Bad Boy's Revenge: A Small-Town Romantic Suspense (48 page)

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.

There he was.

Clear as day.

My baby’s father, the ultimate Jack-ass.

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

“What the hell 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 cocky 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 asses down
.”

“Oh, God.” 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 pissed 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 fucking 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.

“
I was out celebrating because I’m going to be a father. You all ruined the night. Thanks
.”

Oh.

God.

No
.

The remote slipped from Jolene’s hand. She whipped around to stare at me, grabbing the alcohol bottle from the bed. She downed both.

“He’s…” She covered her face. “You’re…”

I wasn’t about to explain the how or why. I couldn’t, especially now that our little secret had given us something better than whatever relationship we constructed for his reputation.

I nodded and looked down. “It’s…still early.”

“You’ve been sick for two weeks.” Her words trailed off.  “Oh,
Leah
. How could this happen?”

“It’s okay.”

“You had your life
planned
.”

“Really, it’s okay. We can handle it.”

“You can.” She pointed to the television. “This man
can’t
. Do you have any idea how this is going to look?”

“He’s thrilled about the baby, Jolene.”

“He’s a cocky son of a bitch who only cares about himself. And he’s gotten you in trouble.”

“That’s not true. He’s very attentive and caring and he’s so excited—”

“That’s because you still look like a
twig
. For Christ’s sake, Jack Carson is known for wild parties with multiple women, not to mention the alcohol and fights. He’s not a man who
settles down
. You know this. He’s a playboy. He’s a womanizer.”

“He’s not that bad. He’s very sweet and charming and he—”

“And he’s our
biggest
client. The state representatives
and Hollywood producers downstairs won’t think we’re a reputable agency if my assistant is getting
knocked up
by our other clients!”
 

“Jolene—”

“Hell, maybe they’ll think it’s a perk! Who else are you willing to sleep with to get business?”

“
Jolene
!”

She exhaled, apologizing with a shake of her head. “Leah, this…this is too much. Are you marrying this man?”

My stomach heaved. “I…no.”