Bad Boys Teaser: A Sizzling Bad Boys Anthology

by Warren, Rie

The muscles on his back rippled when he stood to his full height, and he didn’t look at me.

  “I don’t know what to think right now, Peyton.”

  I nodded, knowing he couldn’t see me.

  He pushed the caboose again with just a light tap of his fingertip.

  “He’s pretty amazing, right?” The huskiness of Rafe’s voice punctured another hole deep inside my heart. “Because I know you’d be a great mom.”

  The way his shoulders shook turned me inside out.

  “He’s incredible. So smart. Not gonna lie, though, sometimes he gets on my last nerve after my last nerve is already frazzled. God, that sounds bad, doesn’t it?”

  “Nah. You sound like a mom.”

  Teardrops spiked my eyelashes. “He’s a real daredevil. Like you.”

  “Shit.” Rafe’s rough laugh shuddered through me, and he brought his hands up to his face. “Shit.”

  “I just want to protect him, Rafe.” I walked up behind him, my hand barely touching his back. “The gossip magazines look for any weakness. The sports channels are hungry for Carolina Crush gossip. They’ll twist any story. I don’t want Cal to become a story.”

  When he turned, Rafe’s unruly black hair fell over his brow. Everything about him tightened. His fingers, his lips, his muscles.

  Stalemate.

  This was horrible all around.

  I felt like I was going to be sick as he sucked it up. Swallowed it down.

  “I’ll go then.”

  I led the way upstairs so Rafe could grab his stuff, trying to quietly hold in the sobs wrecking my chest.

  In my bedroom, I unbuttoned his shirt. My hair fell around my face, hiding the hurt and pain.

  The hurt and pain I was forcing on this man I’d always wanted.

  He came up behind me, his strong hands slipping the top from my shoulders.

  “Always the gentleman.”

  “Maybe not so much anymore.”

  We dressed quickly after that, and he opened the door, leading me into the hallway.

  “Can I at least say goodbye to him?” Rafe asked, his voice raw.

  I nodded, on the verge of tears.

  Crossing the landing, I opened Cal’s door.

  Rafe stepped inside, and Callum popped up from his beanbag and the new book.

  “Wow. Cool room, dude.”

  Cal pulled on Rafe’s hand, dragging him to the beanbag seat. “Wanna read the rest with me?”

  “I . . . maybe next time?” Rafe reached to touch Cal’s cheek.

  He ended up patting his shoulder.

  “’Kay. Fist bump?”

  I stood there in the doorway, my heart absolutely shredded when Rafe’s huge fist met Callum’s tiny one with the lightest thump.

  “Bye, little buddy. It was nice”—Rafe’s voice cracked then pitched low—“nice meeting you. Take care of your momma, okay?”

  Rushing past me, Rafe took the stairs two at a time to the foyer.

  I ran after him, almost tripping on one of those Fozzie Bear slippers I’d misplaced. When I reached him outside he was fumbling to get into his truck.

  “Rafe. Wait.” I tugged him around, but he wouldn’t look at me.

  His gaze slid to the driveway, my bare feet, over my shoulder.

  I touched his arm briefly but retracted my hand when his muscles tensed. “I don’t want to do this to you.”

  “Then don’t.” The only show of his broken heart was the stiff jaw he thrust out. “You hold all the power.”

  “You’re his father.”

  “Peyton. Fuck. I don’t know what you want from me. And I guess I fucked everything up with you a long time ago.” He ducked his head. “I know I did.”

  “So did I,” I softly whispered.

  “What now?”

  What now? I wanted to kiss him. Wanted to be with him. I wanted to have done the whole thing right all those years ago . . .

  “Come back inside.” I pulled on his hand.

  “Why?” he asked. “If I can’t—”

  “You’re his dad.”

  “What about you?” His fingers closed around mine. “What about you and me?”

  “I don’t think we can have a ‘you and me’ anymore.” Pulling my hand free, I took a step back. “It’s too complicated, even if we keep it discreet. What if we don’t work out, Rafe? If you’re going to be in Callum’s life—”

  “I want that.” His eyes sharpened on mine, that same fierce determination he showed on the field shining through.

