Quarterback's Secret Baby (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)

by Ivy Jordan

  I’m about to say good morning, but the words die on my lips when I find my bed empty. I sit up and look toward the bathroom, but the door is open. Looking around, I see her little pile of clothes is missing, and I hop out of bed to head downstairs.

  “Serena?” I call out as I go into the kitchen. She isn’t there, so I move to all the other rooms on the first floor and then make a sweep of the second floor. As I head back down the stairs, I catch sight of a lime green post-it note on the front door.

  Cade,

  Thank you for last night. I had a wonderful evening. Best date I’ve ever had. I hope you manage through your midlife crisis and find whatever it is you’re looking for.

  Serena

  I’m pissed off that she snuck out sometime during the night. I haven’t been this attracted to a woman in years, and now, I don’t even have her last name.

  I head into the kitchen for something to eat, thinking about whether I should track her down. She mentioned that she’s a professor at USC and even one of the classes she teaches. Plus, she’s a sexy as sin astrophysicist; there can't be that many of them in town.

  Except... She could have left her number on her note if she wanted to. I made it clear I was interested in her, but she snuck out. I gave her what I thought were two mind-blowing orgasms, and still she left. It’s obvious from our conversations last night that she’s not a for a good time call kind of girl; she’s a monogamous, steady, relationship kind of girl. Maybe all she wanted was a quick, fun romp. I certainly delivered on that.

  Even though I wanted desperately to get to know more about her, she obviously didn’t, and I have to accept it was a one night only deal. She got what she needed, I got a night with her, and I can respect that. She’s a woman who knows what she wants, and I guess I’m not it...no matter how earth-shaking those orgasms were.

  It was one of the better nights of my life and even though the odds are I won't see her again to tell her that, I hope she knows it. Because if I ever do see her again, I’ll do whatever it takes to have her again.

  Chapter 10

  Serena

  Ashley is dancing from foot to foot with excitement, but I feel nothing but impending doom.

  It’s been three weeks since the night I met Cade, three weeks since I snuck out of his house at four in the morning to avoid going any deeper down the rabbit hole. We move in two very different worlds – the size of his house had made that clear – and he was very obviously at a crossroads in his life, unsure what to do or where to go next.

  There’s only one problem: I’m late. Hence the reason my sister is excitedly skipping around my apartment as we await the results of a pregnancy test I just took.

  “I’m going to be the best aunt ever,” Ashley says. “It’s going to be so cool. I can take the baby to the park and play on the swings without people looking at me funny.”

  “We don’t even know if I’m pregnant or not. I could’ve missed my period for any number of reasons.”

  “Says the girl who had a one-night stand of unprotected sex.”

  “It wasn't unprotected; I’m on the pill.”

  “Tell me about Cade,” she insists.

  “I've told you about Cade.”

  “Tell me again. He sounds like a grade A piece of man meat.”

  I roll my eyes and sigh, thinking about him again. “He was very good looking,” I allow, knowing full well that Ashley’s assessment is spot on.

  “So then, why did you sneak out? You said he was very charming.”

  “He was. He had all the right words and meant them. And yes, he was incredibly handsome, too. But that can't be it.”

  “You don’t know if that was it; you left a fucking post-it note.”

  “He was a confused businessman, Ash, in the middle of some midlife crisis. He doesn't know what he wants next in life. I don't want to be with someone who doesn't know what they’re looking for. I want to be with someone who is sure of himself – sure of me, and wants to be with me.”

  “Just because he is confused about his career doesn't mean he would have also been confused about you. He could have chosen you without hesitation. You could have, at the very least, had some fun for yourself for a while. No one is saying you had to marry the guy.”

  “You know that isn’t my thing.”

  “Fun isn’t your thing? Serena, who are you kidding?”

  “Look, can we just focus on one thing at a time? There’s only a minute left until the test is done.”

  “Are you ready for whatever it says?”

  I take a deep breath. “Yes. I didn’t think I was ready to be a mom, but this feels so right and if it’s positive... I’m looking forward to pregnancy.”

  “And Cade?”

  “What about him? He didn't sign up to be a father. I told him it was fine, that I was on the pill. Granted, now I might be a statistic of women who get pregnant while on the pill, but I’m not going to bother him; it's my mess.”

  “Well, I do think he deserves to know, but no matter what, I’ll be here for you.”

  “Thanks, Ash. You’re a good sister.”

  The timer on my phone rings, and we look at each other. Ashley grabs my hand and squeezes as I pick up the plastic stick. I look at the little pink lines and then at Ashley, turning it toward her.

  Positive.

  Chapter 11

  Cade

  Present Day

  “You never have time for me,” Josephine complains in my ear through the phone, and I suppress the urge to let out a guttural scream in annoyance.

  “Not that it matters at this point, but I saw you last night and the night before, Jo.”

  “I didn’t see you for a whole week before that,” she whines. “I think that’s what our problem is.”

  “I was out of town. I had a job,” I state matter-of-factly.

  “Your job is talking about football. I’d hardly call that a job.”

  It takes everything in me to keep from throwing my phone into the wall across the room with the same force I once threw a football.

