I walk out of the bathroom for the millionth time, wiping my face with a damp towel, and I almost run over Maya, Jarrod’s mother. Her head cocks to the side, her eyes narrow, and her hands go straight to her hips.
“When were you going to tell me that my son got you pregnant, Amalie?” she asks.
I swear, I almost faint, but I start coughing instead. “I, uh…just figured it out earlier today,” I admit.
“Well, let’s just hope they win. He’ll be more likely to take the news much better.”
I look down at her and agree, “Yes, let’s just hope they win.”
She wraps her hands around my elbow. “He loves you. The timing might not be perfect, but God gives us these little treasures in life, and it’s up to us to embrace them, love them, and make the best of them. I was only sixteen when I had Ashton Junior you know?”
I shake my head because I didn’t know that.
“We were scared shitless, dear girl. We still are most of the time, but you get used to that. Tell him immediately, and he’ll guide you. Let him be your strength. He’s good for it. Besides, now, Ashton and Diana’s baby will have a cousin to play with.” She giggles, making me smile back at her.
Jarrod
Standing at the pitcher’s mound during the last game of the World Series, I take a deep breath and glance to the runner on first and then my catcher, Sammy, who is Maggie’s husband. He signals for a curveball, and I accept. I can feel the sweat sliding down my neck as the pressure pounds down on my shoulders and in my head, making my whole body feel heavy. I take a step forward and let my heavy arm fly, releasing the ball and flicking my wrist just right. I know this curveball will be fast, and it will be perfect. I can feel it as soon as the ball leaves my hand. I watch as the batter swings and misses. He spits on the ground, and his jaw clenches. He thinks I’m too tired to finish out this game. I plan on proving him wrong, even though I am tired as fuck.
Catching the ball Sammy throws back to me, I take off my hat and wipe the sweat from my forehead. I roll my shoulder around, and something catches my nose—the smell of Amalie. Most guys don’t fuck during the series—superstitions and all of that nonsense. I am not most guys. I am Jarrod Harrison, and I won’t not fuck my woman. Amalie’s scent surrounds me as I inhale deeply. She smells so fuckin’ good all the time.
My cock begins to harden as thoughts about what we did just a few hours ago replay in my mind. Amalie rode my cock, slow and hard, while one of my hands was wrapped in her hair and the other played with the perfectly tight rosebud of her beautiful ass. I shiver at the memory of her sweet tight hole. I can’t wait until she’s comfortable enough to let me fuck her there. Even if she never is, she is still so fucking perfect that it makes my chest ache and my cock hard as fucking nails.
I nod again to Sammy as I throw a wild-as-fuck fastball, and it makes my shoulder fucking ache from the strength I used to throw that fucker right through the sweet spot. That bastard swings and misses again, making it three outs and our turn to bat.
I glance up at the owner’s box and wink. I know my girl is up there, cheering me on. I wish I could take her aside and get off again really quick. It would certainly improve my game, and I know she would be up for it. I never thought I would find a girl who would fuck me anywhere and anytime. She definitely has my number, and she is not afraid of calling.
“Fucking outstanding power on the mound, man,” Carlos says, clapping my back.
“Shoulder is aching like a bitch though,” I admit. I sit down with a bag of ice and press it to my aching shoulder.
I am up to bat in a few, and I need to relax as best as I can. I want to pull out my phone and send a sext to my girl, but I’m afraid Coach won’t approve, especially during the series. I flex my throwing hand and look down at my fingers. I want a wedding ring and a series ring on my fingers. I’ll get both. I won’t settle for less than fucking everything. I am a winner, and winners fucking do. Amalie will marry me soon, and this victory is ours tonight. I close my eyes and make myself a promise. I will protect Amalie with all that I have, I will win tonight, and I will make her permanently mine. There is no way around it. Our happiness depends on us being together, and we will be happy, damn it.
“You’re thinkin’ awfully hard. You okay, brother?” Sammy asks, slumping down next to me with a Gatorade.
“Thinking about Amalie. She’s mine, and I’m not even fuckin’ scared, man. I’m excited to take the next step.”
