She simply stopped following me as her answer, thank God.
Cannon and Persephone had been on that same Vegas trip, but the two had woken up married that second day and had some serious history…of hating each other. Guess all that hate was just for show since they were hot and heavy and planning a second wedding now, but I was glad I wasn’t the one who’d accidentally gotten hitched to my charity auction date.
Not that I wouldn’t have minded at least seeing Liberty again. Shit, we’d had so much to drink that weekend that most of it only came in flashes. When in Vegas, right? Talk about an awkward plane ride home. She’d hidden behind a book and blushed ten shades of red every time I’d dared to look her way. It’s better this way. No distractions.
I pulled my ball cap on and walked through The Barn doors into the heat and humidity of the one o’clock sun.
“Sir,” Owen Hamilton, the security guard who always stuck by me, said in a rumbling, deep voice as he offered me a Sharpie.
“Thanks, Owen. And for the hundredth time, call me Nixon, you stubborn ass,” I said under my breath as we approached the rope that separated the field from the fans. Some of my teammates were already spread out down the line, signing shirts and taking pictures.
Owen’s wide smile said he’d heard me.
I greeted every fan I could as we walked down the line. Hats, pictures, balls, I signed them all and took selfies with whoever asked. If they were willing to sit out here for hours and watch us practice, then I was more than happy to sign whatever they wanted. I drew the line at body parts, though.
We’d just about gotten to the fifty-yard line when I looked into a pair of green eyes I’d been dreaming about for a month.
“Liberty?” Christ, could you sound any more like an over-eager puppy? I dropped my voice. “What are you doing here?” That’s better. Now, if I could do something about the quick little jump my heart had pulled.
Damn, she was even more beautiful than I’d remembered. Her silky, dark hair was up off her neck in a ponytail, and her skin glowed with a summer tan. Any model would have killed to have her facial structure with her high cheekbones and sweeping, thick lashes, but fuck, it was her eyes that nearly took my knees out. They were pale green with a jade ring, and they dropped away from my gaze too quickly.
“Liberty?” I asked again.
“Hi, Nixon.” She tugged on her lower lip with her teeth as her hands gripped the rope so hard her knuckles turned white. “Can I talk to you for a second?” Her eyes darted to the crowd around her.
“Yeah, of course.” I lifted the rope and nodded to Owen, who made sure only Liberty came through, then stood watch.
“Thank you.” She ducked under the rope in a white tank top and a long, flowing skirt with some kind of bohemian print on it.
My memory flashed with an image of her smiling up at me, wrapping her legs around my hips—Knock it off. I tried to control my thoughts, but they were firing on all cylinders as she followed me to mid-field for some privacy. No distractions, that’s what I’d promised myself, but that was before I’d thought Liberty would ever show up at training camp.
I thought I’d never see her again, given the way she’d pretty much ran off the plane once we touched down in Raleigh. Hell, she hadn’t even been the one to bid on me during that charity auction—it had been her roommates.
I turned and faced her once I was sure no one could hear us, but she couldn’t seem to find her tongue. Her mouth opened and shut a few times, and her eyes darted around us. I could almost see the conversation she was having inside her mind, but she sure wasn’t sharing it.
“It’s really great to see you,” I said softly, meaning it.
Her eyes focused on the Raptor logo just above my heart. Coach liked us to wear polos when we walked the sideline after practice.
Maybe laughter was the way to go. “You feeling like another Vegas trip after the season is over? Because I’m not sure how much either of us really remembers the first one.”
She sputtered a laugh, and I found myself utterly bewitched by her smile. It was brighter than the stadium lights.
“I’m being ridiculous,” she muttered, shaking her head slightly so her ponytail swayed. Then she looked up at me with so much excitement in her eyes that I smiled right back. “Okay. Here it is. I wasn’t happy at first, but now I am. Really, really happy, and completely excited. And I don’t need anything from you. Not a dime. Or acknowledgement, or anything. The last thing I would want is for you to feel pressured, right? Because you already have so much pressure in your life…not that we know each other. I mean, you’re absolutely right—I don’t remember a lot from that trip except that breakfast when those two people realized they were married,” she babbled.
