Million Baller Baby: A Secret Baby, Second Chance, Sports Romance (Bad Boy Ballers Book 1)

by Rie Warren

  Jesus. I’d so be her stud if she just asked me.

  She was seriously getting on my case and in my face, and I must’ve been seriously masochistic because that just made her hotter to me. With the sled punched against my shoulders and her standing in front of me in gym shorts and crosstrainers, her ponytail swinging . . . I’d never seen a better look on a woman.

  Except when she let loose with a laugh, her toffee-brown eyes shining.

  I sailed across the finish line, and she caught me watching her, capturing the moment. Nothing distracted me from her, not even my burning muscles.

  “Unless you do that again, Rafe, you’re gonna eat dirt.” She slung her last insult, but I didn’t give one single fuck.

  The sled rolled to a halt as soon as I stopped treading turf.

  So maybe Buck got one-on-one time with Coach Mark, who resembled a walrus on ’roids, but I got some serious face-to-face—strike that—face-to-tit time with Peyton. The woman I hadn’t stopped thinking about since the day she’d walked into the locker room.

  “I’d rather eat something else if you wanna know the truth, Pey.” I stepped around the training sled, intent on her and her only.

  Her eyes flicked wide then strived low. Super low. Crotch of my shorts low. Too bad for her I was wearing a jockstrap—my cock harnessed. Otherwise she’d see the reaction she caused. Big and hard and hers for the taking.

  Lifting up my arms, I hoisted her down. The squeezing hug was just an excuse for full body contact until her feet hit the turf.

  “Are you flirting with me, Rafe?”

  “Wouldn’t even dare.” My fingers lingered near the loosened hair beside her cheeks. “You’re the boss after all.”

  “And, Buckley or not, I still need you to be the star of this team.”

  Putting that on my to-do list I don’t have.

  She peered up at me with those glorious eyes and that suckable mouth tilting at the corners.

  “Break it up over there! S’already hot enough on the field,” Marquis shouted, interrupting the thing that wasn’t a thing between Peyton and me.

  Not a thing at all.

  Apparently the whole damn team plus all the coaches had gotten an eyeful of All That.

  Releasing the lady, I backed away. Gripping the bottom of my damp T, I tugged it up and off.

  Peyton’s turn to stutter and stumble a bit.

  That was what chopping wood and working out all winter long and spring did. Bigger than ever, I bunched the shirt in my fist, my forearms flexed, my biceps bulging, and I jogged across the field.

  Pey’s voice shook behind me, not as strong as before. “Time for a cool down!”

  No doubt about that.

  ****

  “Get your hairy ass outta my face.” I whipped my damp towel at Brooklyn, who bent over in front of his locker a couple hours later.

  “Dude, this ass is baby smooth.” He squatted, bare-ass-naked, right in my line of vision as I sat on a bench.

  “Unlike your face.” Planting my foot against his backside, I gave a hard shove.

  Falling forward, Brooks started laughing. “Knew you were jealous of my beard.”

  “Get bent, asswipe.”

  “Can’t get enough of my ass, either, huh?”

  Other dudes laughed, listening to our good-natured jabs. Then Akoni started up from down the line, singing some unintelligible fancy pants opera. The three-hundred-pound giant was a one-man show in and of himself.

  The rousing round of applause, whistles, and general fuckery following AK’s shower-stall performance came to a quick end with a commotion on the other side of the locker room.

  “Don’t be throwin’ shade about my man Rafe.” Marquis’s voice rose just before a huge crash reverberated through the huge room as bodies hit lockers.

  “What the fuck?” I bolted to my feet.

  Careening around the corner, I saw Marquis slam Buckley into the locker again.

  “Get the fuck off me.” Buck fought back, his fist primed to hammer Marquis in the face.

  Calder and Deacon rushed forward while Brooks and I grabbed Marquis by the shoulders.

  He struggled like a wild animal as the other two hauled Buckley a few feet away.

  “Calm the fuck down.” I jerked harder on Marquis.

  “You don’t get it. That asshole said his kid sister has a better arm than you.”

  I glanced at Brooks. He slanted his eyes back at me. Then we both started cracking up. I laughed so hard I had to release Marquis and when I looked up, his lips started twitching.

