Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance

by Sosie Frost

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.” I called over the waiter. “People eat on dates. You and I will eat on our date.”

  I tucked a hundred dollar bill in the waiter’s suit. Leah hissed at me. I ignored her.

  “Make sure the lady’s wine glass doesn’t go empty tonight.” I pointed to a variety of foods on the menu—not like I could read the French anyway. “That’ll be good for appetizers.”

  The waiter nodded and scurried to the kitchen. Leah glared.

  “Please. Thank you. You’re welcome. Ever hear of those words?” She couldn’t look angry sipping a glass of hundred dollar wine. “You have to be courteous, Jack. You’re a public figure.”

  Since when did throwing a ball and dodging rabid linebackers mean I was a public figure? “Hey, I’m being a perfect fucking gentleman while you bill me for taking you out on the town.”

  “You make me sound like an escort.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” I winked. “Never needed one.”

  Leah acted like she’d either let her guard down or dump the wine over my head. I liked the indecision. Made her feisty.

  “I don’t understand you,” she said. “You’re the star quarterback of a professional football team. You have the money and the power and the opportunity to become the best of all time. Not one of the best, but the best. Why would you throw it away for a threesome with questionable women?”

  “You’re missing the big picture. It would have been a foursome.”

  “Oh, whatever.” She crossed her arms.

  “Give me my moment of glory.”

  “Was that what it was? Glory?”

  “It was fun, Kiss. You know. What people do when they yank the sticks out of their asses?”

  “I can have fun.” The shawl covering her bare shoulders said otherwise. “But I also know when it’s time to be responsible. You have to plan for your future.” She glanced at me, eyes big and beautiful and more distracting than the swell of her tits. “Have you thought about your future at all?”

  “I have a plan for my future.” Two, if I counted getting her in bed. “Winning.”

  “Winning?”

  “Gotta win the first game. Gotta win the next. Gotta win the playoffs. Gotta win the championship.”

  She waited, as if I had more to say. “That’s…it? That’s your goal in life?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What happens when you get the championship?”

  That was the kind of dirty talk that got me harder than a lucky girl calling me Daddy. “You think I’ll win it this year?”

  “Yes…You’re Jack Carson.” She picked at a piece of bread. “Of course you will.”

  “I didn’t know you were that confident in me.”

  She perked an eyebrow as she tasted the freshly baked bread. “You never asked what I thought, just kept banging random women on your way to glory.”

  “What could have been.”

  “I can’t imagine a foursome being a life goal.”

  What was with her? “I don’t have any other goals. I told you. I want my championship ring.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes.” I frowned. “Why? What the hell are you planning?”

  She sucked in a deep breath and downed the rest of her wine. “I planned to be engaged while in college at twenty years old. I wanted my first job at twenty-two. Married by twenty-three. First child by twenty-five. Six figure salary by twenty-seven. Second child by twenty-eight. Vacation in Paris by thirty. Rome by thirty-one. Vienna at thirty-two. I’d have my last child when I was thirty-three. That’s as far as I’ve planned for now since I’m certain the best school districts will change by the time I’m ready to sell my starter home and move into a thirty-year house.”

  Holy fuck, she was a freak.

  Who the hell choreographed their life like that? She raised her chin, looking proud and beautiful and as if she expected me to challenge her. She was right.

  “Aren’t you my age?” I asked. “Twenty-four?”

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t look pregnant. She didn’t have a ring on her finger. I could read more than blitzes.

  “So what happened?” I laughed. “Where’s the lucky man you’ve shackled to a life of no surprises?”

  “Sleeping with my best friend.”

  Shit. I didn’t expect her to be so honest. Neither did she. She couldn’t hide the shame and picked at the bread again.

  Who was stupid enough to cheat on her?

  “What a prick,” I said.

  She shrugged. The shawl fell from her shoulder. She didn’t fix it. “Ironically, his wasn’t that impressive.”

  “Well, that’s the real tragedy.”

  Her wine refilled. She drank half right away. “It did the job before it wandered. I think.”

  “You think?”

  Leah caught herself, sighing as I stared in confusion. “That was just a joke.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” I said. “Did he fuck you good or not?”

  Her eyes widened. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

  “It shouldn’t ever just do the job. His should be the only goddamned cock you can think about.”

  “You would know.”

  “Damn right. Life is too short for bad fucking.”

  She was embarrassed. Leah hid it by picking over the served appetizer. “It didn’t bother me. Passion wasn’t as much a deal-breaker as the marriage. I wanted the husband and the kids. The career was important too. Really important. I expected a good salary that could help me travel…” She sighed. “I wanted it all.”

  She spoke an entirely different language from me. “What about that big cock and the great fucking?”

  “That was always just part of the marriage.”

  “Was it?” I asked.

  She fiddled with her napkin. Didn’t like talking about sex, probably because she never had it good. I changed the subject.

  “So now your grand plan is…?”

  She nodded. “Ruined.”

  “That’s easy enough to fix,” I said. “Change it. Live for the moment. Get fucked, have some fun, you’ll find there’s more to life than structuring it.”