He whistles low and then just looks out at the field. “Knew Maggie for one week. Met her in Vegas, and made her marry me.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Best fucking day of my life, making that meek thing mine. Wouldn’t have made a difference if I dated her for years or not. Maggie was mine the second I laid eyes on her. Nobody else would do. Maggie says Amalie is one of the nicest people she’s met, real down-to-earth and just plain perfect. Hard to find a nice girl with our careers, especially if you’re already established. I was kind of lucky with Maggs. Found her before I got famous and got a big fuckin’ head. Skipped all the drama of money-grubbin’ whores knocking on my hotel room door.” Sammy’s eyes flash, and there is more to what he is saying.
Before I can ask, the assistant coach interrupts us, “Harrison, you’re up!”
I hold Sammy’s gaze for a second, taking in all that he said.
“You and Maggie are lucky. You found each other, and you make it work. I hope Amalie and I are like you.”
Sammy rolls his eyes and chucks a sunflower seed at me as I take off to warm up.
I step up to bat and notice for the first time that the bases are loaded.
Holy fuck.
This could be really bad, or this could be really good. I crack my neck and try to relax. I have been so worked up and in my own thoughts of Amalie, of pitching a winning game, of doing it all for her that I didn’t get myself nice and calm for being up to bat. Batting isn’t really my strong point. I’m not bad, but I’m a better pitcher. I usually just get up at the plate and hack my way through it on a normal night, but tonight is no fucking normal night. Now that the bases are loaded, I have the potential of costing us the fucking series if I fuck it up.
I inhale deeply and step up. I get in position with my bat above my shoulders, and I glance one last time to the box where Amalie is sitting. She is safe, in a cool room with my family and friends and security up the fucking ass. In this moment, I will focus on my game. Later, I will fuck her until neither of us can walk, and then when she’s so worn out and satisfied I will ask her to marry me.
I watch as the ball careens toward me, and while exhaling, I swing with all my strength.
Amalie
I sit and hold Maya’s hand for the remainder of the game, chanting silent prayers that they will win, that this will be a joyous event, and that he won’t hate me for getting pregnant with his baby.
Maya is so reassuring, and she glances at me with a knowing smile throughout the rest of the game.
It is the bottom of the eighth, bases are loaded, and Jarrod is up to bat. The game is tied, and I am about to run and throw up again when I hear everyone screaming. I look down, and Jarrod is running the bases. He just hit a home run.
“Grand slam,” Ashton Senior informs me.
I begin to cry. Maya hugs me, tears streaming down her face as well. Everybody in the room is hooting and hollering, excited to be victors, but Maya and I are crying out of joy. This was the sign we needed to know that everything would work out.
Tonight, I’m telling Jarrod that he will be a father.
The celebration out on the field is crazy. The guys are screaming and crying. It’s about the same here in the box, but I can’t wait to see my Jarrod, to tell him what I need to tell him. Interviews begin, and everyone quiets down to hear what the guys have to say.
A reporter targets Jarrod, and I hold my breath. I never know what they are going to ask.
Our People magazine was just released a week ago, and we’ve had to lie low because of
all the publicity. My first catalog for the lingerie line has also just released, and they are capitalizing on the Jarrod-Amalie publicity train. I am glad Paul and David can do that because they deserve the success. Their products are amazing.
“Jarrod, inquiring minds want to know, is the relationship with Ms. Aagaard in fact genuine, or is it all publicity?”
I growl deep in my throat at the nerve of the reporter. Of course, only a woman would ask such a question. She has on a suit that barely fits her, and she is jutting her fake breasts at him, licking her bright red lips. She is practically begging for him to fuck her. I want to rip her blonde extensions out of her stupid head.
Jarrod faces the camera and smiles his all-American boy smile. I love that smile.
“It’s one hundred percent real. Amalie is everything to me. Love you, baby. See you soon,” he calls out, waving at the camera.
He loves me?
I gape at the television, and Maya is crying, but I’m not sure why.
