Dirty Baller: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Vesper Vaughn

  “I don’t ever want to end up like him.” I jiggle my leg faster. Hayley reaches out to squeeze my thigh. I stop. “I guess I already am. You know, punching people. Getting drunk and getting behind the wheel.” I look at Hayley, wondering what she’s making of all of this.

  “But you’re changing. I can see it.”

  I clap my hands together. “Enough about me. You got your questions in. Now it’s my turn.”

  “Shoot,” Hayley says, seemingly happy for the subject change.

  “Why don’t you quit your job and write your science fiction?”

  She laughs. “You’re funny.”

  “No, I’m being serious. What’s there to lose? We only get one shot at this life. This could be your big thing. You’ll never, ever know unless you try, right?”

  Hayley exhales slowly. “I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Of disappointing my dad. Alison – she’s the older sister I told you about – was always in the spotlight. I almost never was. But what I was good at was making my father happy. I followed in his footsteps.”

  “And he’s proud of you,” I say. It’s a statement. Not a question.

  “I think he is. He doesn’t share his emotions very often.” Hayley glances at me. “Sort of like you.” She pauses. “I guess I’m doing that thing that people say not to do.”

  “What thing?”

  “The thing where you fall for someone who has the same flaws as one of your parents.”

  I lean closer to her and put my hand on her face. “You’re falling for me?”

  Hayley closes her eyes and relaxes into my hand. “I guess I am.”

  I kiss her mouth softly. She breathes out a sigh as light as the wind around us. The summer breeze absorbs her breath instantly. “I think the feeling is mutual.”

  Hayley smiles. “You’re falling for me?”

  I kiss her again. “How could I not fall for you, Hayley Childs?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  HAYLEY

  Ryan carries me into the bedroom from the outdoor patio. My clothes practically fall off of my body at his touch. He strokes my skin, gently finding his way south. He takes me into his mouth with a swirl of gentle kisses and tongue strokes.

  I push against him, eager for the climax.

  He lifts his head. “Relax, Hayley. I’m getting there. I want to take my time with you tonight.”

  The crisp linen duvet warms underneath my body. He does take his time teasing me. He massages the bottoms of my feet while he goes down on me. The combination of those two things nearly does me in completely.

  He stands up and slips on a condom, slipping himself into me with a gentleness I didn’t know he could possess.

  He leans his hands on either side of my head, staring into my eyes. We’re not fucking. We’re making love.

  Ryan leans down and whispers in my ear after we both climax together. “You know something?”

  “What?” I whisper back.

  “I think I might be in love with you.”

  Then he kisses me again and we fall together in a tangle of linen and skin.

  ***

  The next week is a blur. We head back into the city and our sleepless, sex-filled nights together melt into bleary-eyed days. We order room service and avoid being seen in public together.

  I don’t care what Sandra says. I still think it’ll be bad news for my job prospects if I’m actively seen fucking Ryan. I probably won’t always work for Sandra.

  And I know how this goes.

  The man comes off scot-free.

  The woman pays for the indiscretion.

  Every. Single. Time.

  I’m sitting in the bleachers at yet another practice as Ryan runs across the pitch at a new tempo.

  He looks different from when I met him just two weeks ago.

  He looks happy.

  But someone else isn’t.

  Ivan isn’t happy about Ryan’s happiness. He’s not happy. Not at all.

  “Where’s that damn aggression I hired you for, Mackenzie?” he yells at practice one day after Ryan let yet another ball into the goal. The team is split and is playing against one another for an imaginary cup.

  I pull my feet down from the metal bleacher in front of me and lean closer to listen, my pen poised over the paper. Immediately, I feel guilty about it.

  “Get the story, Childs,” Sandra says in my brain.

  “Sorry, Ivan,” Mackenzie says to him with a good-natured grin. “Didn’t have my head in the game.”

  “You look like a three-year-old ball player out there, Mackenzie. Get your shit together.” The captain comes running up to chastise Ryan.

  Soon, Terence joins in on the fun. “Ballet class is over there, Mackenzie.”

  The team laughs.

  I see Ryan clench his fist. I hold my breath. Is he going to hit someone again?

  “Alright, let’s try this again, then, you arseholes,” Ryan says, jogging out onto the pitch again.

  I sigh with relief and lean back in the bleacher chair, happy that Ryan hasn’t jeopardized anything. For now, anyway.

  Practice ends and I make my way to the Tube station entrance a block down. I wait for Ryan. We’ve agreed to not let the team in on our relationship.

  We just want to let them think it was a one-night stand that fizzled out.

  I stare intently at a gleeful pigeon who found a French fry on the ground. I’m so entranced by the quick-footed dance the bird does I don’t see anyone walking up to me.

  “Hayley,” says a man’s voice.

  I jump a little. “Oh, hi Terence.” I don’t say it with any real feeling.

  “How’s the article coming?” he asks with a slimy grin.

  I feel my skin crawling as he stares at me. “Just fine,” I reply.

  He takes a step closer to me to get out of the way of the scrum of people piling down the Tube steps. “I was thinking we could go to dinner.”

  I laugh. “No, thanks. I have plans tonight.”

