by Lane Hart
“Can we not talk about this anymore?” she asks, which is slightly disappointing. I wanted to hear her talk a little more about the moment of conception or the many, many times the act may take before conceiving.
“Fine,” I reluctantly agree, reaching down to subtly adjust my cock that’s swollen and cramped behind my zipper. That’s when I remember I’m still wearing a pair of cum stained jeans. “I need a shower,” I say aloud. “And, shit, I’ve got practice this afternoon. Do you think you and Kelsey –” I start, but Callie answers.
“Yes, we’ll watch him for you. Now, where’s our food? I’m starving,” she says, looking over her shoulder for the waiter, which gives me a chance to gawk at her rack.
“Me too,” I concur, but I’m not just hungry for food.
After a grueling afternoon of practice and excruciatingly long captains’ meeting, most likely because Coach Griffin wanted to punish me for my absence earlier in the week, I’m looking forward to getting home and sleeping in my bed. Not that the hospital bed last night didn’t have a few perks that the bed in my room is missing. Particularly, a petite, curvy woman with a feisty attitude.
Kelsey has been sending me updates on Brady and how he’s doing with his new light, but I haven’t heard a word from Callie. Not that she would have any reason to contact me; but still, after spending yesterday and this morning together, I’ve sort of…missed her. And while I’m anxious to find out if she’s my son’s aunt, I also want more opportunities to try and win her over, to convince her to go out with me. Or stay in and fuck me. I’m not that picky.
When I pull up to the house, I’m surprised to see that Callie’s blue Corolla is still parked in the driveway even though it’s after ten o’clock.
Before this week, my routine consisted only of football and the occasional hookup, but usually it meant coming home to a silent, empty house where I might sit on the deck and watch the ocean to wind down for the night before going to bed alone. I’ve never really thought of myself as lonely since I’m usually surrounded by people most of the day. But now that I know what it feels like to have a son to come home to, I realize just how…empty the house was before Brady. While Kelsey’s fun and has been a huge help, I know she’s only here because I’m paying her to be.
But Callie, she’s here because she wants to be close to Brady. So is it wrong to wish there was a little piece of her that wanted to be here for me too?
Unlocking the front door, I walk in quietly, assuming Brady’s already asleep. In the dark house, I find Callie sitting on the sofa next to the lamp, watching TV while wearing a pair of glasses and…sewing?
“I’m sorry, grandma. Do I have the wrong house?” I tease her with a grin. The scowl on Callie’s face doesn’t seem nearly as amused.
“Grandma?” she repeats.
Okay, so calling her a senior citizen may not be the best way to get in her panties.
“Yeah, grandma,” I reply, tossing my duffle bag down in a chair. “But you’re the sexiest grandma I’ve ever seen.”
“Watch your mouth,” she warns, pointing the stick thing at me. “I’m good with needles and could sew it shut in no time.”
“Wow, now I’m a little terrified of you,” I admit, collapsing into my favorite recliner.
Finally grinning, Callie removes her glasses and folds them up before she starts putting all the yarn and stuff into a canvas tote bag.
“You leaving?” I ask, disappointed that she’s ready to bolt as soon as I walk in the door.
“Yeah, I was just staying to let Kelsey get some sleep. She was still exhausted today,” she answers without looking at me.
“Well, you don’t have to rush out of here,” I tell her. “How’s Brady?” I ask, because I honestly want to know and because I know it will keep her talking to me.
“He’s great, eating and sleeping on a normal schedule again and doesn’t seem to notice the light he’s wearing.”
“Good,” I say. “As soon as I can find the energy to get to my feet, I’ll go check on him.”
“Rough day at the office?” she asks.
“Yeah, brutal. But at least I’ve got tomorrow off.”
“Well, have fun catching up on your sleep,” Callie says as she stands and throws her bag over her shoulder.
“You may get your DNA results tomorrow, right?” I ask.
She nods and licks her lips as if she’s nervous. “Yeah, hopefully. I really don’t want to wait until Monday.”