  “Well then, you should pick your next boyfriend based on his job so that he has one you find acceptable.”

  “Next boyfriend?” she scoffs. “I already have you.”

  “No. You don’t have me, Josephine. I told you last night – I’m done.”

  “I know you weren’t serious, Cade. This is us. We break up, we see other people for a week, and then we make up. Rinse and repeat. It’s cute, the press loves it.”

  “I don’t need that kind of gratification, though. And, I was very serious last night. Our cycle of breaking up and making up is ridiculous and I’m over it. We always end up back here because it’s all we know. I don’t love you, and you don’t love me.”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course, I love you, Cade,” she says in a tone that isn’t even remotely believable.

  “No, Josephine, you don’t. You love the idea of love, but you don’t know how to love. You parade me out when you need press, like I’m a trophy. I’m not a trophy. I’m a person. I’m a man, and I want a woman I can relate to, one I can share my life with. That’s not you.”

  “What you need is someone that keeps you relevant,” she says snidely. “You commentate about a sport you don't even play anymore. No one talks about you, not since the Condors drafted that hot shot rookie quarterback who is making everyone forget who Cade Thomas ever was. Face it: you are a washed up has-been. A loser.”

  “Right, I’m a loser that holds multiple records, not only in the NFL, but in college football, too. Hey, maybe I can add a new one: record number of times to break up and make up with the same girl for five straight years,” I laugh. “If anyone is a loser, it’s the actress who makes less money than the retired jock who gets paid to talk about football once a week.”

  “You asshole!” she yells into the phone. “No one who is anyone is going to want you, Cade. I’ll be living the life, and you will have no one. No one, do you hear me?”

  “I’m afrai
d I do, even if I don’t want to. I think I’ll remedy that. This conversation is over,” I say calmly.

  “One day you’ll regret this!” she spews.

  “I doubt it, Josephine. In fact, I have a great idea. Let’s never speak to each other again. Doesn’t that sound great?”

  “It sounds perfect,” she spits with venom in her voice. “And when you come crawling, begging me to take you back, I’ll just laugh in your face.”

  “Don’t hold your breath on that one. Goodbye, Josephine.”

  I hang up before she can say anything else and immediately block her number in my phone. Shaking my head to clear away the conversation, I grab something to drink from the kitchen and notice the eggnog in my fridge. It's three weeks until Christmas, and my house is bare of decorations. I think about getting a tree tomorrow to get into the holiday spirit. Josephine hates the smell of a fresh tree, and I haven’t had one for as long as I’ve known her because I didn’t want to listen to her complain about it. Now seems like a good time to do what I want for the holiday.

  I’ve been retired from football for over three years now, having hung up my cleats for good after I won the Super Bowl with the Condors, making my announcement a couple of months after.

  A couple of months after my night with Serena. Even now, I still think about her often.

  I think about that night all those years ago, wondering what might have been. She’ll never know how she was a part of what spurred me to move on from playing football. Offers to join the broadcast booth came in, to join the Condors as a scout, to coach, but none of them spoke to me. Nothing did until an opportunity to take part in a brand new weekly commentary show came along. Two dudes just talking football appealed to me and brought me back to the things that made me love the sport in the first place.

  I leave in a few days to film another show, but until then – now that I have given Josephine the boot for good – I just want to relax and enjoy the time to myself. Maybe decorate the house some. I settle into the plush confines of my couch and grab the remote, flicking the TV on. I begin to flip through for something to watch, pausing briefly on a game show, the home shopping network, and a soap opera before I click past a news show in a rush.

  My brain screams “go back!” And as fast as I had sped past the channel, I’m pressing the button to reverse my scanning and leaning forward on the couch, staring down my TV to make sure I actually saw what I thought I did.

  Sure enough, as if I’ve conjured her from my thoughts, there on my television is Serena. I turn up the volume and drop the remote beside me as I sit up, not wanting to miss a second.

  “Good afternoon, and thank you for joining us. Beside me is Dr. Serena Jacobs, astrophysicist and educator. Thank you for being here, Dr. Jacobs,” the host of the show says.

  “It is my pleasure, Robyn.” Serena smiles warmly and I melt inside, just like I did the night I met her.

  “Christmas is around the corner, and for most children, that only means one thing: Santa Claus is coming to town. But how exactly does he get here and everywhere else on Christmas Eve? There are some two billion children in the world, after all. So, Dr. Jacobs, how does the man in red do it? Is it even possible?”

  “Well, Robyn, we know Santa doesn’t visit all of the children. There’s that naughty list to consider,” she laughs. “And, of course, those who sadly just don’t believe. Those factors reduce the number of children being visited by at least fifteen percent. Now, we are still talking about around 375 million children that Santa visits, but the good news for Santa is that he has thirty-one hours to work with.”

  “How is it that Santa gets more than twenty-four hours in a day?” the host asks.

  “Assuming Santa travels east to west, the rotation of the earth plus the different time zones throughout the world buys him those extra hours, which he’ll need, considering he is visiting roughly ninety-two million homes each Christmas Eve.”

  “How long does that give Santa at every house?”