“Liberty, what are you getting at?” My forehead puckered as I tried to follow along. What would I feel pressured about? There was zero pressure if she wanted a repeat. Hell, I’d break that little distraction rule in a heartbeat if it meant I got to fill in the gaps of my memory.
“Right. Sorry. I planned this all out on the drive over, which apparently did me no good. Anyway, I really don’t need anything from you—”
“You already said that.” I caught her shoulders when she swayed slightly. Her skin was soft under my fingers.
“And I meant it,” she assured me with a nod. “I’m only here because I think you deserve to know that you’re going to be a father, and I’m completely prepared to raise this baby on my own.”
The hell you say.
I blinked. Then blinked again. This was not happening again. What the fuck, did I have sucker tattooed on my forehead? I let her go and stepped back.
“Nixon?” her eyebrows furrowed with concern.
“Could you say that one more time?”
2
Liberty
A bead of sweat rolled down Nixon’s strong jaw, disappearing down his neck and beneath the Raptors polo he wore. Even without the pads and uniform, his broad shoulders and chest were undeniably muscular.
And felt like heaven to dig my nails into.
Or at least, I thought they did.
What stars had aligned that allowed me to sleep with the freaking hottest quarterback in the NFL?
And what curse had made me not be able to remember most of it?
I shifted on my feet, my thong Birkenstock sandals absorbing the warmth from the North Carolina summer sun. My skirt billowed down to my ankles and allowed the gentle breeze to caress my bare legs underneath, but sweat gathered at the back of my neck, dotting the collar of my white tank top.
My heart raced, so hard and fast I might vomit right there on the training field.
Fans screamed behind us as one of Nixon’s teammates jogged over to sign autographs—“Hollywood” Hendrix, the man with looks fit for the big screen. Couldn’t deny his appeal, but I was much more prone to the dark and broody man before me.
“Again,” I said, finally locating my voice somewhere in the swell of emotions overriding my system. “I don’t want anything from you.”
Okay, so maybe tracking him down at training camp hadn’t been the best idea I’d ever had, but it wasn’t like I had his phone number.
I’d tried the head of the charity auction—Persephone VanDoren—and she’d been like a ferocious little guard dog when I’d asked for Nixon’s information. Admirable, really. If I was a celebrity athlete, I wouldn’t want anyone handing out my information without my permission either, but he deserved to know.
So here I was.
At the Raleigh Raptor training camp, amid hundreds of avid fans, braving the southern summer and making a complete fool of myself.
I absentmindedly smoothed a hand over my stomach, not yet able to physically feel that life inside me, but there was something more there. A spiritual connection I couldn’t begin to explain, especially not to Nixon, who looked like he might vomit. And his super stoic bodyguard tried his best to keep his eyes off of mine, but I could see the pity flashing there.
Damn, had this happened before? Often?
The stone silence radiated from Nixon so much it could’ve had its own pulse. God, maybe this had been a huge mistake.
He deserved to know.
Right. That’s all it came down to.
“I don’t want your status or your money,” I elaborated since he continued to stare at me like I’d suddenly slipped on rival colors. “My mother was a missionary,” I continued. “I was raised all over the world. We traveled with only the clothes on our back and what we could fit into a pack. I don’t need or want your money.” I emphasized the last sentence, hoping it would sink in.
The sun reflected the bits of gold in his deep brown eyes, and a muscle in his jaw ticked. I swallowed hard and tossed my ponytail over my shoulder. I hadn’t anticipated anger—shock, sure. Hesitation, absolutely. But anger? Who the hell could be mad at this? Somehow, above the odds—i.e., a condom—a life had managed to create itself using pieces of both of us. And it wasn’t like I was begging him to marry me or give me a check every month. God, I just wanted him to know the truth.
