Quarterback's Secret Baby (Bad Boy Ballers)

by Imani King

  For some reason the image of my grandmother's face popped into my mind at that moment and I started to cry harder, pushing my face into Darach's chest for comfort and leaning against his tall, strong body.

  "Hey, Jennifer. What's wrong? Why the tears?"

  I took a few minutes to compose myself and looked up at him:

  "I was just thinking of my grandmother."

  "Were you? Why? Would she be happy that a strange Scottish Laird who lives in the middle of nowhere loves her granddaughter?"

  I nodded, trying desperately to blink tears away but they kept coming. "Yes, Darach. That's why I'm crying. No one ever really loved me except her. When she died it felt like no one ever would again, and now you say you love me."

  "I do love you, Jenny."

  "I know you do. I don't even know why I'm crying. I'm happy. I'm so happy you love me, Darach. Of all the people on earth I could choose to love me, it would be you."

  He pulled me tightly in against his chest but I wasn't finished:

  "I love you, too, you know. I think I loved you within a twenty four hours of meeting you, actually."

  Darach laughed at that. "Yeah, I think I did, too."

  "Then why the hell did we wait so long to say it?"

  He kissed the top of my head. "Because we were both afraid it wouldn't be reciprocated."

  There was a small sound behind us and we both whirled around to see Cameron standing there. She was smiling and holding a handful of greenery and flowers.

  "I knew you two were in love a long time ago. Grown-ups are silly."

  I loved the way she referred to Darach and I as "you two".

  Chapter 17: Epilogue

  Three weeks later after a trip he told me was to Dubai, Darach marched into the kitchen where I was eating dinner with Cameron sporting a huge grin.

  "Daddy!" Cameron jumped up from the table and threw herself into his arms. He kissed her cheek and sat down next to me.

  "Eat fast, Jennifer, there's something I want to show you."

  I could tell something was up from Darach's buoyant tone of voice. When he rushed me out to the Land Rover as soon as I was finished eating, leaving Cameron with Mrs. Clyde, I couldn't contain myself.

  "Darach! What's going on?"

  "Just wait, you'll see soon enough."

  So I decided to go along with whatever it was he had up his sleeve. Soon, we were pulling up to the field that contained the Pictish stone.

  "I've already seen the stone..." I said, confused. But he ignored me, coming around to the passenger side and helping me out, leading me down the path to the little hill and up to the stone itself. When we got there, the sun had just gone down. No one else was around. I looked at Darach with my eyebrows raised, waiting to find out just what it was that has gotten him into such a state.

  "So," he started, looking me in the eye, "now comes the time for Jennifer Robinson to prove all the nice things she says to her Laird."

  'Her Laird.' I liked that.

  Even as I watched him get down on one knee I was still unsure about what he was up to. It only sunk in when he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box.

  "Darach..."

  "Shhh, Jenny," he shushed me, looking up at me and taking my hand.

  I always thought I would cry. I'm a cryer. Perhaps the happy summer, full of love and new-built family, had changed me. Whatever the reason, I surprised myself by not instantly bursting into tears. Instead I just looked right back at Darach as the feeling of my heart filling right up to the brim spread out through my body.

  "Jennifer. My beautiful Jenny from America, my big city girl. I love you. You make me happier than I've ever been. The only thing I want to do is spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you've made me. Will you marry me?"

  He opened the box and I gasped at the ring. A flawless, Asscher cut diamond surrounded by a halo of rubies sat in a cloud of black velvet. I must have stared for a little too long because Darach gave my hand a little squeeze.

  "Well? What do you say? Will you have this Scottish idiot?"

  I reached down and very gently took the ring out of the box, handing it to Darach.

  "Yes. Yes. Darach, a billion million times yes. I love you."

  He pushed the ring onto my finger and admired it for a few seconds before standing up and pulling me into his arms. It was there, with my face pressed against the familiar warmth of his chest, that I remembered Diane.

  "What about D-"

  I didn't even get to finish.