  “Tomorrow, then?”

  I shake my head. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “But you had no problem fucking Mackenzie. I thought that you were just making your rounds with the team. I think it’s my turn.”

  I feel bold for once in my life. “Did it ever occur to you that I might not be attracted to you?”

  Terence laughs. “Well, are you?”

  “No,” I say. “And I’d like for you to leave.”

  “It’s a public road. I think I can stand where I want to.”

  “Jones!” Ryan runs up to us, looking pissed. “Is there a problem here?”

  Terence looks from Ryan to me and back, recognition dawning on his face. “What a coincidence that you’re both here right now at the same time.”

  “Bugger off,” Ryan says, his muscular frame leaning closer to Terence. It’s a threatening move.

  “I need to go,” I say, skirting around the two of them. I hide on the platform to wait for Ryan. He catches up five minutes later.

  He grabs me by my lower back and pulls me close to him. “I don’t like you talking to Terence.”

  “Imagine how I feel talking to Terence. It’s not like I had that much of a choice.”

  Ryan kisses me. “I don’t like feeling jealous. But I do.”

  I smell his fresh cologne and taste the thin layer of sweat still covering his body even after his shower. I shiver.

  “I kind of like you being jealous.” I take his hand and we step onto the freshly-arrived train. “As long as you’re not turning into Othello.”

  Ryan and I laugh, breaking up the very English silence on the train. Several people glare at us and I clap a hand over my mouth sheepishly.

  There are no seats so we stand. I hang onto Ryan. He doesn’t bother holding onto safety straps, surfing the bumps and turns with his sturdy legs.

  We walk up to our hotel rooms together.

  “I’ve gotta move into my new place tomorrow,�
� Ryan says. “You game for helping me?”

  I laugh. “Do you need help carrying your one bag of possessions?”

  Ryan pulls me close to him. “Eh, I was thinking maybe you could be a part of a little one-on-one housewarming party.” He kisses me and I groan.

  “I think you’re trying to sabotage me writing this article. I barely get any writing in every day with you hanging around.” I scowl at him but it rapidly turns into a smile.

  “Do you really mind the distractions? Because you could tell me to go away.” He kisses my neck and my defenses are down in an instant. “At any moment, you could tell me to go away.”

  I sigh. “You win, as usual.”

  Ryan smiles at me. “Your room or mine?”

  ***

  I check my email after Ryan leaves an hour later. We actually managed sex in the shower, which was no mean feat. I had only meant to rinse off the abnormal heat of the day, but a rinse turned into Ryan joining me, which turned into sex. Twice.

  My inbox is full to bursting with unread messages. I suddenly realize with a panic that I haven’t checked it in two days. Sex with Ryan is melting my brain.

  I delete several junk emails and sales offers from stores that I can’t afford on my measly salary. Not that I need to shop after Ryan’s little spree.

  There’s an email from Sandra.

  You’ve got two weeks left in London. I need an update on the story. Send me what you have before tomorrow. It better be focused on what we talked about or I’m sending someone else to do this in place of you.

  I feel a little queasy.

  I guess it’s time to start writing. It’s do or die.

  I scroll a little bit more through my full inbox and my stomach drops.

  Brenda has sent me an email. I gulp and click on it, my heart racing.

  Still here for when you fail. A little birdy told me you’re involved with their star player. I’d hate for the press to figure out who you are, Childs.

  -B

  I hate that Brenda freaks me out like this. I slam my laptop closed to regain some semblance of control over my body. I’m shaking uncontrollably.

  I take a few deep breaths and open up my laptop again.

  I learned a long time ago that the only cure for anxiety is action.

  I pull up the typed notes of the essay and start combing through them for some kind of inspiration.

  It’s then that I realize ninety percent of my notes are about Ryan, even though I tried to research a balanced story. I don’t want to betray him.

  I think about Brenda’s threat. About Sandra’s threat.

  It looks like I’ll have to write about Ryan if I want to keep my job intact.

  I shove aside my guilt and start typing. I just need to get a draft to her. Then I can change it later in the final copy close to the deadline.

  I’ll wait to submit the final version until it’s too late for Sandra to change any of it. For now, I have to play along. I have to play the game.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  RYAN

  “Is this really all you own?” Hayley asks me as I carry my two suitcases into the rental house. It’s a fully-furnished rental, so all I need are my clothes.

  And yeah, that’s pretty much all I own anyway.

  “Just clothes and a photo of my mom,” I say, snapping on lights as we walk through the house to the bedroom.

  “Wow, that must be freeing. I have a whole bedroom full of junk still at my parents’ house. They keep threatening to light it all on fire.” Hayley laughs but I don’t.

  “When I went into foster care after my mom died, all I could bring with me was a black garbage bag,” I say.

  Hayley looks crushed for a second. “I’m so sorry…I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t know-“

  I drop my bags on the floor of the master bedroom. “Don’t worry about it. How could you know? I never told you.” I smile, hoping to lighten the mood. “I’m going to need you naked within the next thirty seconds or I’m going to be very, very unhappy.”

  Hayley smiles and pulls off the teal tank top I bought her. Her bra is lacy and bright purple and barely contains her tits. They’re spilling out of the fabric. I feel my hardness growing in my jeans.