  “Oddly sensible coming from a man whose only goal is to win a game and have a foursome.”

  “I don’t want a foursome anymore.” I stole the appetizer if only to brush her delicate fingers. “There’s only one woman I’d take to bed now.”

  “And as exhilarating as becoming one of your sexual conquests would be…” Leah rolled her eyes. “I’ll pass.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “I think pretending to be your girlfriend is adventure enough for now.”

  “I think you’re afraid.”

  “Don’t tell me you were a psychology major in college?”

  I was. Didn’t go to any of the classes, but I won the college four bowl games. “You were hurt by the prick who cheated on you. Your plan is ruined. You think you have no time for fun, especially if you need to catch up on that big fancy wedding, the nice career, and make all those little babies.”

  “Fooling around with you won’t get me any closer to my goal.”

  “Who needs goals when you can have fun?”

  “There’s more to life than sex.”

  I grinned. “You’re right. There’s kissing. Foreplay. Blow jobs. Blow jobs are my favorite.”

  “One of these days, Jack, you’re going to meet a girl and fall so desperately and idiotically in love that you won’t recognize yourself.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yep. Do me a favor and call me on that day. Tell me what you think life is about then.” Leah thanked the waiter as he delivered our food. “I won’t even bill you for those hours.”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “Your biggest party will be the reception after the wedding.” She winked. “Guarantee it.”

  She was delusional but pretty. Good company over dinner too, better than half the guys I usually w
ent out with. No spilled beer or cat calls or molested wait staff.

  I didn’t remember what the soup tasted like or what the hell I even ordered. Leah sipped her wine and giggled. I didn’t know if it was an act for those who recognized us, or if she was actually having fun.

  Only one way to find out.

  The live music strummed some soft melody that I figured she liked. I much preferred the bumping R&B at the strip clubs or the bars, but I offered my hand to lead her to the dance floor.

  She accepted without checking the surroundings or ensuring anyone saw us.

  The music wasn’t bad. She didn’t grind against me, but her body fit perfectly against mine as I wrapped her in a solid embrace. My hand drifted low, against her curves, feeling her heat through the dress.

  I hardened before we even began to dance.

  It was a goddamned crime that a woman like her didn’t want a fling. Somebody needed to drop her on the bed and give her the night of her life if only so she wouldn’t move stiffly, awkwardly, like she was afraid to get too close.

  I knew why she was so resistant. It was the same reason my cock hardened for her.

  I whispered in her ear. “Why won’t you admit you’re attracted to me, Kiss?”

  Her nails jabbed me through the suit coat. “I’m not attracted to you.”

  “Liar.”

  “You’re not my type.”

  “What? Successful, sexy men aren’t your type?”

  “Maybe I like my guys with a little humility?”

  The music swayed, and I spun her so I could check out her ass. “Humility’s boring. Especially when you have reason to be confident.”

  “Cocky.”

  “Nine inches of it, Kiss.” I didn’t let her pull from my arms. “What if I said that you were my type?”

  “Is it supposed to be a compliment?”

  “Well…yeah.”

  Leah smirked. My cock twisted.

  And she called me trouble.

  Her hands grazed over my chest, as if poking me would shame the hardness away. “You’re attracted to anything walking on two legs.”

  I spun her again, this time observing everything from her strapping black heels to the hemline of her skirt. “Your legs are some of the best I’ve ever seen.”

  “I should be insulted.”

  “But you’re not.”

  She didn’t answer. Couldn’t, because I was right, and she fucking knew it.

  “Kiss, you are an amazingly beautiful woman.” I let my touch drift low, brushing her arms, her waist, and hips as I tugged her closer with the music. She let me. What a tease. “I promised you the full Jack Carson experience. We ate dinner. We’re dancing. Now there’s only one thing left to do.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “My favorite part of the evening.”

  “Dream on, loverboy.”

  “Oh, believe me, Kiss. After tonight, that’s all I’ll be dreaming about.”

  She would too. The little hitch in her breath gave her away. She wanted to know what it’d be like too. She could find out. I’d drag her from the restaurant, toss her in my car, and deliver her to my bed. I doubted she ever spent a night with her legs in the air and her inhibitions tossed on the floor beside her panties. I’d have her screaming my name and praising my cock before we were done.

  And then I’d do it again in the morning.

  Just how Jack Carson pleased the women lucky enough to attract him.

  Fuck the music. I lifted her chin, staring at her full, parting lips. I only had to convince her.

  I took another kiss. Not like the one at the practice facility. This wasn’t some juvenile posturing—overwhelming her just to crack that holier-than-thou façade. This was a kiss meant to promise everything she never planned to experience.

  Passion.

  Lust.

  Excitement.

  Raw, carnal fucking.

  Her lips tasted sweet like wine. I never kissed a girl with lips as soft as hers. Then again, I hardly ever kissed women. Usually their puffy lips wrapped over my cock.

  Just the thought of Leah on her knees, opening her mouth, worshiping me between the silky caress of her lips nearly had me explode.

  Fuck.

  Who the hell gave this woman such power over me?

  And why hadn’t I tried to fuck it out of her before?