  "I wasn't in Dubai, Jennifer. I was in London. She's made a deal with my lawyer - I get full custody of Cameron and an immediate divorce. It should come through within two months but I wanted to get a ring on your finger before you had a chance to escape.

  So that was it, my happy ending. Our happy ending - mine, Darach's, Cameron's and all of the babies I wanted to have with him.

  We spent the next few days telling everyone. Darach's sister Anne came back from her summer vacation and, when we told her, just shook her head and smiled.

  "I knew it. I knew it. I could see it on both of your faces two days after you met. Congratulations."

  We got married on a clear, frosty day in January. My friends Amy and Simone sat in the front row beside the small photograph of my grandmother, whose presence I could feel all around us in the church. I wore a white Valentino couture gown that had involved three trips to Paris to get right and Darach held his daughter in his arms as he watched me walk down the aisle with Mr. and Mrs. Clyde on either side of me. When he kissed me after our vows had been taken and we had been pronounced man and wife, the whole church stood up, clapping and whooping.

  Darach looked me in the eye and bent down to whisper in my ear through the din:

  "You're mine now, Jennifer Robinson. And I'm yours. Forever."

  Excerpt from 'Quarterback's Surprise Baby' by Imani King:

  Chapter 1

  Gryphon

  Creaking open the door, I'm hit with the smell of perfume, alcohol and the sight of women. So many women. There's gotta be a fine girl in here that I can forget my troubles with. Just a few hours of semi-sentient pussy, that's enough for me. All I want is to feel her lips wrap around me—both sets.

  And then oblivion will be mine.

  At least until tomorrow morning, anyway. And that's all I need.

  Maneuvering through this bar is reminding me of being on the field, getting through the sea of guys wanting to take me down.

  Just like she wants to take me down.

  There I go, thinking about it again.

  Don't think. Drink.

  “Yeah, I'll have a whiskey, neat. And a beer,” I say, sitting my ass down at the bar. From my perfect vantage point here, I can see the chicks as they walk in. I’m looking good and can tell I’m already drawing a few stares. If all goes as planned I should have a full buffet of women to choose from before the evening is through.

  The whiskey comes, in a heavy glass, just the way I like it. I down it, which settles my lawsuit nerves a bit and I relax and can concentrate on the thing that will top the night off perfectly: finding the sexiest woman I can, to suck my dick.

  Thank heaven there's a baseball game on the screen. It doesn't stress me out like football might. I glance at it and, during the commercials, evaluate the talent in tonight's bar.

  There are the soccer moms in the center of the room with their short haircuts and overly brittle laughs—too high maintenance and not all that feminine, but you know they’d work hard in bed with a man like me. The barely-legals are in the corner trying to case the joint themselves, just in case someone figures out that maybe they should be showing some ID. Too young. And then there are the married couples having a date night—longing in their eyes, but not for the one they’re with. They've got nothing to say to each other—just looking around aimlessly, careful not to let their eyes settle on any one person for too long lest the accusations start.

  Fuck me if I ever become one of those folks. I
t’d be too damn dreary to have nothing to say to someone, because they’re in your face all the fucking time. “How was your day?” Who the fuck cares? Women are trouble anyhow. Not that men are much better. Who would want to marry anyone? It’s for suckers.

  I pour the IPA down my throat to chase the whiskey. Sweet nectar. I just want to drink enough so I can obliterate the thought of that dumb bitch trying to take me down. I did absolutely nothing to her, and she's acting like she's the martyr of martyrs, painting me as the great big evil villain. But the real reason she's going after me is because of what makes the world go round.

  No, not love.

  Money.

  She wants my money. Tons and tons of it. Money that I’ve bled, sweat and cried for.

  Shit, I promised myself I wouldn't think about this tonight.

  “Barkeep, another IPA please,” I say. “And fuck it, bring another whiskey too.”

  “Coming right up, Griff,” he says.

