My Surprise Secret Baby (Romance Box Set)

by Lexi Wilson

  I’ve always wondered how many winning Super Bowl quarterbacks actually do go to Disney World. I didn’t suppose it really mattered. After the game and the parties, I’d just take some appropriately hot woman back to one of my apartments where we’d hook up, and I’d spend the night in Fantasy Land.

  Chapter 3

  Bama

  As a cheerleader, I was used to doing a lot of yelling. But one morning in the bathroom two months after the Super Bowl, I let out a scream.

  The scream tore itself from my throat, and I clapped a hand over my mouth to muffle it. My bulging eyes continued the scream as I stared down at the little plastic stick lying next to my sink – and the plus sign on it. The desperate shake of my head and the outbreak of perspiration on my forehead begged, No, no, no! But, that plus sign unmistakably argued back, Yes, yes, yes.

  I’d known it was possible. I’d known it could happen. I just didn’t want to believe it would happen. Even now, staring at the stick of the pregnancy test, I struggled with what it was telling me and knew it was a losing battle.

  What had happened in the luxurious bathroom of a hotel penthouse had led to what was happening now in the much more modest bathroom of my apartment. That was all it had taken – one incredible experience of being rammed by the dynamite dick of Barrett Porter and flooded with his cum. And now, here I was, staring at a life-changing mark on this piece of plastic.

  I knew nothing about being pregnant. I didn’t know when morning sickness was supposed to start. I hadn’t even been a little queasy yet. But now, knowing what was going on because of what I’d drunkenly let Barrett do to my body, I had such a surge of nausea as I’d never had in my whole life.

  Throwing my hand over my mouth again, I started to convulse inside, and my breaths came in choking heaves. I staggered to the toilet, dropped to my knees, and emptied my stomach into it. My whole body rocked with the force of throwing up. When I was finally done, I sat there on my bathroom floor and shook all over.

  After flushing, I dragged myself back to my feet, went to the sink – beside which the damning piece of plastic was still mocking me – and splashed water on my face. I took a gulp of water to rinse out the bitter taste lingering in my mouth. Then, still shaking and clutching at my stomach, I went feebly from the bathroom back to the bedroom and fell across the bed.

  On my unmade sheets, I curled up very fittingly into a fetal position and cried.

  What had I done? What had I done?

  Stupid, I told myself, you know exactly what you’ve done. Now, what the hell are you going to do about it?

  I kept replaying that spontaneous fling in the penthouse over and over in my head. Reliving it used to give me pleasure – a pleasure I knew I shouldn’t expect to have again because everyone knew Barrett was strictly a one-timer. Or a one-nighter.

  There was no question that this was the result of that single time with Barrett. He had certainly moved on from me, but during these past two months, I hadn’t had any other dick. What was growing inside me now, grew from the seed I’d let Barrett plant.

  The obvious question was how this had happened, and I didn’t mean the mechanics of how it happened. I meant how I had allowed it to happen. I stopped myself and reminded myself that it wasn’t only me who had allowed it.

  Barrett and I had both been drinking and not thinking. When he dropped his jeans and unleashed the beast, he didn’t have a condom. And, I hadn’t so much as taken a pill or slipped in a diaphragm. Barrett, drunk to the point of stupidity, had thoughtlessly, recklessly fucked me, and I, just as wasted and just as stupid, had thoughtlessly, recklessly let him.

  What’s more, I’d wanted him to do it, in spite of everything I knew about him, in spite of how I knew it was just this one impulsive thing and it would never amount to anything else. He’d asked for my pussy and I’d let him have it, and I’d loved every stroke and thrust of his fucking. Even drunk and stupid on a bathroom vanity, he was a fantastic lay.

  Well, what was happening to me as a result wasn’t so fantastic, was it? I thought. Knowing what was now about to become of my life, I just curled up on my bed and cried.

  I cried until I didn’t have any tears left, and after my last sob I just lay there, my body still, my face wet, pondering my future...whatever that would be. I was a cheerleader. It was strictly a part-time, weekend job. I filled rest of my time with temporary jobs that actually paid more than being a cheerleader did. What’s more, my position as head cheerleader depended on my looks and what shape my body was in, and before football season started again, the shape of my body was definitely going to change in a big way. A big out to there kind of way.

  I was going to have to think about how I’d support myself while pregnant, pay the costs of having a baby, and then support myself and a child on the kind of money I was making. Was that even possible? A fearful shudder went through me at what I strongly suspected must be the answer.

  Well, there was one answer. This baby had a father, and while cheerleaders get paid a pittance, he was another story entirely.

  Barrett was a player in the NFL, and even guys who spend the whole season sitting on the bench get paid six-figure salaries. Barrett was not a bench warmer; he was a star player who always got fielded. And, his salary was easily in the seven or eight figures. Even his money had money. Barrett was set up to provide for a platoon of babies.

  That, of course, was assuming he would own the child and step up for it. Once again I came around to the fact that Barrett was a sleep-around, a horndog. To put it less than nicely, a man-slut. The streets of Dallas were practically littered with the women he’d screwed. If he routinely abandoned all the women he went to bed with, what would he do with the woman who had his child – and with the baby itself? I wondered. Would I have to go so far as to take Barrett to court?

