Quarterback's Baby: A Secret Baby Romance

by Roxeanne Rolling

  At least that’s how I remember her.

  And now she might have been the one to jealously take a swipe at me, potentially jeopardizing my career.

  So much is riding on this one email.

  So much of my mental state the last three years seems to hang in the balance. Is she going to be the wonderful person that I remember from that short, incredibly brief time in college, the woman that I hold in my memory as the woman that I want to have, to cherish and to fuck endlessly as if my life depended on it? Or is she going to be the woman who wants to get even with me, who wants something from me and my fame?

  I click the email, and the page jumps up onto my screen.

  “Dear Shane,” she writes. “I am not going to state by email or in writing in any way whether or not I am involved with a video of you.”

  Hmm… That’s pretty weird. It sounds like some kind of weird legal talk. It sounds like she doesn’t want to put in writing that it was her.

  Shit, I was hoping against hope that it wasn’t her.

  She can’t have become this person. She just can’t.

  My whole body seems to groan as I continue on.

  “We should arrange a time to meet to discuss this in person.”

  And that’s the whole email.

  Not a single word of affection or even recognition. No mention of what happened in college.

  There isn’t even a goodbye to the email. No “sincerely,” or anything like that. The standard “dear” is all I get.

  So she wants to meet me to do what? She wants to extort money from me or something?

  The fact that she’s saying she didn’t send the email with the video is basically like she’s admitting it. She’s basically saying that she installed a secret video camera in my room. Or at least she was involved in it somehow.

  I can feel myself getting angry. The anger runs through my chest, pounding and hot.

  It’s not a good feeling.

  I don’t want to be angry at her. I want her to be the perfect woman, the woman who I’d spend the rest of my life with… Not that I thought I’d ever find a woman like that.

  But she’s the woman I’ve been holding up as the golden standard.

  Not that I ever thought we’d be together. Nothing like that.

  Just… I thought that I’d find a woman like her someday, or like the memory I have of her.

  It turns out that it’s nothing more than a memory, nothing more than a fantasy.

  I’m so angry I want to destroy the interior of my car. I want to slam my fist into the dashboard, into the radio. I want to smash it to bits, and I could do it too.

  I know my own strength, and what I’m capable of.

  I close my eyes and take a series of deep, calming breaths. They bring me back away from the anger, towards a place somewhat resembling calm. I’m still angry, but I don’t need to smash anything. I’m not that kind of person.

  13

  Lia

  “You getting sleepy, Will?” I say.

  Will’s impossibly cute face stares up at me.

  He’s been playing with his blocks for a solid 40 minutes, super high energy, saying “Momma” the entire time, as well as making a lot of other sounds, many of them real words, or almost real words.

  It’s amazing how much he looks like Shane. To me at least. Only Jane knows that Shane is the father, and she says she doesn’t see it. Everyone else just says how much Will looks like me. They tell me he has his eyes, and then another person might tell me he has my nose, and my jaw.

  To me, he does look like me, but I think he looks more like Shane.

  These things are kind of subjective, though, in the end.

  “I think you’re getting too sleepy, Will,” I say. “Do you want to take a nap?”

  He nods at me, his eyes looking impossibly sleepy.

  “All right, Will, here we go.”

  I pick him up. My muscles are tired, and I have to struggle to carry him into his room where his crib sits against the wall. I wouldn’t be sore except for overworking myself at the restaurant, where it seems like I’m always the one doing the mopping, the scrubbing, all the manual labor, while my boss sits back and eats and drinks like he’s nothing more than a customer.

  I set Will down in his crib, covering him with a light blanket. I’ve been paranoid since I had him about all kinds of problems that kids can get, like SIDS, and all sorts of other horrible things.

  But I read that a light blanket is OK, and I even checked with the pediatrician, who assured me that at this age it’s quite fine to use a light blanket.

  Will is already fast sleep, with his thumb near his mouth, looking, again, impossibly cute.

  “Sweet dreams, Will,” I whisper to him, blowing him a kiss.

  I stand for a moment and admire the room.

  I work hard to afford this, and I’m proud of it. It’s a simple two bedroom apartment. It’s nothing glamorous, but it’s not yucky either, and everything works well. There’s hot water, a refrigerator, a stove, and none of it is disgusting.

  We don’t live in the greatest area, but it’s safe, just a regular run of the mill neighborhood.

  I had a one bedroom apartment for a long time, and it took me forever to decide to make the move. I figured that as Will grows, he’s going to need his own room, and now is a great time to start it. A lot of my salary and tips go to having this extra bedroom, but I don’t want Will to grow up with us constantly moving. I wanted to get a place that would last us a good long while, a place that I could transform into a home.

  And that’s what I’m doing, slowly but surely, when I have a spare few hours here and there. When I still have the energy, I’m working on painting the whole place myself, using the best non-toxic paints of course, basically refitting it into what I envision a home to look like, which is comfortable and cozy and not in the least bit stressful. I have enough stress at work. When I come home, I want to be able to put my feet up and relax. Of course, actually having a moment to myself with a child Will’s age is a real rarity.