  I guess I’ve met this bartender before. He should know my order then, shouldn't he? I shoot the next whiskey and chase it with the beer. One thing about being a solid wall of muscle is that it sure does cost a lot to get drunk, but luckily for me money isn't an issue—as long as I get to keep what I have, that is. The muscle thing ensured that for me when I was 20—just a little older than the scantily clad girls in the corner—and got signed for the first time. Straight outta college ball at Brooks U. And now Sabrina’s trying to take it all away.

  I thought things were going to be as smooth as silk, once my dreams came true, but you wouldn't believe the number of people who are willing to take everything you've got. Lie, cheat and steal.

  There I go, thinking about it again. I look across the top of my drink at the bar, willing myself to forget.

  Then I see her. Walking in, looking like she's glowing from the inside, her skin set against a flimsy white shirt, her dark chocolate eyes flashing as bright as her smile. And the kind of lips that would feel perfect to kiss and suck as you buried yourself deep inside.

  She's got jeans on and her curves are killer, legs from her cute ass to her high-heeled shoes. She's talking to another girl, but honestly? I couldn't pick that one out of a lineup. No one but this single, solitary girl even exists anymore.

  I watch her as she pulls out her chair, hooks her bag onto it and settles that fine ass down. She pulls a lipstick out of her purse and traces her full lips with it, her dark eyes lowered in a coy way that makes me want to bend her over. Watching her press her lips briefly together before letting them go soft, sends a shiver straight to my cock—which has been at very strict attention ever since she sauntered into the place. I pull my eyes away and attempt to watch the game again, but I can't concentrate. I search for her reflection in the bar mirror so I can stare at her a little longer without detection, but no dice.

  Those lips. Those hips. They're just what I need, to forget everything. Just for one glorious night, to be able to plunge myself over and over into her luscious body and to turn that sweet mouth into the crumpled “o” of orgasm after orgasm. That would be perfection. I look over at her again. She's laughing and talking with her girlfriend. They're in perfect harmony.

  “You want another one, Griff?”

  Another, and another and another.

  “Yeah, just the IPA this time.” I hold back because I don't want to waste this chick with on a whiskey dick. She’s too hot to take that risk. It's never happened before but with the way my luck's been going these days, I can't count on anything.

  Then it happens. Our eyes meet. Those rich, Godiva eyes shine directly into mine for what seems like an eternity, but probably is only a second or two. It's like she's locked on to me, and I can feel not only her beauty, but her intelligence. There's something real in those eyes.

  Slowly she turns her head back to face her friend, but her eyes are on me until the last second. Then she sips her drink. It's one of those fancy girlie drinks—pink, with a straw and a crazy garnish. Probably sweet as all hell. I wonder what her lips taste like. Icy strawberries?

  Chapter 2

  Odell

  Sandra looks at me. “Damn, girl, don't look now, but that dude at the bar is giving you the eye!” she says.

  “What dude?” I say. “He cute?” Whoever it is, sounds interesting. Tonight is my night. It’s my last night of real freedom before I become partner at the firm. I don't care what happens, as long as I can do whatever I like. Starting from tomorrow my life is going to be all work, all the time. Big case, some celebrity or something. I'll have to devote almost every waking hour on it, but for twelve more sweet, beautiful hours, I am my own person. And I’m thinking that a night with a strapping young man might be just the thing to kick off my new job.

  “Oh, he's cute. Definitely cute.” She nods to herself. “But he's the kind who is cute for one night, not the kind you want to stick with forever. You want a lawyer like you,” she says sagely, nodding her head. “Remember that, Odell. You can mess around, but don’t get attached to a hottie with tattoos like Mr. Bad Boy over there.”

  “A lawyer? Two lawyers together?” I'm incredulous. “Sandra. You really think that's a good idea? Can you imagine the arguments? Based on the case Humphrey vs. Simmons, it's clear that there is precedent for the loose end of the toilet paper to go over the top!” “I rest my case!” She laughs. “Loose end definitely over the top.”

  “Can I look now?” I ask her. My head feels like it’s being pulled in that direction, and all I want to do is get a view of the man who could be my perfect prey for the night. Odell Williams! One night only!