“I would like to go with you,” I tell her. “I mean, unless you want to go alone, or with someone else.”
“Sure, you and Brady can accompany me for moral support,” she says while wringing her hands in front of her. “I’m nervous actually.”
“Believe me, I know the feeling,” I tell her. “Do you think he’s Bianca’s? Does he take after her?” I ask, because I don’t remember what she looked like.
“I hope so, but no, he doesn’t look like her,” Callie says stiffly. “Oh, and that reminds me. Some bimbo dropped by earlier tonight looking for you. She ran when she saw Brady, so Kelsey and I didn’t get her name,” she throws over her shoulder as she walks away, and then she’s out the door.
Great.
Just when I start to think she and I are making forward progress, Callie throws a penalty flag on the field and we’re forced to move backward ten yards.
Chapter Sixteen
Callie
“What’s it say? What’s it say?” Quinton asks, practically bouncing up and down while standing next to his open SUV door when I approach with the results.
Instead of climbing in the back with Brady to open the envelope I just picked up from inside the testing facility, I tear it open in front of Quinton, so anxious to know…
“We’re related!” I shout in celebration, throwing my arms up in the air. “He’s Bianca’s.”
The next second my feet are lifted off the ground, and Quinton’s strong arms are wrapped around my waist as he spins me around in the parking lot.
“This is great, Callie! I’m so happy to hear that,” he says against my ear as he hugs me tighter. “We should celebrate.”
The front of my soft body slides down Quinton’s warm, hard as granite chest when he eventually lowers me. God, Kelsey was right. He smells so good that I could get high on his cedar and amber scent. When he releases me and takes a step back, I instantly miss the heat and firmness of him pressing against me.
“Celebrate?” I ask once my brain begins firing on all cylinders again. “We celebrated you being his father with a fried breakfast spread, so what should we do to celebrate me being his aunt?”
“Whatever you want,” he says, and I know he means it. I could ask Quinton for anything; and with his resources, he would make it happen.
“Can we take Brady to have his newborn pictures made?” I ask while biting my bottom lip hopefully. “I made him something.”
“You made him something?” Quinton asks with a smile. “You mean, like, with your grandma yarn stuff?”
“It’s called crocheting,” I tell him with a playful slap to his chest, mostly just to feel the sexy body part again.
Last night when Quinton got home late from practice, I had already sent Kelsey to bed. While I had been watching Brady with her during the afternoon, I worked on the outfit I had started the night after we had court. I was finishing it up, waiting in the living room for Quinton when he came home and told me I looked like a sexy grandma. If not for the sexy part, I would’ve been insulted since I’m at least ten years, or maybe more, older than Quinton.
“So, do you know of a place to take the pictures or whatever?” Quinton asks.
“I do know of a studio, one where we bring home the photos the same day. We just need to go back to your place to get one of your jerseys; then swing by my house to pick up the outfit,” I tell him. “Oh, and you can meet my cat, Felix. He was hiding under the bed Tuesday when you were there because he doesn’t like new people hanging around.”
“Felix? Does he wear baby clothes while you force feed him a bottle?” Quinton teases.
“No,” I huff, even if I’m inwardly pleased that he remembered that small detail about me from breakfast. “I haven’t done that since I was a little girl.”
“Good for Felix, I guess,” Quinton replies with a chuckle.
“Yeah, it didn’t take many scratches for me to learn my lesson,” I reply before climbing in the backseat with Brady, who is sleeping peacefully like a tiny angel. It’s the first time I’ve looked at him and known for certain that he’s my nephew.
I forgive my sister a little more in that moment. She could’ve been wrong about Quinton. He could’ve turned her son into social services, walked away and never looked back. Instead, he gave him a name, took good care of him, and didn’t waste time proving Brady was his son. Even if I wanted to kick Quinton’s ass when we first met, I still admired his stubbornness in court. Some men would’ve gladly left Brady behind with me when I insisted on keeping him, just to rid themselves of the enormous responsibility. Not Quinton. He fought tooth and nail for his son before he knew for certain he was the father. Now I’m starting to admire him for being such a strong, caring man.