  “Fuck you. Was trying to defend your honor,” he grumbled.

  “My honor?” I slung an arm around his neck. “What are you? My knight in shining armor?”

  He pushed me away from him.

  “Thank you, Sir Marquis.” Grabbing his face, I gave him a big loud kiss on the cheek. “But I’m sure Buck and I can sort out our differences on the field. ’Sides, we’re all one team now, right?”

  “Screw you and you and you, too.” Marquis looked around the locker room where pretty much everyone was chuckling. “Whatever. You’re all invited to my house for a barbeque tonight. Even Buck the Fuck. Goodwill gesture or what-the-fuck-ever.”

  Chapter Nine

  And Barbeque You Too

  Rafe

  AS SOON AS I pulled up outside Marquis’s massive spread in the I’On neighborhood in Mount Pleasant, I heard the raucous music and loud shouts.

  Liv jumped out the second I put the Scout in park.

  “Hey,” I shouted. “No drinking!”

  “Duh.”

  Chuckling, I watched her run around the corner of the house, following the noise like a bloodhound on the scent. I pulled a cooler from the back of the truck, crossing the driveway filled with top-of-the-line rides.

  I’d returned home to my beach house on Isle of Palms after picking Liv up from the day camp at the county park. I’d stopped just long enough to check the messages on the landline and catch a few waves with Liv. Half an hour later, dried off and cleaned up, we’d hit the Harris Teeter for my contribution to Marquis’s barbeque. Beer. Of course.

  Passing through the house with the cooler balanced on my shoulder, I made a detour to the kitchen, kissing Charmaine—Marquis’s wife—on the cheek.

  “They’re all outside, sugar.” She stirred a bubbling pot of greens on the stove. “Good to have the whole crew back, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. And you’re lookin’ good too, Charm. Keeping Marquis in line?”

  “Marquis? Lawdy, I don’t even know where Mason is at the moment.” Smiling, she mentioned her young son. “I heard tell you’re the one keepin’ Marquis outta trouble though. The locker room incident?”

  I winked at her before heading to the back patio. “Hey, he’s hard work, you know?”

  She laughed with a throaty sound. “Oh, I know. I told him to share his toys and play nice with the new kids.”

  Outside, the sun was just as hot as earlier, the air even muggier. The backyard was a large spread with a giant pool, and the landscaped area filtered down to a shallow canal.

  Completely unlike my own ramshackle home on the edge of the dunes. Not that there was anything wrong with my house—or Marquis’s—just that I wasn’t into the flash and the cash.

  Akoni stood sentinel in front of the ginormous pig roasting over a pit. Exactly where one would expect him to be.

  The rest gathered on the lawn as Brooklyn lobbed a football at my sister. “Yo, Liv! Look lively!”

  Her long black hair swinging, she leaped up to snatch the flying ball from the air.

  “And touchdown!” I boomed out, everyone cheering.

  “How long you staying with your loser of a brother?” Paul swaggered up to my sis, offering his fist for a tap.

  “When are you trying out for the football team?” Marquis asked her, little man Mason jungle-gyming up his legs and into his arms.

  “Sure you don’t wanna be a cheerleader?” Brooks taunted.


  “Cheerleader? Gross.” Liv beaned the ball back to the man. “And my bruthah is an NFL prodigy.”

  “Damn right I am.” Rushing on Liv, I swung her up in the air before catching her in my arms. “Jesus. You’re getting too big for this.”

  She squealed before whispering, “Swear jar.”

  “Jesus is a name.”

  “You didn’t mean it in the Biblical sense.”

  Setting her on her feet, I frowned down at her. “You are too hardcore for your own good.”

  Leaving Liv to her game of pass—with NFL head honchos—I handed out beers, even exchanged a few words with the New Crew. Buckley was probably gonna rank numero uno on my shitlist until Peyton or Coach Mark made me the official starter for the season—my fucking team after all—but I could break bread with the dude or whatever.

  Better idea than breaking his head, which Marquis had already tried to do.

  I cracked open a brew, huddling up beside Akoni at the pit where the meat spit and hissed. “Hangry much?”

  “Akoni knows no anger.” He rubbed his belly, watching the sizzling pig. “Just waiting for the pork crackling.”