  Her tongue darted over mine. I pulled her tighter, harder.

  Then…a flash.

  A quick, intrusive camera flash.

  I knew the type. Heard the shutter before. I ripped away from Leah as the jackass with the camera stormed the dance floor.

  A waiter and server pulled him back, but not before the asshole grinned at Leah.

  “How ‘bout a picture for the Ironfield Almanac, baby? Jack Carson’s newest slut? Were you one of the whores from the accident?”

  I saw red. Rage. The kind of aggression I only felt when the game clock ticked the seconds down after the championship game and my opponents celebrated in the end zone off my intercepted pass.

  The bastard insulted Leah.

  She shouted as I lunged for him, but I wasn’t aiming for his neck. That was the only reason he survived.

  I grabbed the camera and spiked it onto the dance floor. The lenses shattered, but the equipment didn’t smash until I drove my foot into it. The photographer swore. I took Leah’s arm and hauled her away as the man broke down in ragged profanity.

  “What the hell are you doing?” She hissed.

  “Getting you out of here.” I nodded to the maître d'. He’d know where to send the bill for dinner. “No one talks to you like that.”

  And no one would again.

  Even if it was a fake relationship. Even if we were pretending.

  Leah Williams was a goddamned lady who deserved better than a label of a slut.

  She deserved better than me.

  5

  Leah

  Jack was pissed.

  More than pissed. Furious. The kind of rage that made my job as his publicist exceedingly difficult.

  Usually his worst scandals were sexual in nature. Occasionally he had a minor issue on the field. Fortunately, he had only one physical altercation since signing with the Rivets, and even that was settled quickly and quietly.

  Lucky for anyone who crossed him.

  Jack was a huge, imposing, utterly dominating beast of pure animalistic strength. Had he wanted to hurt that tabloid journalist, Jack would have reduced that bastard to a pile of broken bones.

  It was the sort of problem the league expected, and exactly the type of crisis he hired me to handle.

  Unfortunately, his reaction to the journalist would get us both fired. I waited for the call that’d summon us to the police station.

  My heart thudded in my chest. That was good. I thought I left it at dinner, puddling on the ground at Jack’s feet while he delivered the single greatest kiss of my life. Jack slammed his car door. The Porsche was too expensive to mistreat, but we were damn lucky he kept the vehicle on the road and under one hundred miles an hour as we launched from the restaurant.

  “What are you doing?” I reached for his arm, but I didn’t have the courage to touch him. “Jack, please calm down.”

  Rage strained his voice. “I’m getting you out of there.”

  “Why?”

  “So that cocksucker can’t harass you anymore.”

  I couldn’t take a deep breath, and Jack stared at the road only to jerk the wheel and pass the other motorists. Apparently, normal traffic laws no longer applied to a man who single-handedly led the city to their first championship game in twenty-five years.

  I had no idea what to say. “I’m fine, Jack.”

  “What he said wasn’t.”

  “You broke his camera.”

  “He’s lucky that’s all I broke.”

  He jammed the car in a higher gear and headed for the highway. I thought he would settle down, but every agonizing mile only pumped him more. I knew he had a temper
, but he white-knuckle gripped the wheel. Was he really that upset on my behalf?

  I didn’t ask where we were going. He drove me out of the city and took the exit for Teagan Heights.

  This was a section of town where I didn’t belong. There, the houses were worth millions, and the men inside worth ten times that.

  Jack took me to his house.

  The mansion wasn’t the gaudy palace I expected, but it was gated, huge, and wrapped with a pool, hot tub, and evergreen trees to offer privacy. He pulled into a ten car garage. Only four of the bays were filled. A Mercedes, one motorcycle he was restoring, a totaled classic car, and an old Toyota. Jack stormed past it, but I pointed. He didn’t look.

  “My dad’s old car.”

  He waited for me at the door to the house. I remembered his file. “Your dad passed away?”

  “Day of the league draft.” He toughened, intentionally, hiding the pain. “He didn’t live to see the Rivets take me. Come in.”

  Jack’s extravagant living room was too classy for both of us. The parlor was a fancy, untouched slice of what a millionaire was supposed to like, complete with chandeliers and paisley patterns. He showed me the kitchen and dining room with a wave of his hand, but he steered clear of the sitting room that had probably gone unused since he purchased the home.

  His den was downstairs, and it was a true man cave. He installed a wet bar and leather seats, a fireplace and every game system imaginable for the wall sized TV. It was dim, cozy, and served as an award room. He didn’t hang trophies and accolades, but jerseys and photographs. I lingered near the newspaper articles from his high school and the letters from old teachers and friends who congratulated him on everything from his college bowl games to getting drafted by the one of the most prestigious teams in the league.

  This was the real Jack, but even in his familiar setting, he hadn’t recovered his temper. He poured a drink and downed it immediately. He had another before offering me anything with a grunt.

  “Jack, it’s okay,” I said.

  “He called you a slut.” He abandoned the hard liquor and opened a beer instead. The bottle shook in his hand. “I’ve been with a lot of girls. Most of them are easy, but you aren’t like them. I won’t let anyone talk about you like that.”