Scoring the Player's Baby

by Naima Simone

  “Look at me,” he murmured.

  Her gaze snapped to his, surprise flickering there, whether at his softly issued command or that she’d obeyed it, he couldn’t tell. Not that he cared. Didn’t care that people had to walk around them. Didn’t care that their friends were probably studying them with an avaricious curiosity. Nope. Just didn’t fucking care.

  Just as long as she put those beautiful, dove gray eyes on him.

  “I know what I said before. One night. But that was before you walked into this bar looking pristine and unruffled. Like you’ve never broken a sweat before. Like you’ve never damn near brought a man to his knees with your greedy mouth. Like you’ve never ridden him, draining him of everything and still leaving him hard for more.” His breath soughed out of his chest, matching the harsh pants breaking on her lips. That glaze he remembered so well from their hours together entered her eyes. “And we both know it’s all lies. This ice queen thing you got going on is the biggest lie. Because we both know how hot you burn, hala. And I want it again.” He lowered his head, and the lust he’d been trying to check slipped its reins. “Same rules as before. One more night. We fuck until we can’t move. And then in the morning, we leave, this need scratched. I know you want it. Give it to us.”

  Yeah, he was begging. When he’d been the source of his only relief in months? Hell yeah, he was pleading. Man-card be damned.

  Yet he didn’t push her with anything more than his words. Intuition, the thrust of her nipples, and the gleam in her eyes let him know if he pressed his advantage physically—brushed the back of his knuckle over one of those hard tips, dragged a finger up the inside of her thigh, grazed his lips along the sensitive line of her graceful but stubborn jaw—he could get her to agree. But he needed—yes, needed—her clear-headed agreement for no other reason than she craved it as much as he did.

  So he waited.

  She stared up at him, quiet but not silent. Not when the desire in her eyes practically screamed yes. Not when each hushed but serrated puff of air carried the promise of a kiss. Not when her chest rose and fell as if she’d run a great distance.

  Hope and a grinding lust knotted his gut.

  Oh, thank Christ…

  “I can’t,” she rasped. And stepped back. Dropped her gaze. “We should get back to the others. I…”

  Whatever she would’ve added, she cut off with an abrupt shake of her head. But he swore he might’ve heard “I’m sorry,” as she passed by him. His fingers tightened around the beer bottle and pint glass, his cock roaring, What the hell just happened here?

  Fuck if he knew.

  Chapter Five

  “God, no.” Kim gaped at the white stick in her hand. Squinted. Shook it. Tapped the clear plastic square. “Oh God, no.”

  But maybe there was some other major crisis going on, because He wasn’t listening.

  And the pink plus sign remained.

  Her butt hit the toilet, and in the back of her numb mind, she had just enough consciousness to be grateful the lid was down. Because if not, her ass would be soaking wet, and she would be pregnant.

  Pregnant.

  Panic clawed at her throat, and she dropped her head between her spread knees. But that didn’t help the bile swirling in her stomach like a whirlpool, so she jackknifed back up. And grimaced. Didn’t seem to matter what position she took—sitting, standing, head-between-your-legs-so-you-don’t-hyperventilate—the world continued to spin in a nauseating slide.

  Fuck.

  Yeah. That’s exactly what got her into this situation in the first place.

  A hysterical trickle of laughter escaped her, and she clamped her lips shut, as if by trapping the rest of the I’m-losing-my-mind soundtrack, the last five minutes would somehow reverse themselves. If only it were that easy. She would need Marty McFly’s time machine to travel back three months and undo one crazy decision.

  The one time she’d indulged in a one-night stand, the one time she’d decided to take something for herself like countless other women before her had done, and she ended up knocked up. And by a football player, the very type of man she’d vowed never to become involved with again.

  When the universe decided to fuck around with her, it went in John Wick style.

  Another manic chuckle bounced off the blue and white tiles of her apartment bathroom. Wrapping her arms around her torso, she began to rock. She’d never had regular periods, and she’d been working so hard since arriving in Seattle, she hadn’t noticed the missed menstrual cycle or that the slight queasiness and fatigue might mean something other than long hours at the office.

