She gasped, then locked her ankles around my waist and slid her fingers into my hair as she kissed me deeper. Harder.

  Need, hot and primal, raged between us. I needed her under me. Now.

  I carried her up the stairs. “Your room or mine?” I asked when we reached the top.