Quarterback's Surprise Baby (Bad Boy Ballers Book 2)

by Imani King

  I can't do that with Adisa.

  Thing is, I do have enough money as it turns out. I probably always did, if you strip away the luxury.

  Because money and possessions mean nothing if what you really want is love.

  Love is time spent, love is being there. Love is rolling around in the bed sheets, admiring your partner. Love is cooking her eggs just the way she likes them, and burning the toast a little if she prefers it that way.

  Love is staying at the hospital all night, hoping that the person you care about is going to be ok. Love is taking care of your family when they need you.

  I want to be that person for Adisa. But can I? Will she let me? Does she feel about me the way that I feel about her? I hope so. I can feel something important in her kisses. It's not just something physical with her, it's more than that. The way she clutched me in her bed, the way I hold her, and she responds to my touch, that's not something that a person can fake, or something one can imagine.

  It's real. It may only be the beginning but it's real. And that's what is important to me. That’s what I never had with my ex, no matter how much we tried. When it came down to it, everything was about her. Her life, her work, her pleasure, her body, her orgasm, herself. And no matter what I did, I couldn't change that.

  The only person who can change something like that is the person who is doing it.

  And the sad truth is that Steph was never interested in changing for her own happiness, for me or for anyone. And I finally have to admit to myself that you can't change another person because you love them. A person can change because they love you, I read that the other day. Or something like it. But Stephanie and I never had that kind of relationship. I wonder, did she want me on her arm just like she wanted the that crazy ten thousand dollar Birkin bag I gave her for her birthday? Was I some kind of accessory to her lifestyle? Insignificant? Interchangeable?

  The most beautiful thing about being with Adisa is that I don't even want her to change one thing - not a hair on her head. All I want to do is make things a little easier for her. Or more accurately, a lot easier for her. Because she shouldn't have to be always helping others. If she chooses to that's one thing, but she shouldn't have to. She shouldn't always have the weight of her family on her thin shoulders - mostly just the pleasure of being part of her beautiful family. And then she can stretch her wings and become what she wants to be knowing that they have that support under their feet, and she does as well.

  I wonder if she will let me?

  15

  Adisa

  "So your father has improved tremendously over the last few hours," the kindly nurse tells me. "It was no walk in the park, as it’s never an easy operation, but we’re happy to report that it went without incident and now he’s awake and responsive. He just needs to see your smiling face right about now." She smiles at me, and I feel a bit like crying.

  "How long before he can come home?"

  "It'll be at least a few days, depending on how his recovery progresses." She looks down at his chart. "We'll do everything we can for him until that time comes of course, and we'll keep you informed every step of the way."

  "I appreciate it." I let out the deep sigh that I didn't know I was holding in. "You're so kind." The waiting room, that felt so bleak overnight with it’s green walls and cheap artwork suddenly feels warmer, kinder, easier. I reach back behind my head and rub the tension out of my neck. Then I look up.

  Her eyes crinkle. "It's my job," she says matter-of-factly. "And I do it because I love it."

  "That's amazing, and I appreciate it," I say.

  "Let's go see him now," she says as she takes my arm and leads me to the ICU.

  We go through the heavy double doors and I am a bit shocked to see how small and ashen he looks in the bed. But his eyes are open, so I know that he's conscious. The nurse gestures toward a chair near his bed, checks his chart once more, and says, "Let us know if you need anything."

  "Will do." At the sound of my voice my father turns toward me.

  "Hello baby," he says, his own voice quieter than I hoped. Weaker. I grab his hand.

  "How are you feeling papa?" I ask him, trying not to sound too worried.

  He tries to smile and sit up a little, but with the machines attached to him it’s difficult. The various sounds of beeping and whooshing of the ICU also punctuate our conversation. "Oh you know, I'm strong like a bull."

  "I know daddy." He always used to say he was strong like a bull when I was little so I know he's sending me a message and am comforted on some deep level. In some way the world feels a little more right again. He's the daddy and I'm the child, not the other way around like it’s been seeming lately. "I'm so glad you're all right."

  "Absolutely," he says gruffly as he presses the morphine drip. "Just in a little pain, but I know I'm on the upswing now. On an upswing!" He gives my hand the tiniest of squeezes and I know he's telling the truth. Love swells up in my heart, and for some reason I picture Nicholas. I guess it's because of the warm feeling that was burning in my chest when we were together just this morning. "So,"my dad continues, "are you going to be ok for the next few days if I am in the hospital, you know with the kids and such?"

  "Of course daddy." I'm surprised that he thinks that his presence was so helpful when he was withdrawing and laid up in bed. I guess it was, in a way. even though we were able to manage pretty well. It made the place feel a bit more inhabited - gave some semblance of normalcy. If he's not there it might be a bit harder on the little ones. Speaking of them, I do have to remember that I need to try to keep everything as normal as possible for them.

  "Because there’s something I wanted to let you know," he murmurs. His voice is getting quieter, weaker. "There is a little money over the shelf in the bedroom closet. If something happens, and you get in any trouble, you’re the only one besides myself who knows it's there. It's not a whole lot, but it will tide you over for a few months in a pinch."