  A whimper escaped her.

  What am I going to do? What in the hell am I going to do?

  Fear, oily and dark, penetrated the shock and stretched its sticky tentacles. They encased her rib cage, twining and constricting until her breath wheezed from her lungs.

  A baby. She wasn’t ready. Thirty, divorced, life in flux, living in a temporary city in a newly acquired but also temporary apartment. Unprepared. Last time, she’d been married, stable…

  Pain streaked through her, a knife of crimson piercing her heart as images of another pregnancy test flashed through her mind. Even now, ghostly remnants of her joy echoed inside her. As did the utter devastation and agony of when she’d miscarried six weeks later.

  Grief mingled with the fear, marrying, mating, and she couldn’t distinguish one from the other. What if she lost this baby, too? I can’t do it. I can’t live through it again. God, please don’t let me lose this one, too.

  In that moment, underneath the panic, terror, and sorrow glimmered a certainty. The only clear surety since she’d peed on that stick.

  She was keeping this baby. She wanted it more than anything in her entire life.

  Exhaling slowly and deliberately, she straightened, staring ahead but not really seeing the shower curtain and tub across from her.

  So, she might not have imagined starting a family as a single parent. But if the last couple of years had taught her one thing, it was this: shit happens, and you have to roll with it or get rolled over. And now that she would be a mother, damn if anything or anyone was steamrolling over her child.

  Well, now. That was quick. A mother. She was already thinking of herself as a parent.

  Okay.

  Ooo-kay.

  Her brain kicked into gear, the paralysis that had gripped it loosening its talons bit by bit.

  What now?

  She needed to find a doctor, make a prenatal appointment. Find out her due date. The dizzying wave of fear and excitement spiraled through her again. She’d hear her baby’s heartbeat for the first time. Awe joined the tumult of emotions.

  A baby. She laughed, and this time the sound had lost its fractured edge. That impetuous decision had resulted in a miracle. Especially since she and Ronin had used protection—

  Ronin.

  The name crashed inside her head and cut off her joyous chuckle.

  Two weeks ago, when she’d unexpectedly run into him again, she’d promised herself it would be the last time. Walking into that bar, seeing him, finding out he was Renee’s friend had been…shocking. And wasn’t that the understatement of the freaking decade? Like the lights that flooded the stadium he played at, her body had lit up, an inconvenient reaction to the huge, tall, muscled body that had branded itself on and in her several times through the night they’d spent together. A night that still invaded her dreams, had her waking up aching and wet with need, her fingers shoved between her legs.

  Same rules as before. One more night. We fuck until we can’t move. And then in the morning, we leave, this need scratched. I know you want it. Give it to us.

  Through sheer will she hadn’t known herself capable of, she’d declined his wicked, erotic invitation for a repeat. Hell, that hadn’t been will. It’d been self-preservation, pure and simple. It’d been the same primal sense of self-protection that pushed her to block then erase his number and their texts from her phone. So even in a weak m
oment—like the middle of the night when her sex throbbed and begged to be filled—she had no way of calling or contacting him.

  She didn’t need the complication he presented in her life. No matter that he was a big, sexy lumberjack complication that had simultaneously drenched and set her panties on fire.

  But now, she didn’t have a choice but to see him again.

  Or do I?

  After arriving home from the bar that night, she’d Googled Ronin Palamo. Of Hawaiian descent, he’d moved to Washington when he was six, and was raised by a single mother for most of his twenty-eight years. Drafted by the Warriors at the end of his sophomore year at the University of Washington, he’d been the team’s star wide receiver for the last eight years. And evidently, he played as hard off the field as he did on. “Notorious” was a word. So was “man-whore.” Not every player could boast a YouTube video of him in the shower posted by some groupie he’d slept with.

  Leave it to her to become involved with not just a football player, but one who might actually rival Matt in the “spreading it around” department.

  After reading almost two hours about him, anger and relief had coalesced inside her. Anger because of how stabby she’d felt viewing the pictures of him with models, actresses, and other gorgeous women, and knowing those women had received what she had in her hotel room. Relief because she’d dodged a bullet by turning him down.

