Bad Boy's Baby Part 24

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 a.s.s 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. h.e.l.l, I stopped hunting p.u.s.s.y 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 s.h.i.+eld 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 f.u.c.king speed dial, and I hoped to G.o.d 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 f.u.c.king want me."

Bryon slapped the waitress's a.s.s. "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 s.h.i.+rt. 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-f.u.c.king Carson. You don't apologize for taking three s.l.u.ts home. You don't dress in prissy-a.s.s suits and pretend you're some high-cla.s.s 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. "f.u.c.k 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 champions.h.i.+p and into a dynasty. But the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds didn't even offer to extend the terms. If I ate a sack, broke an arm, and was out for the season, f.u.c.k 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 gla.s.s. 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 b.u.t.tons tonight?"

"Let go of me!" She slapped him. "Now!"

I shouted to my lineman, but some knight-in-s.h.i.+ning 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 f.u.c.k he was hara.s.sing.

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 d.a.m.n what I said when p.u.s.s.y 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 a.s.shole.

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, flas.h.i.+ng lights and sirens raged into the parking lot.

I hoped Leah had a long flight. This bulls.h.i.+t 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 d.a.m.n...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.

There he was.

Clear as day.

My baby's father, the ultimate Jack-a.s.s.

He stood outside a police station, surrounded by his a.s.shole teammates and the media. Jack didn't have his agent, his lawyer, or me there to answer his questions.

"What the h.e.l.l is he doing?" I sunk onto the bed. "I told him to stay at home!"

The live feed probably had a television delay. Even if I had a chance, he wouldn't hear my call. I resisted the urge to toss the phone. I didn't have the arm strength to heave it three thousand miles to knock him in the head.

Jack faced the media and flashed his usual arrogant smirk when he thought people over-reacted. No remorse in his voice, no apologies. Just straight-up c.o.c.ky charm that wouldn't win over anyone.

It had only been a couple hours. How did he get arrested in a few hours?

And why did he have a black-eye?

Jack spoke, waving away a question from a reporter. The motion was condescending, not disarming. He had the social skills of a drunken toddler.

"Look, everyone." He spoke, and the crowd hushed. Jolene cranked the volume up. "It was a misunderstanding."

"Jack, shut up, shut up, shut up..." I repeatedly called his phone and prayed I wouldn't throw up. "Just shut up."

"We were out having a good time, just celebrating, things got out of hand. No charges were filed. Everything's fine. Calm your a.s.ses down."

"Oh, G.o.d." I lowered my head into my hands.

Jolene stared at me, her arms crossed. "Do you have any idea what he's done? The league is going to expel him for sure. You were supposed to be watching him!"

"I am watching him."

"And the first night you're out of town, he goes out looking for women?"

The thought clenched my chest. Now I would be sick. "No. He wouldn't do that."

"Do you really trust him?"

Jolene's phone buzzed and beeped and chimed. It set my nerves on edge. Who knew what sort of information she was getting, but I had to defend him.

"I do trust him," I said. "I just don't trust him to keep his mouth shut when I should be the one talking for him."

The impromptu press conference p.i.s.sed Jack off, but he refused to push through the crowd. I knew he did it for me. The last thing we needed was anyone else accusing him of breaking cameras or causing more trouble. The media pressed tighter. His temper snapped.

A reporter tossed a microphone in his face. "Why were you out partying tonight, Jack?"

Jack grimaced. "We weren't partying. We were just out for a few hours."

"What about the fight, Jack?"

He shrugged. "Just a misunderstanding. It's okay. No problems."

Another reporter crashed into his side. "How'd you get the black-eye, Jack?"

"Wrong place, wrong time."

"Thought the coach and league told you not to go out anymore?"

His patience wore out. "I'm a grown f.u.c.king man."

The station didn't bleep it in time. I groaned. There was another apology he'd hate to make.

"I can go where I want, when I want," he continued. "I don't need league approval when I want to go out with a group of friends to celebrate."

"This is bad..." Jolene bit her nails. She broke into the mini-fridge and offered me a small bottle of alcohol. I took it before I realized what I did. She didn't watch, and I rested it on the bed beside me. "He needs to get out of there."

The reporters closed the gap he tried to sneak through. "What were you celebrating, Jack?"

The irritation and stress cracked him. He wove through the crowd of reporters and forced an exit. The question repeated five or six times from different outlets before he made it to the car and a police officer held the crowd back. Finally he turned, offering the media vultures a cold smile.