  I didn’t have anything like the money to pay a lawyer for a paternity suit. Meanwhile, Barrett had the money to pay for the best lawyers in Texas, and I could pretty well imagine the kind of job they’d do on me in a courtroom. After being screwed by Barrett, I’d get the same again, only not in a good way.

  I was definitely not liking my options. All I could think to do at the moment was to go to Barrett – if I could track him down – and tell him what had happened. I would have to take my chances and hope for the best. Even if he didn’t want me in his life, even if he didn’t want the child, perhaps he’d be willing to help somehow. It was the only decent, human thing to do. All I could hope for was that Barrett was willing to be decent and human.

  When my phone rang, it shocked me out of the deep, dire thoughts that I’d sunken into, and my curled body flinched. I rolled myself across the bed and grabbed the phone from my nightstand. It was Kira.

  “Hey, girl,” came Kira’s voice over the phone. “What are you doing for lunch? I’m thinking ribs and margaritas.”

  My stomach churned at the thought of it. Any other time I’d love what Kira was suggesting, but now? Out of the question. How to get out of this? I resigned myself to biting the bullet and telling the truth. If there were anyone I could trust with the truth, it was Kira.

  “I can’t,” I began.

  “Other plans?”

  Sighing, I went for it. “No. I’m just pregnant.”

  I had to take the phone from my ear when my friend screeched, “WHAT?!”

  “It’s true,” I said, as depressed as it was possible for me to get. “In my bathroom, there’s a little plastic stick with a plus sign on it. I’m pregnant.” And while my voice was dull and listless with depression, my eyes were getting wet again.

  For a beat, there was silence on the other end of the line. I finally had to ask nervously, “Kira? Are you still there?”

  She answered, “I actually wanted to go to lunch to tell you something. I thought margaritas would make it easier to take.”

  “Anything would be easier to take than what I just found out,” I said. “You might as well tell me what you wanted to tell me now, because margaritas a
re out of the question.”

  I could hear the apprehension in her voice, her worry for me, as she answered. “Well...there’s been some talk among the girls on the squad. I thought I owed it to you to give you a heads-up about it.” She took another beat, then launched ahead. “Some of the other girls would rather have someone else as head of the squad. And, there’s been some talk going around about...replacing you.”

  “Replacing,” I said. “That’s a nice way of saying overthrowing.”

  With a sting in her tone, Kira said, “Yeah.”

  All I could do was shrug. “I’m not surprised. I made the squad right out of school, I’m one of the youngest cheerleaders, and they liked how good I looked on camera well enough that they promoted me over more experienced women. There was bound to be some resentment. I guess it’s only natural. Everyone’s been nice to my face, but there had to be something going on behind my back. Well, it’s going to be a lot easier for them to overthrow me now, isn’t it?”

  Sympathetically, she replied, “I guess so.”

  Flopping down on the bed again, I said, “This is great. A bun in the oven and someone’s gunning for my place on the squad.”

  “We’ll figure something out,” Kira promised. “Listen, just sit tight, okay? I’m coming over right now.”

  “Okay,” I said, with a hand to my forehead, sighing again.

  _______________

  Kira and I sat together in my combination kitchen, dining room, and living room, drinking juice instead of margaritas, and I told her the whole sorry story. Like a best friend, she listened and didn’t judge. She was totally sympathetic.

  “Wow,” she said, honestly impressed. “The guy you most want to have sex with and the guy you least want to get pregnant with.”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head ruefully. “Pretty much.”

  Leaning over on the couch where we were sitting and touching my hand to give whatever reassurance and support she could, Kira said, “Okay then. You’re really up against it, I know. And, I know this whole thing looks as bad as it can get – impossible, even. But we can’t think like that. What we need to figure out is how we can get you and Barrett face-to-face again so you can tell him.”

  Not liking the odds, I agreed. “Right. So, how are we supposed to track down a rich quarterback who could be anywhere?”

  Kira corrected me, “Not anywhere. People with money don’t have to go just anywhere. Only to good places. That narrows things down. It’ll still be a challenge, but it’s a start, right?”

  I had no other answer but, “Right.” I accepted Kira’s word. It made sense, after all.

  I just wished I had her confidence about this whole thing.

  Chapter 4

  Barrett

  Another “morning after.”

  I slipped out of bed, leaving the woman I’d spent the night with still sleeping there. Last night had been fun, as usual. But that was then and this was now, as the saying goes. While I usually like to have a little something in the morning after having a lot of something overnight, my friend Cole was coming over.

  My plan was to shower and get dressed in the bathroom and come out fully dressed for the day, and send my guest home, maybe with a little light breakfast and a glass of juice for the pleasure of her company and the three times she’d opened her legs for me.

  That was the plan. There was one detail I overlooked: locking the bathroom door behind me. I had only myself to blame for what happened next.

  Before I knew it, the glass door of my shower stall slid open, and there she was, her hair a little tousled, but all of her looking as good as she’d looked all last night. And before I could get a word out, she was in the shower with me and closing the door behind her.