  And yet, as inane as it sounded, kernels of betrayal had rooted in her chest. Of course, Ronin didn’t have any idea about her feelings—or lack of them—toward men in his chosen career. And he hadn’t lied to her about who he was…he just hadn’t mentioned it. Hell, they hadn’t even exchanged last names. Still, she couldn’t help but feel that he’d lied by omission.

  Or maybe she was just deflecting her self-disgust onto him.

  Surging to her feet, she shook her head. She twisted the sink faucets, and cupping her hands beneath the spigot, she splashed water on her face. Snatching a towel off the rack, she rubbed harder than was probably required to dry her face.

  God, what was wrong with her? Did she have some kind of emotional death wish? Some kind of radar that attracted men who were about four hundred and seventeen different kinds of wrong for her? Because no matter how much she wanted to blame Ronin for this slip-up, she couldn’t. This was on her. And she almost hated herself for being such an idiot.

  Again.

  If she had a dollar for every time she heard or read some story about the groupies who deliberately sought out football players…and about the players who had a steady rotation of side chicks, she could buy a private island resort in Bora Bora. Alex had even tried to warn her about athletes’ lifestyles when she’d first started dating Matt. But naively—stupidly—she’d ignored her brother. Not me, she’d thought. Not Matt. He was the exception. She’d found the special one who would never cheat or lie.

  What a fucking fool she’d been.

  Sighing, she closed her eyes. But moments later, she lifted her lashes and stared at her reflection. If she didn’t tell Ronin about the pregnancy, she wouldn’t be able to do this again. Look at herself in the mirror.

  In the end, it didn’t matter who he fucked, how often, or how many camera phones were involved. The bottom line was he was her baby’s father, and he deserved to know, as well as to have the choice whether to be in his or her life, or not. But it didn’t mean she would be in a relationship with him. Sexual or otherwise.

  Before she could change her mind, she tossed the towel on the sink and marched out of the bathroom into her bedroom. Picking up her phone, she quickly dialed Renee’s number.

  “Hi, Kim,” her friend answered on the second ring. “What’s going on?”

  On any other time, the cheerful greeting would’ve warmed Kim. But the news weighing on her prevented anything but ice from coating her. “Hey, Renee. I need a favor.” She inhaled. Slowly let it out. “Do you have Ronin’s number?”

  Chapter Six

  Ronin arrived at the sleek high-rise soaring above Lake Union. Entering the building, he could guess why Kim had chosen this apartment building to stay in—close proximity to the shopping, cultural, and business areas of Capital Hill, Wallingford, and Fremont, as well as the University District. The view of Lake Union and beyond, from what he could see outside, must be breathtaking at any time of day. He knew for a fact this location cost a mint, even in rent, so the amenities must be excellent.

  Still, he mused, approaching the security desk dead center in the lobby, it lacked the warmth and personality he would’ve preferred. But since, as Renee had mentioned, Kim’s time in Seattle was only temporary, maybe she didn’t care. She should. Home, no matter for how short or long, should be a haven, a place you rejoiced in returning to at the end of a hard day. Hard as he tried, he couldn’t imagine this modern monument of steel and glass as a haven.

  “Good evening, sir.” The security guard, whom, with his tall, fit frame and impeccably styled gray hair, his sister Alea would call a “silver fox,”—shudder—greeted him. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes. I’m here to see Kim Matlock. Could you let her know it’s Ronin Palamo?”

  The polite reserve evaporated from the older man’s face, replaced by a wide grin. He stretched his arm across the glossy desk top. “Ronin Palamo! What a pleasure! Congrats on the win Sunday night. Ten for one twenty. You had an awesome game.”

  “Hey, thanks. I really appreciate that.” Ronin returned his smile and accepted his enthusiastic handshake. Yeah, their game last night in San Francisco had been a great win. And a much needed one with the playoff season looming closer, placing the Warriors as second seed in their conference. Plus, as the guy had said, Ronin’s night, with ten catches, 120 yards, and two touchdowns, had been personally amazing.