  I head back into the living room and flop down on the couch, putting my legs up on the old wooden trunk that I use as a coffee table.

  There’s a knock at the door.

  There goes my relaxation time. I was thinking of just sitting here and staring at the wall, trying to catch a moment of rest in one of my few days off.

  It’s Jane at the door.

  “Why didn’t you call?” I say.

  “I thought you liked the drop in.”

  “Not really,” I say, but it’s not true. I don’t want to over encourage Jane to drop it at any moment, but I like the feeling of people coming by my house unannounced. It’s more convivial, and makes me feel less lonely, what with my parents thousands of miles away in Mexico and all.

  “I don’t believe that for a second,” says Jane. “You’re happy to see me and you know it. How’s little Will?”

  “Doing fine,” I say. “I Just put him to bed.”

  “Damn, I was hoping to play with him.”

  “Well stick around for an hour or so and I’m sure he’d love to show you his blocks.”

  “Ooh, sounds fun.”

  I laugh. “It is, but I do sometimes get tired of the blocks. But I never get tired of how crazy he is for those things. I wish I had that kind of enthusiasm still.”

  Jane pours herself a glass of wine, knowing that I have a bottle in one of the upper cupboards.

  I get myself a water, and Jane joins me on the couch in the living room.

  “So he emailed you?”

  “Is that why you came by? To get the gossip…”

  “Basically,” says Jane.

  “Typical Jane.”

  “So… tell me what happened? Why’s he emailing you out of the blue. He’s still pining away for you? The super stud who has every girl just can’t get enough of that magic pussy of yours.”

  “Jane!” I say.

  “You know it’s true.”

  “It’s no
t true,” I say. “It’s not like that. He forwarded me some email. He thinks that I sent this video of him, um, masturbating…”

  Jane laughs. “You mean that video that’s been floating around?”

  “You saw it?”

  “Yeah, I uh…”

  “Don’t tell me what you did when you were watching it.”

  “OK, I won’t then. But, yeah… that was pretty hot stuff.”

  “I can imagine,” I say sarcastically, as if I’ve never had the real thing in person. “I caught some girls on our hall watching it.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “Faleena and Shawna.”

  “The inseparable roommates. I remember them.”

  “How could you not? It’s only been two years.”

  “Two long years. So what happened? He saw the video and sent you an email about it? I don’t get it.”

  “Yeah, I guess he thinks that I took the video or something. I don’t know. The email address that sent him the video had my first name in it.”

  “What was it? LiaStillWantsYourCock@hotmail.com?”

  “Very funny,” I say.

  “So did you reply yet? That’s really weird… the whole thing.”

  “Uh,” I say, averting my eyes.”

  “What?” says Jane. “You sent him some weird email?”

  “Uh,” I say.

  “You did!” she says, accusation in her voice.

  “Maybe I did,” I say.

  “Uh oh,” says Jane. “I know it’s bad since you sound so uncomfortable about it. But I guess it’s good. You’ve got to open up the channel of communication.”

  “I thought I was done with him,” I say. “I mean, he didn’t seem interested in the voicemail I left telling him we had a son together. I mean, how crazy is that?”

  Jane just nods. She’s heard this from me a thousand times before.

  “But I guess I never really got over him…”

  “Got over one date?”

  “It was more than that,” I say. “But anyway, it’s not a romantic thing…”

  “Sure,” says Jane sarcastically, interrupting me.

  “I mean, it’s for Will. He’s got to know his father.”

  “So you wrote him an email saying that he’s got a son named Will or something? I really don’t understand why you didn’t do that earlier. Maybe he didn’t get your voicemail or something. I mean having a kid is a big deal…”

  “I know he got it,” I say, interrupting her.

  “All right, all right,” says Jane, trying to calm me down. “You get so sensitive about all this.”

  “It’s hard not to,” I say, taking a big gulp of water.

  Jane takes a sip of wine.

  “Hey,” says Jane. “If I were in your situation, I’d be acting just as crazy as you are.”

  “Uh, thanks,” I say. “I guess that’s somewhat comforting.”

  “No problem,” says Jane, pretending to miss my constant sarcasm. “So what did you say in the email? That it wasn’t you? Or what?”

  “I didn’t say anything,” I say. “I said I want to meet him. He only lives 40 minutes away.”

  “You said you want to meet him? And what? You’re going to tell him he’s a dad?”

  “Uh, I don’t think I’ll head into that right yet,” I say. “I kind of led him on. I didn’t deny doing the email thing, so I figure he thinks it’s me. And I’ll just kind of… I don’t know… feel him out. I wanted an excuse to meet him and get to know him again a little bit before jumping into the, ‘You put a baby in me and never called me back,’ thing.”