  “Dude. AK. We know you harbor no anger.” Brooks slid up beside us. “You’re the one who bawled like a baby at the Pete’s Dragon premier . . .”

  “My woman likes a sensitive man.”

  “Who kicks ass all over the field, sack-master,” Brooks added.

  I drank from my beer in order not to laugh at the huge Hawaiian with tats all over his body and a stoic expression on his broad face . . . who cried at kid’s movies.

  Charmaine rolled up, carrying new baby Chanel in one arm, a huge bowl of collards in the other.

  I took the bowl and set it on the table already laden with heaps of potluck chow. “You look like you could use a break.”

  “Tellin’ me I’m past it?” Girlfriend wagged a finger in my face.

  I snorted, accepting Chanel into my arms. “Hardly.” I winked. “Mommyhood looks good on you. And this one”—bouncing the sweetie up onto my shoulder, I patted her back—“is an angel.”

  “Tell me that when she wakes up for her four a.m. feed.” Charmaine watched with a smile. “You’d make damn good dad material, Rafe.”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “You say that now. Haven’t seen you with a new woman lately.”

  “Mac Daddy is trying to get his cherry back!” Marquis joined us to announce my celibacy.

  Not like I used to be a man whore. Much.

  “Fuck you.”

  Both Charmaine’s and Liv’s hands shot out. “Swear jar.”

  “IOU.” I mouthed back before passing sweet-smelling, softly cooing Chanel to Marquis. “Daddy-yo! Hand off.”

  A few minutes later Akoni had the pig ready, and Marquis announced, “The bacon buffet has arrived!”

  Red sauce. Mustard sauce. Mac ’n’ cheese. The greens and coleslaw. And you needed shoulder pads and a helmet in order to fight your way to the table.

  First supper of the preseason.

  Before a regular season we weren’t gonna piss down the drain this time.

  I hoped.

  Despite the earlier shitstorm in the locker room, Buckley, Calder, and Deacon fit in pretty well, no more punches thrown.

  Plenty of trash talk, though, but that was a given when we were all together.

  “Miss Fox has it in for you, Rafe.” Brooks settled on a lounger next to me, our emptied plates set aside, beers traded for water in advance of our early morning start tomorrow.

  Peyton had somethin’ for me, that was for damn sure . . .

  “Man, that was whack the way she pulled you off QB training today.” Paul hunkered between us, his knees cracking.

  “Shuddup, wannabe.” Passing by, Marquis smacked Bunyan on the back of the head. “Don’t be frontin’ like that, white bread.”

  “Marquis . . .” Charmaine interrupted.

  “What? I’m playin’ nice.”

  “You better keep it that way.”

  “Yes and ma’am.”

  I wished Brooks had never mentioned Pey. Training for her had been straight-up torture—mind, body, and soul. Body. Most definitely. Her sweetheart ass. The copper hair. The easy smile when you were in her favor and the mean glare from her feisty brown eyes when you weren’t.

  Her tits.

  Her legs.

  Sweaty. Exhilarated. Unbelievably sexy all the damn time.

  And suddenly I wasn’t in the fun zone anymore. Every time someone stepped out onto the deck, my head swiveled around, hoping she might make an appearance. I wanted a word with the woman in private. Not in front of all the goons on the field.

  Wanted her.

  Point blank.

  Of course she didn’t show up. She’d drawn a clear line in the sand. Her—the boss—us—her team.

  An hour later, Brooks loomed over my seat again. “What’s eating you up, sour puss?”

  “Nuthin’, pussy.” I stood up, going for one last beer before I took Liv home.

  And at the cooler, who did I meet but Big Mouth Buck?

  He clinked a bottle to mine. “So you and Peyton . . . You hitting that?”

  I suddenly understood why Marquis had gone beast mode on the dicktool. Buck lit the roaring rage inside me, flaming years of jealousy I’d never tamped down.

  Slowly placing my bottle on the table, I snarled, “What did you just say?”

  His lips parted in a wide grin. “Peyton. She’s fuckable. Don’t wanna step on your turf though since I’m already taking over your position on the team.”

  The second those words left Buckley’s lips, I went at him.

