Fair Game: A Football Romance (100 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Liam

I could easily take advantage of this situation if I were an asshole. Lourdes fell asleep while I closed the club, and I carried her to my car and buckled her in without waking her. I had my eye on her all night, and I swear she only had three martinis. She’s either an ultra-lightweight, or I wasn’t watching her as closely as I thought. I told Kit not to let her get too messed up. He has a tendency to be a very encouraging drinking partner, and I’m pretty sure Lourdes doesn’t drink often, being a single mother in college.

I’m sitting in the parking garage with the engine running and ready to go, but I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s so beautiful with her messy hair and mascara smudges under her eyes from the heat of the club. Imperfection never looked so perfect.

I reach across to smooth her hair away from her face, and for the first time in over an hour, she stirs and mumbles something . . . my name? Yes. She said Liam, and not just Liam but ‘
oh, Liam’
. I’m getting more action in her dreams than I am when she’s conscious. She’s dreaming about me, though, and that is a very good thing. I’m getting through to her. I was worried after I heard her reaction to my fucked up history with Amira. I’m still hoping like hell that she will have our baby.

Just as that thought passes through my mind, my phone chirps with a new text. It’s from Amira.

The old man is still hanging on. They say he’ll be fine, but I’m staying until I’m sure. His lawyer won’t tell me shit about his will and that has me fucking freaked out. We can’t hold off on the baby thing and I can’t come home, so just get that girl from the restaurant to do the artificial insemination thing instead of in vitro. We don’t have time to mess around. Let me know how it goes. Love you, handsome. –A

Only Amira would tell her husband to just do the artificial insemination instead of in vitro via text. She’s so fucking crass, it’s shocking. God forbid I have a child so uncaring and cold.

That’s never going to happen. Amira just instructed me to have a baby with Lourdes, and Lourdes is nearly angelic from what I’ve seen so far. I want to spend more time with her. I want to meet her son and take her places and show her things she’s never seen. I want to pay for her to go to college because smart girls are so fucking hot. When did I start thinking smart girls were hot?

I close the screen on my phone and put it on the charger. After one last long look at her, I realize I don’t know her address to take her home. The thought of taking her home with me is tempting, but she would wake up in the morning and freak out. I wonder where Toby is. Who’s watching him? Maybe he’s at home, waiting for her with a sitter.

Her tiny purse is lying in her lap. She was clutching it earlier, but her fingers have long since relaxed. I slide it out, careful not to disturb the dream she is having with me, and glance at her driver’s license for her address. Her apartment complex doesn’t sound familiar to me, so I enter it into my GPS and pull out of the parking lot.

After a few miles and turns, I’m thinking I don’t much like the neighborhood she lives in. The closer we get, the shadier the people on the street look and the shittier the houses are. By the time I pull into her parking lot, I’ve decided she has to move. She can’t raise a son here, and she definitely can’t be pregnant with my child here.

The building is a two-story, rundown dump that looks like an old hotel. There are two or three sparse, pathetic palm trees out front and a playground I wouldn’t let my dog play on—if I had a dog.

I cut the engine and take her keys from her purse. Her driver’s license said it was apartment 3B, so I’m guessing it’s on the second floor. That’s good. At least nobody’s going to be crawling in her window in the middle of the night to attack her. Fuck, why do I have to have such an active imagination?

I try to wake her with a gentle nudge, but she’s out. I hope nobody calls the cops when they see me carrying her to her apartment. On the other hand, I don’t think it’s going to look too out of the ordinary around here.

I scoop her into my arms and make my way up the stairs to her place. She’s starting to mumble now, and by the time we’ve reached her door, she’s coming around.

“Where are we?”

“Your house, unfortunately.”

“Wait, how did—where’s Kit? What time is it?”

She’s fumbling for her phone in her purse.

“It’s three a.m., and don’t bother. Your phone died a couple of hours ago.”

I unlock the door with the hand that’s under her knees and push it open. I set her down, and she immediately kicks off her shoes and turns on a lamp. I’m surprised at how nice the place is inside. It’s like we stepped into a totally different building. The paint is fresh and light, her furniture is bright and playful, and everything is very neat and clean.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I’ve never passed out like that before. Why didn’t Kit bring me home?”

“I wanted to be sure you were safe, and judging from this neighborhood, it’s a good thing. Why on earth do you live here?”

She drops onto the couch and rests her head back on the cushion.

“Why do you think, Liam? I’m a single mother trying to get through college. It’s what I can afford, and we’re hardly ever here anyway. My sister lives in Lakewood. Her husband is a lawyer, and they have a very nice home. She has a daughter the same age as Toby, so they play a lot. We just moved here a couple of months ago. I came home after my first year at Berkeley because I didn’t think I was going to be able to afford to go back for a while.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you defensive. It’s just that I’d like to help you find someplace in a better neighborhood.”

She looks up at me and shakes her head back and forth.

“Oh, no. I haven’t agreed to have your baby yet. I really need to think about this, and now that we have feelings for each other, it’s even more complicated.”

I close the door and notice that she has three locks. Good. At least she’s not ignorant to the fact that she lives in a semi-dangerous area. I lock them all and move to the couch, where I gesture to the spot next to her. She nods, and I join her. The couch is bright red and very comfortable. It’s not cheap furniture. She must work hard to provide nice things for her son.

“Actually, I need to talk to you about that. Amira texted me tonight. Her father isn’t doing well, and she has to stay a while to sort things out. She doesn’t want to wait until she comes home to do in vitro. She wants us to do artificial insemination instead, and she wants you to carry the child. Please don’t make up your mind until I have a chance to make an offer you can’t refuse.”