  “I know.” I smiled sadly, one part of my heart crumbling. “And if we couldn’t make it work it would just be too confusing for Cal on top of everything else I’m about to put him through.”

  He spun away from me, his shoulders stiff. After blowing out a long exhale, he turned back, a little bit of hurt shadowing his eyes.

  “Okay.” He popped his knuckles then shook out his fists. “Are we gonna do this now?”

  “I think so.”

  His expression brightened with a lopsided smile. “Shit. I’m nervous.”

  “Me too.”

  So nervous a million mothwings fluttered around my tummy and my hands trembled and I understood why Rafe had cracked his knuckles. I bet his hands were shaking, too. Callum loving Rafe ‘Mac’ as his NFL idol was completely different from finding out he was his father.

  Rafe guided me up the steps and through the front door where I called out, “Cal? Can you come downstairs, baby boy? Rafe and I have something to tell you.”

  Twenty-One

  Baby Steps

  Rafe

  CALLUM HAD HANDLED THE big tell-all well. Better than I had, for sure. He’d sat cross-legged on a beanbag while Peyton and I’d jittered with nerves. He scratched his nose, crossing his eyes to see the itchy spot, and Pey had cleared her throat.

  When she’d dropped the bomb, Callum’s bright green gaze landed on me in confusion.

  “Don’ get it. You said the stork bringed me.”

  “Mommy told you something that wasn’t true, baby boy.”

  “But lies are bad.” Nose scrunch. “You said so.”

  “Mommies aren’t perfect.”

  My gaze had bounced between the two of them—this conversation between the toddler and his mommy fascinating. Was the kid more grown up than me?

  Well, Liv always claimed to be. Probably wasn’t that much of a stretch.

  Suddenly Callum jumped up. “If Mac’s my daddy, that means I’m definitely g’on be a quarterback too!”

  Not exactly the reaction I’d expected. “Umm . . .”

  He rushed over to me, basically rappelling up my legs to land in my lap. Chubby arms in a headlock around my neck. His scent drifted over me—little boy, a little dirt, shampoo, and . . . maple syrup.

  I hugged him back, trying not to crush him in my arms, but holy shit, the kid was a good squisher.

  When I looked up from pretty much planting my nose in his hair, Peyton had a tissue pressed against her eyes.

  I needed one, too.

  Reaching over, I squeezed her shoulder.

  “Psst. I gotta tell you somethin’,” Callum hissed in my ear with his sweet maple syrup breath.

  Swinging my gaze to him, I said, “Shoot.”

  “I already know Mommy ain’t perfect. She’s mean sometimes, but’s only when she gets the MS thing she talks about to Auntie Phil,” he loud-whispered. “She kisses me when she drops me off at school.” His nose scrunched again. “She likes kisses and hugs.”

  Fucking hell.

  “Can I call you Daddy?” Still rambling, he grabbed one of my hands and clambered off my lap. “You can read me the book now!”

  Fucking. Hell.

  Consider my heart squeezed.

  “He’s a little headstrong,” Peyton warned.

  “Don’t know where he gets that from.”

  She blushed delicately.

  “This okay?” I asked as Callum tried hauling my two-hundred-plus-pound frame off the couch.

  L
ike I had a choice; the little guy steamrolled right over both of us.

  Case in point:

  “Rafe’s stayin’ for lunch,” he announced.

  “Is that so?” Peyton chuckled.

  “I make it.”

  “Doubt that very much.” She playfully rolled her eyes, watching as Callum led me upstairs with his small hand engulfed in mine.

  An hour later the three of us reconvened in the kitchen. Callum poked around until Peyton handed him a full sippy cup and a snack bowl of Goldfish. Didn’t she know I was the one who needed rehydrating? Two books. The trainset. Transformers. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles—Callum made me dress up as Donatello, which made me chuckle, because Coach D. And then scrimmaging—in costume—on the back lawn.

  “I’m exhausted.” I guzzled the bottle of water Peyton passed to me in the middle of serving up tater tots and chicken fingers. “How the hell do you do it?”

  “Told you he was headstrong.”

  “I think you underplayed that just a little bit.” Seriously? I was fucking wiped.

