“Yeah.”
“With that sexy little chocolate kiss?”
“Yeah.”
Bryon grinned. “And you knocked her up?”
“Got her on the first cycle.”
“That’s my boy!” Bryon grabbed me, pulling me into a hug and slapping my shoulder. He pushed me into the locker room and hollered for our usual gang to drop what they were doing. “Me and my boy here are gonna go out and celebrate his latest T&A. Who’s with us?”
Goddamn it. This wasn’t good. I nudged him. “We’re not announcing yet. It’s like…early or something. Women don’t talk this shit before a certain time.”
“That’s cool, that’s cool.” Bryon pointed to me. “We just taking our Play-Maker out on the town. Been a while. Pack it up, we going.” He lowered his voice. “You girl ain’t cutting off your balls now that she got a kid outta you?”
I clenched my jaw. “No.”
“Then what she don’t know won’t hurt her. We get a drink, toast to your successful nut, and everyone can tuck safe and sound in their beds with a slut of their choice. Except you, Daddy.” Bryon cackled to himself. “You got yourself a baby-momma to hold your leash now.”
Too bad I liked letting Leah have that lead.
I shouldn’t have followed, but it had been a long week. I wasn’t looking forward to going to an empty house. Always hated the quiet, and I kicked my ass at practice. If I even looked at the pool I’d probably drown.
I missed heading out too. Leah was fun, but music and lights, loads of people begging for my attention? I couldn’t resist it. What could it hurt? Wasn’t like I was gonna hook up with anyone. Hell, I stopped hunting pussy because I didn’t want anyone else. I wasn’t done exploring everything Leah had to offer yet.
And since her body would be changing for the better part of a year? I’d have a lot to explore. I planned to have eight more months of fun with my baby-momma.
More, once the kid came.
So one night out wasn’t bad. A drink, some music, a few laughs. It was just a way to blow off steam.
I agreed.
I drove myself to our bar of choice, but I didn’t make it inside with the guys. My phone buzzed instead.
My agent with bad news—as always.
No new negotiations opened. The Rivets’ general manager didn’t even return his call.
Now I really needed a night out.
Christ, what else did I have to do to prove to the team I was committed?
I slammed the door to my car and stalked inside. The rest of my team shouted and waved me from our private room. The waitresses drew straws to see who would have to serve us tonight. The one fresh out of college, Mary or Beth or something like that, pulled the short one. She groaned and grabbed a tray just to take our order.
Then used it as a shield to cover herself while Bryon’s hand curled up her shorts.
I slapped his head and told him to pick from one of the girls sitting at the bar. They had waited for his arrival. Bryon had them on fucking speed dial, and I hoped to God he hadn’t paid them to show.
“No contract yet.” I took a sip from my beer and crushed a handful of pretzels. The bar was dim, but the waitresses groaned as a pitcher of beer tipped when two of my offensive guards decided to arm wrestle. “They don’t fucking want me.”
Bryon slapped the waitress’s ass. “Keep on dressing in suits and taking Miss Respectability places, and you’ll get that hundred million.”
“Yeah. It’s not about the money.”
“Of course it’s about the money.”
“It’s about the respect.”
I pitched the pretzels away. The beer bottle would have been next had it not jostled against the table and spilled all over me. Bryon separated the guards after the arm wrestling devolved into a near fist-fight.
“They don’t respect me.” The beer soaked through my shirt. I swore. “Think they can jerk me around. They think I’m trouble, just like her.”
“Who?”
“Kiss.”
“Your girl?” Bryon laughed. “Dude, she got you so whipped you can’t even see straight. She’s the reason you can’t get respect. You’re Jack Mother-Fucking Carson. You don’t apologize for taking three sluts home. You don’t dress in prissy-ass suits and pretend you’re some high-class wannabe. You gotta be yourself to get any respect. If they know they can make you grovel…” Bryon ordered me another beer to replace the one soaking into my suit. “Fuck dude, you might as well castrate yourself.”
He had a point. Of course, it completely countered Leah’s school of thought.