Her tiny frown line forms between her eyes and she begins to rub her temples. Early hangovers suck. I get up and go to the tiny galley kitchen and open the fridge to get her a bottle of water. She has the entire refrigerator organized like someone with OCD, and everything in here is organic and kid-friendly. Rows of chopped vegetables in color-coded plastic containers line two shelves, the crisper drawer is packed with fruit, and natural juices and soymilk fill the top shelf. She’s a good mother—better than good. She’s an awesome mother.

Growing up, our fridge was bare about fifty percent of the time, and when my mom could afford to shop, it was all processed foods that could last for years without spoiling. I lived on Pop Tarts and Coke during my elementary school years. It’s amazing I learned anything.

When I return to the couch, She’s sitting on the edge with her head in her hands. I touch her shoulder with the cold bottle and she shudders.

“Here, drink this. Do you have any ibuprofen? You’ve probably already got a hangover.”

“I don’t remember drinking that much.” She says, taking the water.

“You had three martinis, unless you had more when I wasn’t looking, which wasn’t ever, so you had three martinis.”

“You were watching me drink?”

“I was watching you do everything. Ibuprofen?”

“Oh, uh, in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, but you don’t have to—”

I’m already on my way down the short hall toward what can only be the bathroom. There are three open doors to three small rooms. One is dark. The other is Toby’s. The red glow of a racecar nightlight shines against the wall just inside the door. And another nightlight glows in the bathroom. Someone must not be fond of the dark.

I find the bottle easily in her ultra-organized cupboard and take her the pills. When she’s swallowed them, I sit down with her again.

“I want to pay for your education. All of it, undergraduate and law school. And I want to buy you a house in Berkeley so you and Toby have a permanent home. I’ll still pay you what the agency suggests for being a surrogate, of course, but I want to help you more than that. That money will only pay for a semester, and then what? You can’t have a baby every year to pay tuition.”

She’s so still that I actually worry something may be wrong for a moment, but then she starts to cry. Not the reaction I was looking for at all.

“Lourdes? Hey, what’s the matter?” I say, reaching out and pulling her against my side. She buries her face against my chest and sobs while I stroke her back, trying to console her.

“Don’t cry. Come on, now. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I—you don’t—oh, Liam, you don’t know how hard it is for me to say no to all that. You just offered to give me everything I’ve ever dreamed of on a silver platter, but I can’t accept it. It’s too much.”

“The hell if you can’t. It’s not charity, Lourdes. It’s in exchange for being our surrogate. It’s a way out for both of us. You can get the hell out of this neighborhood and give Toby the life you’ve always wanted for him, and I can get out of my miserable scam of a marriage. You have to do it. It will be neglect on your behalf if you don’t. Toby needs a safe home. Hell,
you
need a safe home.”

She sniffles and sits up, leaving my arms aching for her. I don’t want her to cry, but I miss her warmth the second her skin is no longer touching mine.

“Neglect?” she says, looking around the room. “You think this is neglect? I work really hard to give Toby everything he needs. He has a roof over his head, good food, books, toys, and most importantly, love.”

She reaches behind her for a box of tissue and blows her nose. I must be falling for this woman, because I’ve never seen a woman look so adorable blowing her nose.

“I didn’t mean you don’t provide for him. But you have to bust your ass to do it don’t you? I’m offering you the opportunity to spend more time with Toby and less time working. I’m offering you time, Lourdes, time to study and be a mother.”

She lowers her eyes to the floor, and I reach out and lay my hand on her knee.

“Think about it, please. Now let’s get you to bed. I want to meet Toby tomorrow, and you’re going to need your rest.”

She snaps her eyes back to mine.

“You want to meet Toby?”

I cock my head to the side and lean forward.

“Lourdes, I told you. You’re going to be mine sooner or later, and you’re a package deal, right?”

Her mouth hangs open and she nods.

“Well then, I need to meet him.” I squeeze her knee and stand, taking her hand to help her up.

“No more talking. It’s time for bed.” I lead her to the bathroom, where I sit her on the closed toilet and rummage around for something to use to take her makeup off. When I find a package of wipes, I squat in front of her and carefully wipe off what’s left of her lip-gloss and makeup. She has false eyelashes. I’ve never removed anyone’s lashes, so I let her do that herself. When the two furry caterpillars are lying on the counter, she closes her eyes and I wipe the shadow and mascara off.

When I’m finished, I’m amazed that she still looks like an angel, just more innocent and less vixen. I toss the wipes in the trash next to the toilet and take her face in my hands. Her eyes are still closed and her lips are parted. Like magnets, we lean toward each other until our foreheads are touching. The heat from her body and her warm breath seep into my skin as I stroke my thumbs over her cheeks.

“I’ve never wanted to kiss a woman more than I want to kiss you right now, Lourdes. But I won’t, because technically I’m married, and I want our first kiss to be honest and pure and free of guilt.”

Her body slumps against me and she sighs before opening her eyes. We are so close. I can see every fleck of amber in her deep brown eyes, and her skin is flawless and glowing. Hung over Lourdes is just as lovely as everyday Lourdes. Amazing.

I pick her up and carry her to her room, where I stand her next to her bed and pull back the comforter. With only the light from the hall, she is just a silhouette, a gorgeous, curvy silhouette. I turn her stiff body to face the bed and begin to slowly unzip her dress, trailing a finger behind the opening the zipper makes. I can’t help it. I know I shouldn’t, but a man can only be so good, and I’m hanging over the edge, balancing on one toe.

She sucks in a breath while I push the dress off her shoulders and watch it fall into a pool at her feet. My hands are on her shoulders. I look at the floor, the dress, and her pretty feet—anything but her perfect backside. I take several cleansing breaths before releasing her, and I hold up the comforter for her.

The sooner she’s covered the better. I have to get out of here before I strip down and join her.