  Best. Damn. Day. Ever.

  Except for the no-relationship thing with Peyton.

  I had lunch with them. Pretended I didn’t wanna stay the night all over again when I walked to my truck later.

  Cal leaped on me, going all red-haired monkey and kissing me all over my face. “But if you’re my daddy now, why can’t you stay?”

  “Things are complicated.” I halfheartedly tried to untangle him from my neck.

  He pouted, dropping down, and Peyton gathered his hand.

  “But your mommy has my phone number, and you can FaceTime me anytime you want.” I dipped a kiss onto his forehead, breathing in his scent one last time.

  Peyton reached over as if she was gonna touch me, but she stopped just short. She gripped Callum’s hand, gently pulling him away from me. Her lips trembled, and I thought she was gonna say something. Instead she looked away quickly, wiping beneath her eyes.

  I was too choked up after that to make light of the moment. My feet felt heavy as I boosted into the Scout. Hell, my heart felt heavy, weighing down my chest.

  Driving away from the two of them was the single hardest thing I’d ever done, and I watched them in the rearview mirror until they were out of sight.

  Wanted to turn back.

  Later, alone in bed, I was scrolling through the photos I’d taken of Callum when my iPhone vibrated in my hand.

  Peyton.

  I answered in a heartbeat. “Yeah?”

  “Cal wants to say goodnight to you.”

  I shoved up straight in the bed. “Ok—”

  “G’night, Rafe Mac Daddy!” Callum blew raspberries like kisses at me from across the line, but the Rafe Mac Daddy thing was so not right.

  I even heard Pey mumbling in the background, “Uh unh, don’t you call him that.”

  Stifling a laugh, I cupped the cell closer to my ear. “Goodnight, Callum. Sleep tight, little guy.”

  “Kiss, kiss, kisskissKISSES!” he shouted back at me.

  My heart thump-thumped.

  I interrupted him blowing more raspberries as soon as my voice started working again. “Hey, don’t hang up yet. Can you put your mommy back on?”

  “Mommy!” She was probably sitting right next to him. “Rafe wantsa talk to you.”

  There was a lot of shuffling, rustling; I think I heard the phone drop then high-pitched giggles.

  “Peyton?” I asked when I caught her heavy breathing on the line. “Wait. Are we having phone sex now?”

  Because I could maybe be into that.

  “No.” She huffed. “Callum accidentally kicked the phone under the bed. He’s never going to sleep tonight. You’re worse than Santa Claus,” she grumbled.

  I chuckled. “I just wanted to say thank you, Pey.”

  “What for?”

  “For raising such an amazing kid.” My voice came out low and gruff, chugging on emotions.

  “Rafe . . .”

  “But can we back up to the phone sex thing?”

  “’Night, Rafe.” She ended the call with a smile in her voice.

  Fuck, I was a dad. Five-plus-years too late, but I still wanted to go out and buy all the guys cigars. Shout it to the world. Do a touchdown dance.

  Take care of Pey. But her ruling on our relationship meant she probably wouldn’t be down with any of that. Her decision was a bad call, all the way. Just like her choice to keep Callum from me all this time. Didn’t matter though. She’d had her reasons. And I still wanted to be with her.

  It may have been baby steps with Callum, but by the end of training camp, I was already in love with the kid. Scratch that. Two minutes after meeting him, I’d been in love.

  Peyton and I had come to an arrangement. I got him every other day after practice until bedtime. Baby steps. With Peyton and me, though, there were no steps forward. Not that she was bitchy about the situation or to me, but she kept me at arm’s length—because anything closer naturally meant we were gonna end up making out.

  When the woman made a decision, she was hardcore about it.

  The first time I picked Callum up at their house, Peyton looked like a nervous wreck. Like I didn’t know little kids at all. Backpack? Check. Extra clothes in case of an accident? Ditto. Favorite toy? Right on. Snack pack and sippy cup? Natch.

  But she watched me install his car seat in my truck then actually climbed in to make sure I’d tightened the straps enough. She kept her mean face on the whole time I buckled him into the complicated harness then she double-checked all the buckles.

  I whistled through my teeth, tapping my fingers against my thigh.