But not like playing by the rules got me anywhere. I was entering into the last year of my contract for a team who expected me to lead them beyond a championship and into a dynasty. But the bastards didn’t even offer to extend the terms. If I ate a sack, broke an arm, and was out for the season, fuck me. That was it. No one had a reason to sign me the following year if they thought I’d be damaged.
The linemen were drunk already. They beat the pinball machine in the corner. It ate their quarter, and, apparently, that deserved two boots through the side of the machine. A fist pounded on top of the glass. The waitress hurried over to ask if they needed help.
I saw it happening, but I was too slow to stop it.
One of my men picked her up by the waist, sat her on the pinball machine. He grinned at her.
“Hey, baby. Game’s broken. How about if I twist your buttons tonight?”
“Let go of me!” She slapped him. “Now!”
I shouted to my lineman, but some knight-in-shining armor hopped up from the bar and crashed into the private room. He called to my linemen, but he was just some college-aged punk who really should have looked to see who the fuck he was harassing.
I hopped from the table as the swearing started.
“Lay off her, man!” The kid charged.
I pushed him away. Both of my linemen roared. I yelled, but unless I was in a uniform in front of eighty thousand screaming fans, they couldn’t give a damn what I said when pussy was on the line.
I threw my weight at both three hundred pound men, but it wasn’t my teammates I should have avoided. Served me right trying to prevent them from pummeling the asshole.
The douche heaved a punch aimed for one of the guys.
He missed.
He clocked me in the cheek, narrowly missing my nose but crunching everything else valuable I liked on my face. I took a lot of hits harder than that, but usually I was in full pads. I staggered a bit, swearing. I didn’t have time to stop the rest of my team from charging.
In seconds the bar delved into chaos.
And, within minutes, flashing lights and sirens raged into the parking lot.
I hoped Leah had a long flight. This bullshit wasn’t gonna look good for me.
Neither would the handcuffs slapped over my wrist.
Chapter Fifteen – Leah
The airport made me sick.
The flight made me sick.
Worrying about getting sick made me sick.
Just about the only thing that didn’t make me sick was three thousand miles away back at home. For some reason, the morning sickness faded when I tucked into Jack’s arms.
I wasn’t about to face the consequences of that little revelation. I suffered enough emotions and feelings and confusion when he touched me without actually needing his embrace to survive an upset stomach.
Still, Jack wasn’t as nice as a ginger ale and some saltines. Our flight was direct but took forever. They served a dinner that didn’t agree with me or the baby. Jolene’s gloopy spaghetti was bad enough, but the Salisbury steak they tried to give me almost ended up in her lap as I darted to the bathroom again.
I had no idea how long she’d think it was the flu, but I hoped I could cover for a bit longer. The baby was exciting, absolutely the greatest secret I had ever kept, but damn…it was hard to manage the little goober, the father goober, and this new potential deal. Everything was riding on this meeting, and an unwedded mother’s morning sickness would not sign contracts if they found out.
Fortunately, we had our own hotel rooms. Jolene checked into hers while I camped out in the bathroom. I leaned on the tub and contemplated either a cold shower or an ice cream sundae. I just wished I could snuggle under the blankets where the nausea and jet lag couldn’t get me. But Jolene ordered me to go over the details once more before we met our prospective clients for breakfast.
It wasn’t a glamorous job—yet. But maybe once we helped to present a deal that’d give the studios tax breaks for filming in Ironwood, I could finagle a part as an extra in some fun action movie.
Except…I’d probably be pregnant.
Really, really pregnant.
I cupped my stomach, a greeting to the little one I hid. Jack had tucked a rattle inside my carry-on. It wasn’t a great find with my boss at my side, but it was too cute—a sponsored Rivets toy painted with Jack’s number.
If the baby could just keep a low profile and let me make it through the breakfast tomorrow, we’d be good. But it was Jack’s baby, and he certainly didn’t know the meaning of low profile.
My phone buzzed. I groaned and checked the text.
Jolene’s text was practically seething. I was sick before I finished reading it.
Jack Carson was ARRESTED at a bar fight tonight
“Son of a—”
I washed my face and tried to hide the flush of morning-sickness as she pounded on my door. I let her in. She grabbed the remote without a word and flipped to the sports channels.