Libby rushes over to me and wraps her arms around me. “Oh, holy shit! Jarrod just took himself completely off the market, and he just told the whole fucking world he loves you,” Libby squeals, jumping up and down.
I’m frozen.
“You heard that, ladies. Jarrod Harrison has been scooped up and is off the market. He’s taken by the super sultry too curvy for words pinup model Amalie Aagaard. I can hear hearts breaking all over the country tonight as he confesses his love for the blonde bombshell. Do you hate her as much as I do right now?” She smiles her too-white teeth at the camera.
I harrumph. Too Curvy?
She was calling me fat.
The bitch.
Maya wraps her slim arm around my waist and hugs me. It’s affection, and though I didn’t feel it much as a child, I’m in affection overload between Libby, Maggie, Victoria, Maya, and Jarrod. I’ve never been so happy in all my life. I am now just praying that the happiness will continue once Jarrod hears the news I have for him.
Later that evening, the men are partying hard. I mean, seriously hard. Maya and Ashton Senior have ducked back to their hotel room because the party is just too wild for them, and I don’t blame them one bit. We are at the penthouse of one of the players, and there are hundreds of people with loud music, naked body parts, and alcohol flying every which way.
I haven’t had a moment alone with Jarrod, so I haven’t told him my news yet. He’s so carefree and happy. He looks like a boy instead of the man he is. I am huddled around the girls, chatting and gossiping about the hanger-on women who are flaunting their nakedness all over the place.
I feel two strong arms wrap around me. I know instantly that it’s Jarrod.
“You aren’t having fun,” he states in my ear before leaving me a soft kiss below my earlobe.
“I am,” I say, turning in his arms, placing my hands on his hard chest. I only have to tilt my head a small bit to look into his eyes.
“You aren’t drinking,” he notices, his lips so close to mine.
I can smell the whiskey on his breath, and I love it. I can feel my belly clenching and the wetness forming in my panties. I want him. I always want him.
“Say the word, and we’ll go home, baby.”
He sways a bit, and it makes me giggle. I’ve never seen him drunk. I want to take advantage of him.
“Show me the bathroom?” I ask, breaking from the trance he seems to always put me in.
Jarrod grabs my hand in his hot masculine one and leads me toward the bathroom, stopping every few minutes to chat with somebody. On our way, we pass by a bedroom, and my eyes widen at the scene. One of the players—Jackson, I think—has a woman’s hands tied to the headboard of the bed with her ass in the air, and he is spanking her with a paddle while she cries out with what sounds like pleasure. I shiver at the thought of being spanked with that hard piece of wood as I swiftly walk past the scene.
“Just in there, baby,” Jarrod says low and gruff, the alcohol affecting him.
I wrap a finger around his belt loop and pull him inside the bathroom before locking the door behind us. At first, Jarrod looks confused, and then his eyes lock on mine.
“My baby want something?” he teases.
I don’t say anything as I pull my tight jeans along with my panties down my legs. I take my bra off under my Harrison 27 tank top but leave the top itself on. I want him to celebrate.
I take two small steps to close in on the space dividing us, and I slowly strip Jarrod’s shirt off first. Then, I unbuckle his pants and let the jeans fall from his lean hips. I slide his boxer briefs down his legs next. I can’t hear anything but the low thump of the bass from the party and Jarrod’s heavy breaths. I drop to my knees in front of him. His knuckles are white from gripping the countertop behind him.
“I’m proud of my baseball star tonight,” I whisper. I lick the tip of his cock.
I hear him suck in a breath before I swirl my tongue around the head. I decide not to tease him too much. This is his reward for being a badass athlete, so I relax my throat and swallow him down as far as I can. He moans releasing the edge of the counter and gripping my hair tightly, before I can even move my mouth, he begins to fuck me.
“Fuck, baby,” he growls as he fucks my mouth slowly, building up his rhythm and speed.
I let him. He can do what he wants, and I will always love every second of it. I moan because I feel so good, giving this to him, letting him take. Before he comes, he pulls out and pulls me up.