  Jane lets out a groan and holds her forehead dramatically in her hands. “Ugh,” she says. “This is so complicated. Why can’t anything ever be simple with you. None of this makes any sense at all.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  “You realize that, right?” she says. “None of this makes any sense. You’re going to go meet him in the hopes of getting to know him, even though he knows you have his kid and he doesn’t give a shit? And this is all on the pretense of you pretending that you sent out a porn video of him masturbating?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I say. “I know it’s not a good idea, but…”

  “You can say that again,” says Jane.

  After a pause, she adds, “But I’ll watch Will if you need me to.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  14

  Lia

  Two days later, I leave Will with Jane at my apartment. She’s great at looking after him, and not only do I trust her with Will, but he always seems to have a blast with her. I’m pretty sure she’s going to be Aunt Jane for Will, rather than just Jane, his mom’s friend.

  I chose an out of the way coffee shop to meet Shane.

  I’m here early, with my car parked nearby, in case I need to make a quick escape. My mind is in turmoil, and I don’t think this is going to go well.

  My plan has changed a little. I’m going to finally confront him about Will, about our son. Why the hell didn’t he ever return my voicemail?

  A little part of me seems to know that… well, that he just didn’t get the message. It’s been in the back of my mind for years and years, nagging at me, tugging at my thoughts, at my anger towards Shane.

  I mean, what kind of man would get a voicemail saying he had a son and then not do anything about it? Or even say anything about it? It doesn’t sound like Shane. But then again I really don’t know him that well.

  I’m sitting here sipping on my coffee when he comes in. He’s instantly recognizable. He’s spruced himself up a little since college.

  He looks more grown up. He’s no longer wearing just an old college t-shirt. He’s got on a button down shirt that’s just the right cut. He looks good. Even better than in college, actually.

  His face has matured a little. He has sharper lines on his face, making it more defined, if that’s possible.

  He’s bigger than he was before. But not by a huge amount. But he looks like he’s been working out constantly since college, which is probably accurate.

  There aren’t a lot of people in this out of the way café. But all heads turn to look at him.

  After all, he’s on TV, and he’s famous for being the up and coming quarterback. Everyone always talks about him at my job, including my boss.

  He looks at me, recognizing me instantly.

  He doesn’t smile, though. In fact, he looks angry. I can see it on his face. His mouth is slightly downturned, and his eyebrows are scrunched together a little.

  He looks impossibly powerful, the definition of masculine.

  I hate to admit it, but despite my feelings, my body starts to respond to his presence.

  I can feel him approaching. Like a visceral yearning. My body wants him to enter me and put more babies inside me. That’s crazy, and my mind rebels. But that’s biology for you. He’s the tallest and the strongest, the clear leader. The most physically fit man I’ve ever encountered. And my body knows that. My womb knows that. My pussy knows that, calling out for his cock to enter me, for him to take me right here and right now.

  “How’s it going?” he says, sitting down across from me.

  He seems huge sitting down. He seems to be about twice my size. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to him physically.

  Here sits the father of my son.

  That’s weird.

  My mind for a moment seems completely overwhelmed, and I start forgetting my plan.

  Did I ever even have a good plan?

  Or was I like so many others? Did I just concoct some sort of half-assed plan based just on unfortunate emotions, anger and strife?

  My mind seems completely blank.

  “Hi,” I finally say. “Are you going to get something to drink?”

  “I’m fine,” says Shane.

  He seems like he’s on a mission. He seems pissed off.

  This already isn’t going well, judging by his body posture and his tone of voice.

  But then
again he thinks that I sent out this erotic video of him. Doesn’t he have a right to be angry?

  But don’t I have a right to be angry? After all, abandoning his son is far worse than anything I’ve done.

  “So,” says Shane, breaking the awkward silence. “I’m here to find out if you sent that video of me.”

  I look at him for a moment before responding.

  “No,” I say. “I didn’t.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I didn’t have anything to do with that video.”

  I tell him the story of seeing those two girls on my hall watching it. I was shocked then and I tell him that.

  “So why didn’t you just tell me that by email?”

  I don’t answer the question.

  Instead, I start asking him about the voicemail I left him, the one where I told him I was pregnant.

  The conversation is already horribly awkward, and I figure it can’t possibly get any worse.

  “What message?” says Shane.

  “I left you one…”

  I go into the whole story of how I called him, how he didn’t pick up.

  He completely denies it, and I see the look of honesty in his face.

  It turns out he thinks that I never called him back. Or something like that. It’s hard to keep track of the exact story. Especially since I’m sweating with anxiety. Even my feet are sweating. Which is completely gross. And completely distracting. My heart feels like it’s pounding too fast, like it’s going to burst through my chest.

  “Wait,” I say. “So you really didn’t get my voicemail?”

  “No,” says Shane, looking annoyed but honest. “I didn’t. If it’s so important to you, what did it say anyway?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I say.

  Suddenly, I realize that he doesn’t know about Will.

  How have I managed to screw this up so badly?

  “You’re sure you’re not the one who sent me that email, or record that video?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I swear it wasn’t me. I mean, I’d never do something like that…”

  “OK,” says Shane. “I believe you.”

  He seems to have calmed down a little bit.