“Here,” I said, shoving my card into his hand. “That’s where I work. If you need to find me, that’s where I’ll be tonight.”
I spun on my heels, excusing myself through the crowd of fans who had been waiting impatiently for their chance at an autograph or selfie with the Nixon Noble.
Well, they could have him.
I’d done what I’d come to do. He knew the truth, and now it would be up to him if he wanted a role in this baby’s life or not.
“Great job advancing to crow pose!” I high-fived one of my regular students as he walked out of the studio, the last lingerer of the night.
I blew out a breath, adjusting the straps of my sports bra, my fingers slick with sweat. I’d had three classes tonight, and I couldn’t wait to get home for a cool shower and a nice binge-watch session on Netflix.
After a quick cleaning, I flicked off the studio lights, grabbed my bag, and headed for the front door. Stepping into the cool night air rose chills on my skin, and I hurried to lock the doors.
“Hey,” a male voice said behind me.
I whirled with my keys clenched between my fingers, only to drop my fist when I set eyes on said male.
Nixon Noble, to be precise.
“God,” I groaned, my hand splayed over the center of my chest. “Lurk much?”
Nixon’s brow furrowed, the motion causing those sexy little grooves to form between his eyebrows.
No. Not sexy. Angry, remember?
Angry at me for simply telling him the truth.
I popped my hip out and crossed my arms over my chest as I glared up at him.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his palms raised. He wore a simple white T-shirt that did nothing to hide his array of carved muscles. The form-fitting jeans didn’t help him look less perfect either. His dark brown eyes trailed the length of my body, pausing on my bare stomach as if he could see through it to what laid beneath. “I apologize for being shell-shocked earlier today,” he continued, drawing his eyes back to mine. “But…” He raked his fingers through his brown hair as he blew out a breath. “I’m going to need you to go over everything one more time.”
My lips parted, exhaustion weighing my entire body. “Okay,” I said the word like I spoke to one of my classes for five-year-olds. “First, we had an ice-breaker drink.” I raised my hands to illustrate my story and ticked off one finger. “Then, we started laughing at each other’s jokes.” I ticked off another finger. “Then we had two more drinks.” Another finger. “Then those drinks tasted so good we thought it would be a good idea to have a couple more.”
I swallowed hard—I didn’t regret the outcome of those drinks, but I did regret not remembering what it was like to have him between my legs. I mean, my God, he looked like a good time, the best time, the once-in-a-lifetime can’t stop shaking from all the orgasms time. And I couldn’t remember it.
“In summary,” I continued. “Drinks. Two pink lines. One baby.” I narrowed my gaze at him. “Wait, you’re a twin.” I remembered how kind his twin Nathan Nobel and his fiancé had been when we’d all gone to Vegas. My stomach dropped. “It better be one baby!”
Nixon paced the small space of sidewalk before me as he rubbed the back of his neck. He stopped suddenly, his gaze intently on mine. “Are you sure it’s mine?”
I clenched my teeth together.
“Have you been to a doctor? Where is your proof?” Panic and anger coated his tone as he continued to spew questions so fast I didn’t even have a chance to respond. “Have you told the press?”
I gaped at him, exhaustion forgotten and replaced by adrenaline. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I snapped and stepped into his space. “I told you I didn’t want anything from you,” I said, shaking my head. “God, I assumed you’d want to know that in less than nine months, you’ll have a child.”
The muscles in his biceps rippled as he shoved his hands into his pockets, the uncertainty, doubt, anger, and panic all churning in those damn eyes of his.
I studied him a bit longer, taking a minute to breathe deeply. What kind of people had he dealt with in his past to cause this sort of reaction?
“Look,” I said, blowing out another breath. I took a step backward, calming that anger inside me. “I meant what I said. I don’t want a thing from you. The last thing I need or want is money or material things. They’ve never meant anything to me.” I shrugged, benefits of being raised on the road. “You can sign over your rights to me,” I said. “If that makes you feel better.” Something heavy sank on my chest for the baby at the thought that its father would want nothing to do with it.