  I tried to protest and tell her I had a busy day ahead of me and I really didn’t have time for an encore, much as I usually liked one. But, she wasn’t hearing it. There was no chance for me to say anything else before she was on her knees with her mouth at my crotch, and my hardening cock – which was not protesting at all – was slipping over her tongue. Well, there are situations that a guy can get out of and situations that he can’t. The chick flat-out ambushed me.

  After the surprise blow job, I had her on her feet and up against the shower wall, and my dick sliding into her. One hot fuck later, my day was off to a start that I hadn’t planned, but was good just the same.

  After the ambush, I collected the clothes that I’d meant to have on when I left the bathroom, and we stepped back out into my bedroom, where I quickly started to get dressed. Having wrapped a towel around herself, she sat down on the tangle of sheets on the bed with a one-more-time look on her face.

  Pulling on my briefs in hopes of sending her a clear message that she’d gotten all she was getting (and a little more), I said, “Listen, Kelsey, I’m gonna have to ask you to excuse me. My friend’s coming over soon and-”

  “Chelsey,” she corrected me with a little pout.

  “Sorry, Chelsey. I’ve got things to do today, and my friend that I’m going into business with is on his way over. So you’re gonna have to get dressed.”

  “Is your business really that important?” she asked. “You’ve already got plenty of money. Aren’t there things you’d rather be doing?” She leaned back a little on the bed and held her towel-wrapped legs at an angle to suggest exactly what else I could be doing. And damn it all, my dick started to agree with her. It was on her side.

  But, my mind was made up. Pulling on my khakis to send a message to both Chelsey and my unruly dick, I stood up with my hands on my hips, barefoot, shirtless, and giving my overnight guest a serious look. “Sorry, I’ve got things to do now. Other things. You’ve got to get dressed, and I need you to leave.”

  She pouted harder and sat up straight again. “What kind of way is that to talk to me after last night and this morning? Didn’t I do everything you liked? Didn’t I let you do it as much as you wanted?”

  “Yeah, you did, and I appreciated it. I had fun. We were good together. But now, I really need you to go.”

  She was getting indignant now. Chelsey stood up, her pout turning to a frown. “You’re actually just going to shoo me out? Just like that?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Just like that.”

  “I want to see you again. Tonight,” she said. She actually made it a statement of intent, not a request. Women were like that sometimes.

  Shaking my head, I said, “Sorry. No.”

  “Then when?”

  Holding up my palms, I said, “Look, like I said, we had a good time, but…”

  “But, that’s it? Just one night and once in the shower and that’s it?”

  “Yeah. That’s it.”

  Smoke practically poured from her ears. “But if it was good, what’s the problem? It can be good again, as much as you want! You’re hot, you’re into me, what the hell is wrong? Why can’t we-”

  “Because I don’t do that,” I said, cutting her off. “Look, I like you. You’re hot, and you’re a good lay, but I don’t do second times, all right?”

  She scowled at me, “Just like that? Just like that? You just pick somebody up and then throw her away? I want you, Barrett!”

  “Yeah, and you got me. And, thank you. Now, will you please get dressed and excuse me before my friend gets here?”

  I had played this scene so many times, I practically knew it by heart. I had seen the look on Chelsey’s face from so many women, I just about had it memorized.

  She let out this sound that was a bit like a dog snarling and a bit like a mountain lion, and then started belting out this long stream of insults and four-letter words – all of which were also very familiar – as she collected her clothes from my bedroom floor and stomped into the bathroom to get dressed. She shot me this look of death on her way.

  By the time I was dressed and on my way to the kitchen, I heard the sound of Chelsey’s heels stomping in my front hall and her voice calling out one more choice curse before the door slammed. And, t
hat wrapped up another night and morning of casual fucking, I thought to myself.

  My orange juice was poured and my Texas toast and bacon were being zapped in the microwave when the buzzer to my apartment rang. I went from the kitchen to the door and hit the intercom. “Cole?” I called.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” said one of the very few good male friends I’d ever had. I was so competitive that I didn’t always “play well with other boys,” as they say in preschool, except that I was good enough on a team to have made quarterback at twenty-three.

  I hit the buzzer to let him come up. A couple of minutes later, Cole knocked. My buddy was wearing a very amused and knowing look as he entered my apartment.

  “On the way up, I passed this really angry chick, cussing a mile a minute,” he said. “I assume that was about you.”

  “I was my usual charming self,” I smiled and shrugged.

  “Yeah,” he cracked, “you’ve always had a winning way about you.”

  “It got me this,” I reminded him, holding up the hand where my Super Bowl Championship ring rested on one finger.

  Cole was here to give me a lift home. Where I’d spent the night was my apartment, but it wasn’t my real home. I had a few high-end luxury apartments, strategically located in the better parts of Dallas. To put it simply, these weren’t the places where I lived. These were the places where I fucked.

  I’d bought them as investments. I fixed them up to be showplaces. On paper, they were where I invested my money because I didn’t understand the stock market. The whole thing seemed to me like gambling without a casino or a racetrack, and while I didn’t understand all that crap about stocks, real estate was something solid that I actually got. So, I bought properties, not shares of companies.