  “Ok!” she agrees. “Just don't be too obvious about it!” When I turn my head, I don't know how I missed him when I first walked in. He’s hot, that’s for sure. Broad shoulders, abs so ripped you can see them through his t-shirt and thick legs in blue jeans. A He’s got a thick head of dark hair cut short to show off his strong jaw, and cheekbones, and ... the bluest eyes on the planet. Boring into me. Somehow the way he's looking at me makes me feel like his hands are all over me. His fingers doing things they shouldn't. But they should. “Mm mm mm.” I say turning back to Sandra slowly. “He is one fine hunk of man. But those tattoos wouldn’t fly at Smith Williams Smith, now would they?”

  “Hardly,” Sandra says. “That firm of yours isn’t exactly the most progressive. It’s amazing that they hired you. Must be trying to reach out so that they can look a little more 21st century.” She takes a long sip. “You ready for another drink?” Sandra grins. “I want to get a better look at this admirer of yours.”

  “Sure, sounds good. He's not bad at all!” I say. “See what you can find out.” I smirk back at her.

  “A fresh Cosmo is on its way!” She stands up then leans in and stage-whispers, “Along with a full report!”

  “Perfect.” I lean back and adjust my hair a bit. Even if I don't plan on anything lasting, I still want to look my best when I go in for the kill with lover boy over there. I sneak another peek at him. He's still got his eyes trained on me from across the room, his burning gaze leveling me. I risk a little smile at him. I don't want him to come over just yet, but I'd be happy to have him know I noticed him.

  His face breaks into its own sly, crooked smile, and then he looks away casually. Sandra's just walked up and is standing near him. They're chatting a little, and lover boy runs his hand through his hair, giving me a nice view of his bicep as he does. Tasty as all get out, this man. Where did he get a body like that? I’ve never seen anything like it. And, the tattoos that peek out from under his sleeves are tempting me to see more of that body.

  Sandra comes rushing back to the table, a couple of drinks in her hand. “Ok,” she says quickly, “he's even better up close. I think he must be some kind of athlete the way he was talking to the bartender about the game, and those muscles. But he did put our drinks on his tab. So here you go!” She's triumphant. “Just remember, if you go for this guy, it's short-term only! If you don’t listen to me at any other time, lis
ten to that. You need a lawyer, toilet paper roll arguments notwithstanding.”

  “Ha!” I grin. “Fair enough. This night is just for me, and I'm going to celebrate. If he wants to be a part of it, all the better. And we all know which part!” We laugh, and I sip the sweetness of the Cosmopolitan, tipping it slightly to lover boy afterward in thanks. He smiles again, and the butterflies take flight in my chest. Damn, he's even hotter when he smiles.

  “Speaking of your night, I'm not even sure if I should ask this,” Sandra says, her face twisting a little. “Did your folks call, or send you congratulations about your new position?”

  “Ugh, not at all.” My mood darkens. “I'm so over them, I swear. I'm not counting on their approval for anything anymore.”

  “Odell, I'm sorry I brought it up,” she says, chastened. “I was just hoping there was going to be some good news for once.”

  “That's ok, don't worry about it.” A song I like comes on the jukebox, and I need to get out of this sudden dark mood if this is going to be the night to remember that I need it to be. “You want to dance?”

  “Yes! Perfect!”

  Moving to the smallish wooden dance floor, we leave our drinks at the table and I let the mood of the music carry me away. I love dancing. It's one thing my parents couldn't ruin for me, though they’ve tried since I was a little girl. Of course they had dreams—or even expectations—that along with everything else, I would become a ballerina. But, once I turned eleven, my breasts and butt grew too big for that. I just didn't have that thin willowy body that you need to be really successful in ballet, and I wasn’t willing to starve myself and eat only an apple a day for the rest of my career. I was just too curvy. My folks pushed me to practice anyway, but I didn't mind that as much as I always loved feeling free in the studio. Even though during the recitals as the other kids were able to pick out their parents’ faces, all I would see was my nanny standing at the back looking at her phone.