  “Do you mind?” The guard plucked a pen and a piece of paper off his desk and offered it to Ronin.

  “Not at all,” Ronin said and took both. He glanced at the black name tag pinned to the other man’s shoulder. “Keith, right?”

  “Yes, and thanks.”

  Nodding, Ronin scrawled his name across the paper and handed it and the pen back.

  Being recognized and approached by people had become a norm for him. And unlike some players who found a fan’s exuberance annoying and intrusive, Ronin enjoyed it. Not because of a need to be hero-worshipped or adored; he’d never required that. It was about meeting and talking with like-minded people who loved the game as much as he did. Yeah, it was his job, but it didn’t diminish his joy in it. Neither did it allow him to forget that, if not for the fans, he wouldn’t be able to do what he loved most for a living. So, even though he had a mysterious meeting with the woman he’d never expected to hear another peep from, Ronin took a few moments to talk with the guy about the Warriors heading toward the playoffs.

  Minutes later, he waved at Keith as he strode toward the bank of elevators. The steel doors slid shut on a nearly silent hiss, carrying him to the twentieth floor.

  What did Kim want? The question had been rustling in his head since he’d received the cryptic voicemail Sunday night after the game, asking him to meet with her at her place. Maybe she’d changed her mind about one more night together? Somehow, he doubted it. If that were the case, why would she have taken two weeks since their second meeting to contact him? Nope, she’d been resolute that evening at Doyle’s, had barely glanced at him for the remaining time she’d spent there.

  So what, then?

  Curiosity had driven him to find out. That and a desire to see her again.

  The elevator stopped and deposited him on her floor. An alien excitement vibrated under his skin as he strolled down the carpeted hallway. Yeah, Kim made his cock hard, but verbally sparring with her was better than foreplay he’d experienced with other women. He looked forward to crossing swords with her almost as much as he did getting her naked and around his dick.

  Halting in front of the door with the number she’d given him, he knocked. Anticipation hummed inside him, c
apsizing the curiosity. Hell, she could’ve summoned him here to ask his opinion on the kitchen wallpaper. At this moment, he didn’t give a damn.

  Seconds later, the door swung open, and she stood on the threshold.

  Oh yeah. He didn’t give a goddamn.

  He stared. His mother would no doubt deliver a ringing slap to the back of his head for having the manners of a greedy goat, but he couldn’t stop staring. At some point, he might get used to the impact of her on his senses and body. But as his man crush, Aragorn, once declared at the Black Gate of Mordor, it wasn’t this day.

  She must not have changed her clothes after work because another of those skinny skirts she’d been wearing the first time they’d met at the wedding expo skimmed over the sensual flare of her hips and down her slender legs. A purple shirt that molded to her generous breasts deepened the gray of her eyes, making them appear more violet than silver. Instead of the heels that made her long legs appear endless, her feet were bare.

  Why the sight of those slim feet with their rose-colored toes should have his gut tightening, he had no idea. Foot fetishes weren’t his thing—unlike a certain linebacker on their team. But she could make him reconsider his stance.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said, stepping back and waving him inside.

  “No problem.” He moved forward into her apartment, unable to not think about the last time she’d invited him into her place. A low, insistent throbbing started in his quickly hardening flesh. All it’d taken was one glimpse of her and a few words spoken in that fire-and-ice voice.

  The smallish foyer emptied into a wide living area that included the view he’d pictured in the lobby. Through floor-to-ceiling windows, the currently tranquil, dark waters of Lake Union created a gorgeous backdrop. And beyond, he glimpsed the marina, the Space Needle, and the glittering Seattle skyline.

  Taking a moment, he scanned the rest of the apartment. The open floor plan gave the place a loft-like feel, the kitchen separated by only a breakfast bar. The dining room, with its long, formal table, flowed into the rest of the space. A hallway branched off to what was probably bedrooms and a bathroom. Everything was neat, spotless. Nice. But not enough to hold his attention for very long. Not when Kim stood there.