  “Not much,” Serena laughs warmly again. “About 1/1000th of a second is all Santa has to stop, drop down the chimney, unload the presents, and get out undetected. He is working at warp speed for sure.”

  “Interesting. And, how fast would Santa’s sled be traveling?”

  “Rudolph and his team of reindeer are pulling Santa’s sled at a speed that is three thousand times the speed of light, so about 650 miles per second. It is quite fast for your average reindeer, but I think we all know that Rudolph and company are not your average reindeer, just as Santa is not your average jolly old man.”

  The interviewer laughs “How true. You’ve heard it here first, folks: Santa is performing miracles of science, at least according to USC professor, Dr. Serena Jacobs. Thank you for joining us today. We appreciate you every time you stop in.”

  “I’m always happy to be here, Robyn. Thank you for having me.”

  I pause the TV on a shot of Serena smiling and stare, shocked to actually see her face and not a memory in my mind. While I’ve replayed the night with her over and over, I am unprepared for the flood of emotions coming over me. There have been women other than Josephine in the years since, but no one that meant something, and no one that made me stop and give a second thought to my life or my future...not the way Serena did. I remember how disappointed I was to discover she had snuck out during the night. It was more than just wanting another go; it was wanting to know all of her. The feeling of not knowing what might have been still claws at my chest.

  The more I think about it, the more it becomes clear to me. I left playing football because it left me unsatisfied. The new show, being able to offer commentary to help others understand the game better gives me a purpose. Josephine and all the others were temporary bodies and none of them ever left me with anything but a fading sense of temporary satisfaction. The only time I've been with a woman that left me both sated and still wanting more was my one night with Serena.

  The time we had spent at the bar and then at dinner had been unhurried, and without the air of pretentiousness that seemed to follow every other date I’ve been on. I was taken by her at first look, and I was under her spell as I got to know her. I was a goner the first time I kissed her.

  I am sure she had her reasons to slip out of my bed, my house, my life, and while she doesn't owe me anything, I can’t help wanting to know why she never gave us a chance. Looking at her warm smile, I ask myself, what’s the harm in a casual coffee to talk after all these years?

  Chapter 12

  Serena

  I am always shocked by the number of students in my Physics at the Movies class. I never thought it would grow into the hugely popular class it has become. All the science majors insist in taking the class even though it’s a not a requirement, and I’ve been pleasantly surprised over the last few years at the number of non-science majors who take the class and report that they genuinely enjoyed what they got out of it. A few have even changed majors, and I love taking those students under my wing to help nurture their newfound love of science.

  “Let’s continue our discussion of action scenes that would never work out in real life the way they do in Hollywood. This clip is from the Vin Diesel movie XXX. Let’s watch as Mr. Diesel snowboards his way out of an avalanche.”

  Using a remote in my hand, I trigger the clip to begin playing at the front of the room. In it, Vin Diesel's character, Xander Cage, roars down the side of a mountain on a snowboard wearing your average run of the mill snow jacket and pants, no helmet or goggles, somehow defying all the odds to outrun the avalanche. When the clip finishes, I turn to the class.

  “The fastest recorded run down a mountain on a snowboard is one hundred twenty-five miles per hour, but for the average person, they are likely topping out at around fifty miles per hour. However, we’ll give Xander Cage some leeway and clock him around eighty miles per hour since he’s supposed to be such a badass. The average avalanche falls somewhere between 130 to 200 miles per hour. Xander Cage has about a 3
2 feet head start on the avalanche. So, we’re assuming he’s traveling at about eighty miles per hour and that our avalanche is going at its slowest one hundred thirty miles per hour. How quickly is that head start equalized?”

  There is a flurry of activity as the students work out the problem and hands start to shoot up across the room. I call on a girl in the middle of the classroom. “The snowboard and the avalanche would be equal in about half a second, Dr. Jacobs.”

  “And what next?” I question.

  “The avalanche would presumably envelop the snowboarder after that,” she replies.

  “Very good,” I nod. “Now, would anyone like to see if they can outrun an avalanche tomorrow?”

  There is a smattering of giggles through the room that quickly turn to whispers as the students, one by one, start to turn their attention toward one side of the room, looking at one another with excitement. I follow their gazes to the side entrance door and am shocked at the sight before me.

  Cade Thomas.

  My breath catches and my heart pounds hard in my chest. It’s been nearly three years, but I recognize him instantly. Now that I know who he is, he’s impossible to miss. His presence is all over town.

  “Dude!” one of my seniors yells out. “You’re Cade Thomas, the Condors quarterback.”

  People begin standing to move closer to him, pens and paper held out toward him, cameras flashing as the students try to take selfies with him.

  I didn't know who he was until a couple of months after our encounter. Watching the news that night, his face was everywhere talking about his retirement. Even now, it’s impossible to miss him on the cover of gossip magazines week in and week out.

  And while I am sure he enjoys the attention, I would like control of my class.

  I whistle loudly, catching everyone off guard. “Mr. Thomas will be happy to sign autographs and take selfies with you, but only if you can control yourselves for the rest of my class. Is that alright with you, Mr. Thomas?”

  He smiles with amusement. “Of course, Dr. Jacobs.”