Quinton
“He’s adorable!” the photographer at the studio says when she picks up the camera after carefully arranging my sleeping son.
Brady’s head is resting on his tiny arm that’s propped up on a football nearly as big as he is. The best part, though, is the handmade blue and yellow beanie he’s wearing with the Wildcats emblem on the front. Callie made it for him, which makes it even more special.
Speaking of his aunt, the woman is nearly in tears as she watches the photographer quickly snap photos and rearrange Brady. There are a few photos taken with him sleeping in just his Wildcats beanie and matching diaper stretched out on my jersey, right above my name, which I have to say, makes me a little proud. Maybe Brady will even want to wear my jersey when he’s older.
The photographer then situates him inside of a Wildcat’s helmet that she had in the studio and places a miniature “Go Wildcats” flag in his clenched fists that’s hanging on the outside of the helmet. Even I can admit that it’s cute as shit, and I can’t wait to show them to…well, everyone in the world. Which reminds me that I need to call my manager.
“Now let’s get a few photos of mom and dad with him,” the photographer suggests.
Before I can respond, Callie speaks up and backs away saying, “No, I’m just his aunt.”
And with just those five words, I can hear and feel her disappointment that she’s never been able to have her own daughter or son.
“I think we should get photos of Brady with his aunt, since this was her brilliant idea,” I reply, placing my hand on her lower back to urge her forward.
“Fine, but you have to do some too,” Callie responds with a huff.
“With the Mohawk? I don’t think so,” I counter.
“So the hairstyle…it wasn’t you trying to be trendy or cool?” Callie asks me with a smile.
“Um, no. I lost a bet,” I say while running my fingers down the center of my embarrassment. I also start thinking about the bet Callie and I made on Wednesday, the one about me not sleeping with anyone for a week so that I can get a kiss from her.
Most single men would probably balk at the idea of refusing sex for a week to get a single kiss, but they don’t know how badly I want to kiss Callie, or what exactly I have in mind when it’s time for her to pony up.
“I can get some close-ups without the hair,” the photographer offers, picking up Brady from the helmet and removing his beanie. “Ooh, or we can give dad and son matching hairstyles,” she says while trying to get Brady’s little patch of dark hair to stand up.
“Let’s get some photos of him with his aunt who made his outfit first,” I suggest.
“That’s really not necessary,” Callie protests. “I’m not dressed or ready for pictures.”
“You look beautiful,” I tell her honestly. “Now get moving.”
Knowing there’s a significant chance she’ll slap me for it, I still swat at her jean-covered ass hard enough to move her toward the photographer.
“Watch it!” she looks over her shoulder and warns me with those stormy green eyes narrowed.
“I am watching it,” I tease and blatantly lower my eyes to her ass as she walks forward. Damn, it’s a nice ass too, one I wouldn’t mind squeezing or smacking bare.
“Stop looking at my ass,” Callie hisses.
“Tell your ass to stop flaunting itself in front of my eyes,” I counter with a grin.
With a shake of her head, she wanders off while I try to figure out how to make my dreams a reality where that woman is concerned.
Chapter Seventeen
Callie
“Okay, now it’s Daddy’s turn,” Beth, our photographer, proclaims. And I sigh in relief that my part is finally over.
Of course I wanted photos of me with Brady, but they didn’t need to be professionally taken in a studio. A few quick shots of me sitting on the sofa with my nephew in my arms would have been sufficient.
Now I’ll have plenty of memories of when Brady was only about a week old. My favorite shot was of me cradling his dainty head in my palms while leaning down to kiss his cheek. Since it’s in black and white, you can’t tell I haven’t put on any makeup, and not much of my un-styled hair is included in the shot.
“Off with the shirt, Dad. I want some skin to skin shots,” Beth directs Quinton, and with only a smidge of shame, I peek over to watch him pull his shirt up and off over his head.