The words seemed to sink in because Nixon shifted slightly, the tension in his muscular shoulders loosening a fraction.
“I know that being together for twenty-four hours doesn’t give us a history, Nixon,” I continued when he hadn’t bothered to respond. “But you’re the only man I’ve slept with in over a year, so, yes, it’s yours. And as long as you don’t ever ask that question again, I can forget the other questions.”
Nixon nodded rapidly like I might’ve broken him.
I gave him a saddened once-over—when I found out, I’d been scared, sure, but mostly excited. He clearly was leaning toward suspicion and paranoia.
A soft night breeze rose more chills on my skin, grounding me to the present. “So, I’m going to go,” I said, pointing toward the direction of my apartment. It was only a few blocks down the road, thankfully. “Nice knowing you, Nixon.” I smacked his hard chest, perhaps a bit harder than necessary, and walked past him toward home.
“Wait,” he called after me, and I paused. “Can I have your number?”
I snorted a laugh, glancing upward as if the stars would make sense of what my life had become.
My long-time celebrity crush—Raleigh Raptor Quarterback, Nixon Noble—was asking for my number.
And I was having his goddamn baby.
What kind of romantic comedy had I fallen into?
“Sure,” I said, holding out my palm. He dropped his phone into my hand, and I quickly added myself as a contact. I gave him my cell too and waited for him to do the same. “Are you actually going to use it?” I asked, handing his phone back to him, and taking mine.
He pocketed his, something like devastation coloring his features. “I don’t know yet.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. Fine, fair enough. “Don’t wait too long, Nixon,” I said, turning back around to walk home.
“Or what?” e called to my back, something lighter touching his edged tone.
“Or I might disappear.”
“Wait, what?” He jogged to catch up to me, but I didn’t stop walking.
I shrugged. “I have one semester to complete after my summer courses,” I said. “And once I have my doctorate, I’m heading out. I’ve never put down roots for long. So, if I were you, I’d think long and hard about what, if any, role you want in your kid’s life. N
o judgment either way,” I assured him despite the weight sinking my chest. I wasn’t moving anywhere for a while—not with the final classes I had to take—but I never let my life be set in concrete. He needed to know that up front. “Just know that I’m not some crazed fan of yours who will wait around forever, hoping you’ll call.”
He stopped in front of me, blocking my path. “You’re saying you don’t want me to call?” Challenge lit his eyes.
I tilted my head before shoving past him, completely done with this day. I’d set out to do the right thing and tell him the truth about the results of our crazy night in Vegas. And he’d insulted me twice. I was beyond done.
So, I glanced over my shoulder, allowing him to see the severity in my eyes. “I’m saying I don’t care either way.”
And I kept on walking, not once looking back.
3
Nixon
“You said what?” Nate barked through my speakers.
“I asked her if it was mine,” I repeated slowly as I turned left onto the street that led to The Barn.
“Holy shit, you can’t ask her that!” he shouted.
“Why the hell not?” I fired back.
“Because you just can’t!” he sputtered. “It’s on the list of shit you’re never allowed to ask a pregnant woman. That’s right up there with ‘are you pregnant?’ Why the hell would you do that?”
“I can think of about thirty-six million reasons, one of which might just be Lila.” I slowed the car as I approached the gate.
“Shit.” My brother sighed so hard I felt it all the way from South Carolina. “I get it. I really do, but Liberty isn’t your ex.”
“Oh, and you got to know her character so well during those twenty-four hours we were in Vegas?” I questioned and waved my access card at the panel. The gate opened before me.
“Fair point. Call your lawyer. Even if she is pregnant and it is yours, you’re going to need him. And as hard as I’m cringing as I say this, you’re going to have to ask her for a paternity test.”
Nixon (Raleigh Raptor Book 1) Page 2