  She shimmies off her black miniskirt and steps out of it gingerly. She’s wearing towering white shoes with cork platform bottoms. The height makes her ass look incredible. Her matching purple boy shorts also help with the look.

  “Stand here,” she says, maneuvering my body by my shoulders and pushing me against the bedroom wall.

  She gets on her knees and unbuttons my pants, pulling them down along with my boxers.

  “What are you doing?” I ask her, already knowing the answer.

  “Warming this house up,” she says.

  She sticks her ass out and runs the tips of her fingernails lightly down my shaft. My knees buckle slightly as she takes me into her mouth, her thick lips wrapping my cock.

  “God, Hayley,” I whisper. She runs her tongue up and down, teasing me.

  She takes me twice before letting me lay down on the bed.

  She pulls off her bra and panties but leaves her shoes on to straddle me.

  “Happy housewarming,” she says with a grin as she lets me enter her.

  Who needs a party?

  Not this guy.

  We finish and she collapses next to me. “I think you’re making me a worse footballer by the day,” I say to her.

  She glances at me. “Why is that?”

  “Because it’s hard for me to take out my aggression on the field when I don’t feel aggressive. You’re making me happy, Hayley.”

  I can’t read her face once again. She snuggles into my shoulder. “Good,” is all she says to me.

  I don’t know what to make of that.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  HAYLEY

  “I’ve only got about two days left here,” I say to Alison.

  She groans. “I can’t believe you haven’t been to a club or anything the entire time you’ve been over there. I emailed you a list about a mile long of the best places to go to. You’re telling me the only thing you’ve done while over there is write and eat at the hotel bar?”

  My cheeks burn as I lie to her. “That’s right,” I say. I’m gathering up all of my stuff that’s somehow migrated to every corner of the room. I like packing early and not at the last minute. I’m a planner like that. I grunt as I get on my hands and knees to check under the bed. I hold the phone against my shoulder.

  “Are you exercising right now? Lifting weights or something?”

  “I’m packing,” I grunt to her, grabbing a white tank top from under the bed.

  “You can’t have that many clothes that you need to pack this early,” Alison says.

  I freeze. “I, uh, went shopping.”

  Alison pauses and I know she’s thinking. That can lead to nothing good for me. “You? You went shopping?”

  “Yeah, I ran out of clothes just like you said I would. The weather is different than I thought it would be.” My voice is betraying me. That’s such a load of bullshit I can barely say it out loud. It’s been hot and cool and the clothes Ryan bought me can hardly be considered cool weather garb.

  “You’re lying to me,” Alison says. “What I don’t understand is why or about what, exactly.” I can hear her grimacing.

  “I’m…not,” I say unconvincingly.

  “Spill,” she says. “It’s Ryan, isn’t it?”

  I do spill. I tell her about everything except for the article Sandra is making me write.

  But then Alison weasels that out of me, too. “Sandra wants you to get close to Ryan to write about him, doesn’t she?”

  I sigh and sit down on the edge of my mattress. I don’t have to keep my voice low; Ryan is long gone from the room next to mine. “Yes. And I did that for the draft, but the final story is going to be totally different. I’m going to submit the finished one that’s only about the team.”

  Alison is silent on
the other line.

  “Hello?” I say, tapping the phone. “You still there?”

  “What if Sandra polishes up your other draft and ends up publishing that?”

  It’s my turn to pause. “I didn’t think of that.” I suddenly have a life-sized portrait of Brenda being handed the story to finish on her own. There goes my byline and my relationship with Ryan.

  “Oh, God,” I say, tears pricking at my eyes. “What am I going to do, Alison?”

  “Come clean to him. Tell him you were afraid of losing your job. Tell him the truth. That’s all you can do.”

  I end the phone call so I can have a proper cry. The tears pour out of me. It takes me half an hour to compose myself. I decide to send an email to Sandra. I compose eighteen different drafts, deleting whole words and sentences and paragraphs before I feel somewhat confident in what I’m sending to her.

  Sandra,

  I really don’t feel comfortable with running this story. I think it’s far more interesting to hear about the team dynamic and telling the story of how they absorb a new player and find their stride in the space of a few weeks.

  I don’t want my name on trash. It’s not fair to Ryan, either.

  I understand if you need to fire me over this. I just have to write what I’m comfortable writing. And I’m not comfortable putting my name on what I’ve given you so far. I can have a new article to you by sundown.

  -Hayley

  I hit send and shut my laptop. I look around desperately for something to do. But I’ve already folded up my clothes. My open suitcase rests neatly on the luggage rack in the corner of the room.

  I walk past the mirror and realize my face is puffy, red, and my messy ponytail has completely self-destructed into a frizzy puff around my face.

  I go into the bathroom and run the shower tap for hot water. I see that the bathroom countertop is cluttered with my mascara tube, razor, and toothbrush. I unzip my blue, glittery bathroom bag and toss the objects inside of it.

  I’m zipping it shut when my eye catches on something at the bottom.

  It’s a pile of tampons.

  A pile of tampons I should have touched in the month that I’ve been here.