Jesus…fucking…Christ’s nipples.
The man is built like a marble statue of Hercules. With his loose fitting clothes on, he looks big and intimidating, but without…wow. He’s a sculpted work of art. In high school the football players were the big guys with even larger guts, not highly paid, perfectly conditioned professional athletes like Quinton.
“Um, Callie?” the giant before me asks.
“Yeah?” I respond, and it comes out sounding like an embarrassing sigh.
“I sort of need Brady for the photos.”
“Oh, right,” I say when I realize I’m still holding the baby. I hand him over to Quinton; and as we make the transfer, there’s no way for the back of my fingers to avoid brushing over the warm skin on Quinton’s chest and one of his hard nipples.
Since when have I ever been attracted to a man's nipples?
Since now apparently. Did John even have nipples? I don’t remember. If he did, I’m absolutely certain that they were not attached to muscular pectorals like these.
Once the baby is secure in his strong, beefy arms, I can’t possibly look up at Quinton’s face for fear that he’ll see my attraction to him…physically. But that’s just stupid. He knows he’s hot since practically every woman in the world looks at him like he’s a chocolate sundae. In fact, when I glance over at the photographer, she’s fanning herself and putting her camera down for a drink of water. My mouth is suddenly dry as well.
Beth quickly recovers, though, and begins instructing Quinton on how to stand and hold Brady on his shoulder. The photos of the father and son are sweet and yet still sexy. I’ll need to steal a few of these to keep for myself.
Half an hour later, Beth tells us she’s finished and that we can either wait around for her to quickly edit and print the photos or come back in an hour or so. Quinton, giant that he is, suggests that we grab some lunch, and I easily agree before we have to get Brady back home and under the light again. In fact, even though we’ve only had a meal together out in public two days in a row, I like the familiarity of it, and I like having Quinton to myself, unlike at the house where Kelsey is always hovering. Her obvious crush on him is cute, but she’s young and naïve. I, on the other hand, know better than to fall for the larger-than-life football player, because there’s only one way for it to end --- with heartbreak.
Chapter Eighteen
Quinton
“Whatcha got for me?” Wilson Myers, my manager who handles all things PR and shit, asks from where he’s standing against his black Mercedes when we meet in the stadium parking lot Friday afternoon as I requested.
“Photos,” I tell him, handing him the oversized envelope with one of each of the photos of Brady taken earlier, along with a few of Brady and me together. The ones of Callie and Brady I kept to myself. I’ve already decided to frame one of the black and white ones to hang in Brady’s room.
“Oh shit. How bad is it? You with naked models? Skinny dipping with starlets again?” Wilson asks, knowing me well since we started our business relationship four years ago.
“Much more scandalous,” I tell him before he reaches into the envelope and pulls out the…
“Holy shit, Quinton!” he exclaims. “This is yours?”
“He’s mine,” I confirm with a grin.
“How long have you known? Why haven’t you told me? Who else knows?” Wilson starts firing off questions as he shuffles through the photos.
“I’ve only known for sure since yesterday. His mother dropped him off with me before she overdosed and died, so I had to wait for the DNA results,” I explain. “Only a few players and coaches know about him. Oh, and my attorney, his aunt, his nanny, the doctors and nurses at the pediatrician’s office and the hospital, and now the photographer who took these photos.”
“Fuck. I’ve got to move fast before the photographer releases them first!” Wilson shouts. “You’re right. This is much more scandalous. You should’ve warned me there was a chance we would have an illegitimate baby by a druggie ordeal to contend with!”
“Come on, man. It’s not that bad,” I tell him. “Look at how damn cute he is. No one will care who his mother is.”
“That’s bullshit, Quinton, and you know it!” Wilson argues. “Everyone will want to know who the Wildcats QB was stupid enough to knock up.”
“Watch it,” I lower my voice and warn him. “Spin it however you want, but leave his mother out of it. There’s no birth certificate yet, and I’m not even gonna tell you her name to make sure that she stays out of this.”