  “All good?” I asked.

  She backed out of my Scout, and I made myself take a step back so her fine ass didn’t brush my groin.

  Mmmm.

  “Where’s his lovey again?” Her hair swirled around her head like a bright red cloud, all the hell messed up from her being bent over in the backseat and even sexier than when she kept the dark red tresses tamed in a ponytail.

  “Backpack,” Callum and I replied in unison.

  “You know you need to section his grapes.”

  I snorted.

  “Don’ cut my grapes, Rafe! Imma big boy.”

  “Relax, darlin’.” I gripped Peyton’s shoulders. “I got this. It’s only two hours. Go out and have some fun.”

  Just not with a guy. Definitely, no other men allowed.

  So, we had a schedule—and Peyton and I continued to ignore the vibe between us. Callum was the damn sweetest thing I’d ever seen, all the time, even when he snuck my iPhone away on more than one occasion, nimbly scrolling through the camera roll of potentially non-G rated pics, which included team shots as well as Brooklyn’s ass for future potential blackmail.

  “Gross!” Cal shouted, his face all screwed up.

  Yup. Changed my passcode after that.

  Still, his goodbye squishy hugs and sloppy near-miss kisses were better than heaven.

  The truth was coming out . . . slowly.

  But not to the team. Per Pey. I was not a fan of that.

  I’d told my mom. Good thing she was two hours away. First she threatened to hop in her Prius and head straight to Charleston so she could give Peyton—that red-haired harlot—what-for. Two minutes later she drilled me on the A to Z of Callum, from his birthdate to his clothing size to his favorite books so she could send a care package for him.

  And she was definitely coming to meet her grandson soon. Foot stomp.

  Unbelievably, I also got a talking-to about safe sex. At the age of twenty-seven. The sex had been safe; I’d just been stupid.

  As for Liv, she was thrilled to squealing bits. Jesus. Who knew she could give Cal a run for his money when shouting over the phone? She was especially excited to have someone younger to boss around. Not that age had ever stopped her from trying to tell me what to do, despite me being her bigger, much older brother.

  Just before I headed out to the final Family Sunday of
training camp in late August, I broke the news to my agent, Serena, in case there was an upcoming shitstorm she needed to handle. Pretty sure she’d choke me with my own dick if she found out through other channels instead of straight from the horse’s mouth.

  Ahhhh Serena. Not so serene.

  “YOU WHAT?” She blazed at me, and really, it was amazing the amount of venom she laid on from all the way up the eastern seaboard in her HQ in NYC. “That night? That night I told you not to screw Billy Fox’s daughter, you were screwing Billy Fox’s daughter? Peyton Fox! You have a kid together?” She screeched some more.

  “Yeah. So that happened. Have a field day with it.” Holding the phone loosely in my hand and about twelve inches from my ear, I bit into an apple.

  “Rafe Macintyre, I’m gonna make you wish you’d been born a eunuch after I cut off your cock and Shove. It. Down. Your. Throat.”

  Totally knew it.

  She really needed to work on her repertoire.

  As I tried to figure out how to gently tell her that, a hard knock sounded on my door.

  “Can you hang on a sec?” I muttered to Serena. “Someone’s at the door.”

  “If you hang up on me, I’ll—”

  Mute.

  Awesome.

  Swinging the door open, I blinked into the bright sunshine and down at the woman with the gorgeous copper-colored hair.

  “Peyton? Was just talkin’ about you.”

  Call ended.

  Serena could swing in the breeze for all I cared.

  Twenty-Two

  Daddy Swagger . . . Gah

  Peyton

  RAFE CAME TO THE door in shorts and nothing else.

  Why? Why did the universe do this to me? It was hard enough keeping boundaries in place around him already without seeing him strutting around nearly naked.

  I stood—breathless—while he tossed the phone he’d been talking on behind him. It landed on the floor. He didn’t even look back.

  I gulped.

  Those hard knots and deep grooves of cut muscles . . .

  Drool might’ve collected in my mouth.

  Had he just come from the shower?

  Then—then—he ran his fingers through his wavy black hair like he was in a Calvin Klein underwear commercial.