  Unleashed, I throttled his throat between my two hands. “No one treats her like an easy fuck. And you?”—I shrugged Brooks off when he tried to haul me away—“you can call her Miss Fox.”

  I backed up just far enough to hammer my fist into Buckley’s face with a satisfyingly meaty impact.

  Oh look.

  Pretty boy Cornhusker bled red just like the rest of us. He stumbled back, shock crossing his features, fingers coming away bloodied from his mouth.

  I made another leap for him, but Calder jerked him out of reach before I could make contact.

  “Fuckhead.” I shook off my bruised knuckles, clenching and releasing them.

  Hauling me back from the loudmouth shit while waving the other dudes away, Brooklyn told me to cool my fucking heels, especially in front of Liv.

  “I’m okay.” I blew out a huge stream of breath, dropping my hands to my sides.

  “You sure? What the hell did he say to you anyway?”

  “Nuthin’.” I cooled my anger with a drink of beer. “It was—” The back door swung open again, and a woman stepped outside.

  She had russet red hair but, when she turned in my direction, hers wasn’t the sweet face I hoped for. It wasn’t Peyton, and disappointment stung me more than the busted-open knuckles on my fist.

  Glancing between me and the woman, Brooks frowned. “Somethin’ I need to know?”

  “About me? Nah.” I swiped all emotion from my face then clapped him on the back. “Now you, on the other hand . . . Maybe you wanna try staying out of the tabloids with all your conquests, Girth Brooks.”

  “Whatever. You don’t need to worry about me.” He scratched his beard, peering over at the new crew. “Shaping up to be one hell of a season, huh.”

  “No shit, right?” I cracked a smile I didn’t feel.

  “Probably better stop popping punches so you can save those precious fingers for the football thing though.”

  “Roger that.” Locating Liv in the crowd where she sat beside Charmaine, I clenched my fist one last time.

  Hoped I’d broken Buck’s face.

  “So that never happened.” I motioned toward Buckley, who scowled at me from across the fire pit.

  “Always got your back, bro.”

  ****

  One week later, Peyton—excuuuuse me—Miss Foxy Fox was still riding my a
ss.

  I wanted to be riding her perky ass. But at least she’d put me back in play as lead QB. Fucking right she did.

  And she was still the leading lady in all my jacking-off fantasies.

  I’d make sure Liv was asleep, lock my door, and grip my cock in a hard hand. Remembering Pey’s sweet scent. Her lush body. The moans etched in my mind.

  I needed no lube, so slick with precome already. Every night after hours of being in her presence . . .

  My dick jerked in my hand, but I took it slow, exactly the way I wanted to fuck her. The first time at least. Using a teasing grip, a stroke of my fingertips around the engorged head, thrusting in . . . and . . . out between my coupled knuckles.

  I wanted to see Pey with my cock in her mouth.

  My hands in her hair.

  My face between her legs.

  My abs clenched, my toes digging into the sheets, I bit off the long hoarse groans when I came. Came hard. My hands, dick, stomach wet with jizz, I thought about pressing her onto her back and fucking into her cunt with my come-coated cock.

  Hard.

  Fast.

  Rough.

  Tugging her bright hair. Bringing her mouth to mine. Watching her writhe on my dick, come on my cock, then eat the cream I unloaded all over her body.

  I’d checked Peyton’s ring finger. Bare. It was as bare as I wanted her to be with me.

  Although the gossip magazines would probably have reported the boss babe of the century getting hitched—not that I read that shit anyway. I was more of a Wall Street Journal kind of guy. Besides, the tabloids couldn’t exactly be counted on as fact sheets. Knew that from firsthand experience myself.

  No, she wasn’t married to anything but Carolina Crush, and this time nothing stood in my way of pursuing Peyton Fox.

  Much.

  Chapter Ten

  Playa of the Week

  Peyton

  THIS TIME THERE WAS no way I was going to get involved with Rafe Macintyre.

  Ever.

  Not even when he flashed his sexy smile at me or grinned with those deep dimples slicing into his sharp cheeks. And those unusual dark green eyes? Forget about it.

  We were en route to a major preseason event at Charleston AFB to meet and greet the men and women who served our country. On the Carolina Crush buses, the trip was a short one, but spirits ranged high. A day off, even to press hands and smile for cameras, always ranked.