  "Don't say that daddy, everything is going to be fine, and you'll be out of here lickety split and can go back to work." I have to look down at my hands as I say this.

  "I hope so." He coughs lightly and winces from the pain, and reaches for the button to drip a little of the morphine into his system. But it's too soon for another dose, and as a result it won't dispense. His eyes close.

  "Are you sure you’re all right, daddy?" I ask, looking around for the nurse but she's not in sight. The call button is right there though, and I'll push it if things get bad. “I can find you a nurse. Tell me what I can do!”

  "I just need a little rest," he whispers. And his eyes close. With that, I feel a little panic rising in my chest again, and I wonder if what I just told him is true. Will he get better, and things go back to normal?

  What is normal, anymore, anyhow?

  And if they don’t get back to normal, will I be able to keep my job at the restaurant? I called them before I came up to this floor, and they seemed understanding. But there's only so long they can go without a reliable waitress. I don't want to dip into dad's emergency fund in any kind of hurry, but it's good to know there's at least a little something there if I need it. It'll probably be some time before he can return to work, if he ever can, if he recovers.

  "I'll stay with you until you fall asleep," I say softly. It’s the only thing I can do.

  But all this worry is too much to handle. Right now, I just want us to focus on one thing, and that's his health. "You're going to pull through this, daddy," I whisper, and gently squeeze his hand. “One day at a time.” He doesn't squeeze back this time, so I figure he's probably sleeping. Then I hear him.

  "Millie," he murmurs in a sleepy tone. That's my mom's name. "Millie, I love you," he says. Tears fill my eyes. Does he think I'm her? I try to feel as if she is there with us too, watching over us. But it's hard because at my weakest moments, I already feel a bit abandoned by her. Can I ever fill her shoes in my own family, be as strong as the woman she was? I don't know. I can't know. I
can just keep taking things one day at a time, and I’m doing my best.

  My breath feels ragged, and as I try to calm down, I count my breathing — it’s a little trick I’ve used. Breathe in for four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four. After a little time, it starts to work and the shock of panic begins to subside, at least for the time being.

  Leaning back on my chair, I glance at my phone. Thank heaven Nicholas offered to sort out my car. It's possibly the kindest thing anyone's ever done for me. If I had to take care of everything myself, I wouldn’t be able to spend this time comforting my dad, and, just as importantly, having him comfort me. I don't know what I'd do without Nicholas, already - and we've only just become close. I close my eyes. It's been a rough night, and a stress-filled morning, as wonderful as it was.

  I do hope things work out with Nicholas. I would love it if something, one thing, were to work out well in my life right about now. Having someone just on my side makes things just that much easier. And that that someone is beautiful, smart and successful, caring about me makes it that much better.

  I lean my head down on my hand and before long I find myself dreaming a little, half awake. His lips, the little bow shape on the top edge, and his eyes, stormy blue. The drawl that slips into his voice as he relaxes. Nicholas. Are you falling in love with me? Am I with you?

  And with that I drift off to sleep, forgetting about the morning, the slight soreness in my shoulders, the worry about my brother and sister, until I hear the faint bell of a text message coming through.

  Glancing at my phone I see it's already time for my brother and sister to be picked up, and luckily my neighbor just texted me that she is taking care of it. I didn't mean to doze this long, but I guess I have to admit that I am exhausted and I can't expect to just go and go and go without much rest.

  But there's another message too.

  This one from Nicholas.

  "I have your car in the shop," it reads. "They'll let me know what it needs, and I'll keep you posted. In the meantime I have a company car that you can use. It's parked outside your house. Keys inside your mailbox. My driver is set to pick you up from the hospital and take you home when you're ready. Just text him."

  How can anyone be this perfect? I wonder. He is so different from Jamal. But Jamal seemed a good man at first too, until he started to show his true colors. Would a relationship with this man be that way too, a nearly perfect honeymoon period but then the real person starts to slip through the cracks? Warts and all?

  Nobody's perfect, and I shouldn’t think of Nicholas as a perfect man either, even if I can’t find a fault in him to save my life. Despite the fact that he seems almost like one of the heroes of the romance books I used to read. Beautiful, tall, muscular, with an athlete's body; rich as anything; and with eyes that nearly sear into your soul with their gray-blue intensity.

  The one important way he differs from the heroes in all those books is that he is kind. He doesn't have an ounce of arrogance, despite his obvious assets. I hope this is the real him, this considerate and kind person. And going by this morning, an incredible lover, too.

  My dad stirs in his bed, and makes a small noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan of pain. I put my head between my knees and breathe slowly to try to regain myself a little.

  Mom, what should I do?

  And the answer comes back to me.

  You should be a good daughter, you should take care of your brother and sister. And while you do all that you should get to know this gorgeous man who seems to be quite taken with you.

  I hear the sounds of a gurney behind me and turn to see the kindly nurse from before. "The doctor is just coming in to assess your father’s condition, and after that we're going to transfer him to a room, Miss Jones," she says kindly.

  "Adisa," I correct her. "And really, thank you for all your help with my father. You've been such a rock for me."

  "I told you, it's my job," she says brightly, almost impersonally, but by the light in her eye and the smile on her face I can tell that she does appreciate my words.