“Amalie,” he whispers before kissing the corner of my smiling lips. “On your knees again,” he orders gruffly.
I drop down again and spread my legs, tipping my ass, as I look behind me to watch him. He slides his fingers through my sex, feeling the wetness of my pussy.
“Mmm,” he hums before he slowly slides into my body. “Love my number on you,” he growls, tormenting me with his slow movements.
My whole body shivers.
“Love you, baby. Meant it when I said it. I should have said it to you in person first. Don’t be pissed.” He groans, continuing to slowly pull out and slowly push back into my body.
“I’m not mad,” I whisper, unable to find my voice.
“No?” He sounds confused.
If I could see him, I know his eyebrows would be pinched together, and his lips would be pursed.
“Not at all. Made me cry happy tears. Plus, I loved the look on that bitch’s face.”
I laugh, and Jarrod chuckles behind me.
“Gonna fuck my pussy hard now, baby. Hold on,” Jarrod growls.
He does fuck me hard. It’s so hard that by the time I have found my release, I’m screaming my head off, and I know everybody at the party can hear me, but I don’t give one flying fuck.
We’re a heaping pile of sweaty limp bodies on the bathroom floor when I start to giggle and then laugh. Jarrod chuckles right next to me.
“What’s up with us and bathrooms?” I ask, rolling into him, my hand wrapped around his middle.
“Don’t know, baby, but let’s never stop,” he says, smiling.
“I need to tell you something.” Right this minute probably isn’t the best time, but he just won the World Series, and he’s nice and sexually sated, so it’s my opportunity.
“Mmm?” he asks, stroking my hair.
I sit up and straddle his waist, my hot wet sex pressed against his hot hard body. His big hands wrap around my hips.
“There’s no easy way to say it, so I’m going to just bust it out,” I explain. I watch as his eyes turn from amused to wary.
“You were pissed, weren’t you?” he asks accusingly.
“Not at all. This is something totally different—well, not totally.” I watch as confusion takes over his features. “Let me begin by saying, I love you, too, Jarrod. I fell in love with you immediately I think.” I smile softly. “Our lives are about to change.” I brace for what could be devastating or exciting. I’m not sure which way this is going to go. I lean down and put my lips to his e
ar, and I whisper, “I’m pregnant.”
I feel his fingers tighten on my hips, bruising me.
“Seriously?” he asks, his voice thick.
I sit up to look into his eyes, at his face. “Seriously. I didn’t get on birth control soon enough. We’ve hardly ever used protection. I honestly didn’t think it would happen, so that’s why I went to get on the shot as soon as I could, but it was too late,” I explain. I watch as his face stays in the same awe expression.
Then, he slowly smiles.
“You’re havin’ my baby?” he practically yells, his voice thick with his Kentucky accent that I can hardly understand sometimes.
“I am.” I smile back at him.
“Fuck me, you’re havin’ my baby.” His hands cup my cheeks as he sits up, and then he gives me a soft kiss on my lips. “You’re havin’ my baby,” he repeats, his voice low and raw.
“Looks that way,” I whisper against his lips.
“Fuck, baby. Need to be inside you,” he growls.
Before I know it, he’s lifting me and sliding inside me again, chanting the whole time that I’m having his baby. He’s so happy, and he loves me. I feel my release along with a wave of tears streaming down my face. Here, in a bathroom in a penthouse somewhere in the city, I am officially the happiest person in the entire world.
I don’t know—no, I couldn’t know that everything would be jeopardized.
After partying all night long, Jarrod and I sleep in all day the next day.
Once he announced to the entire room that I was pregnant and that it was his super sperm that caused the pregnancy, the party became even wilder. I hadn’t known it was possible. Jarrod was trashed but never left my side. I didn’t think I had ever seen him smile so much in the months that I had known him. Here we were, a brand-new couple in love and on top of the world. I fell asleep that night, thinking about how my life turned out so wonderful.
“How’s my baby mama?” Jarrod whispers in my ear as his fingers lightly trace my naked back.
Pitching for Amalie Page 19