  In a whirl, the doctor enters and flips through the chart, making notes, and talking to my dad who is still groggy after his sleep.He speaks quickly into a voice recorder and I catch the words, "recovery," and "aorta," but beyond that I am just not too sure what to make of his high-speed medical jargon.

  "Miss Jones," he addresses me then. "Of course we need to keep your father here until he's ready for release. If you'd like to accompany him from the ICU to his new room and get him settled, that would be great. But after that he really needs to rest, and I’m sure you need to as well. I would suggest you go home and do the same."

  I look between him and the nurse.

  "It's a wise plan," she says gently. "You can't take care of anyone else unless and until you take care of yourself first. Like with the oxygen masks on airplanes." She pushes the gurney out of the door after the doctor who is striding quickly away from us and motions for me to follow. I grab my phone and my purse and follow them as best as I can, thinking about what she said.

  If anyone should put on a mask, it's Nicholas. He's obviously taking the pressure off of me and helping me through this crisis.

  16

  Nicholas

  A horn beeps behind me, breaking my reverie, and I realize I have no idea for how long the light has been green.

  As I pull out, I have to admit it - I'm not exactly a young man anymore and I'm not even sure when it'll be that I can make my own family and start building the life that I want, the life that I can be proud of. I've already done a lot alone, but it's time for me to find the right person to build a substantial life together.

  Someone with the skills to be a good mom and the love in her heart to make a house a home. And with that I slip back into my reverie.

  Someone like Adisa. Her lovely eyes, downcast with eyelashes covering them, and then when she looks up you feel as if you are enveloped in warmth. Hands, soft, warm, small, touching my shoulders, my chest, pulling me close. Lips, so kissably soft, framing the syllables of my name as she takes my arm and leans in. Her voice, so smooth and kind. The laugh that bubbles inside her, shaking her shoulders until it spills out in light peals and makes me laugh too.

  Before long I find myself on the country road near my house as the early sunset of late winter arrives. The golden light hurts my eyes a little bit and I flip the visor down for the last few minutes of my voyage. When I reach the gates and they open with a smooth hum, I can't help but admire my estate and my house, both of which a true blessing - the building gorgeous, inside and out, situated perfectly in the trees and surrounding hills. Of course I think about what Adisa would think of it, what she would have thought of it if she’d been able to come by as planned.

  As close as you could get to a kind of ranch in this state, in the sense that it's surrounded by sprawling real estate. I've got a few horses, but I don't get ride them quite often enough. How ironic to actually be a cowboy, for real, and to have someone come and exercise your horses for you? It makes me feel like a bit of a poser but I just can't live without the sight and smell of a barn somewhere in my life. Some people might not like the aroma of clean horses but to me it's perfume. It keeps me connected to my roots and from there I know I can grow. Yes, it’s a great place to live.

  But no matter how nice it may be, without a woman, a house is not a home. Scratch that. Without the right woman, a house is not a home.

  I hang my keys on the hook by the door, go upstairs, take off my shirt and pants and lay down on my bed for a nap. The gentle caress of the down comforter calms me, the silkiness of the 1000 thread count sheets makes me want to stretch out. I wonder if Adisa would like my bed.

  I've never been in bed with someone like her, at least before today. She is definitely someone special. Her fierce gentleness, her warm embrace. Just thinking about it I can feel myself getting aroused. I can't help it, I have to run my hand over the thick heaviness that is my cock. Her lips, her breasts, he
r eagerness. Her love.

  That's the most beautiful thing about her, though it has some stiff competition from her mocha skin and warm dark eyes, the fullness of her soft lips. Her love is so evident in everything she does, everything she touches, even me. Thinking about her makes me hard and ready. My breath hitches in my chest as I grasp myself, stroking the full length and gently running my thumb over the head. Thinking of the fierceness with which she held me, the sureness of her hands, the silkiness of her skin.

  I feel the warm tingling energy in my chest, and it collects down into my cock, as I imagine Adisa under me, opening her legs, her mouth open and her breath starting to come hard and fast, just like it did this morning. I imagine plunging into her velvety softness, slipping inside her delicate folds as I kiss her tender lips. I can still feel how her nipples gathered under my touch, to a hard peak begging to be caressed.

  "Adisa," I whisper to the empty, silent room. "Adisa, you drive me crazy..." My energy is coursing through me, and the glans quivers as I stroke the shaft. Finally my hips buck, and trembling, I come, alone, with only the image of Adisa in my mind, her name on my lips, hanging in the failing light of the evening.

  Downstairs heating up dinner, I wonder how she is? I hope everything went OK with my driver. Still, I wonder about Saturday. Surely our plans are off. She can't exactly abandon her father in the hospital.

  Thinking about Darius and how he talked to me is making me giggle. What a charmer. And little Chikae is adorable too, her little braids tied up in baubles, her eyes that are almost the same as Adisa's. Her squeaky voice.

  Wasn’t she saving for their birthdays coming up? I could also just go to the party store myself, get a bunch of decorations, and bring them to her. It would still be fun for them to have the chance to decorate for some kind of birthday celebration.