Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance (80 page)

“Is that so?”

Sebastian tugged on Lachlan’s hair. “But no nuts.”

He frowned. “Why not, little man?”

Sebastian pointed to the offense. “Because you told the other football players you’d bust the nuts with her.”

Lachlan cringed. “
O-kay
. Let’s…not repeat that when you go home to Mom.”

“Why not?” Sebastian asked.

I shrugged. “Yeah, Charming. Why not?”

“Mom is very sensitive about…” He twitched. “Her ice cream toppings. Why don’t you go play with the ball?”

Sebastian frowned at his brother. “But
you
said you wanted Elle to play with the balls.”

“You’re killing me, Bast.”

I glanced over my shoulder for a moment too long. Peter was gone, but that just made the problem worse.

Ice cream, even without sprinkles, sounded
so
much better than a conspiracy in Gainesville.

“You okay?” Lachlan hoisted Sebastian higher onto his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh…” What was I supposed to say? “Nothing. I just got a bunch of new responsibilities today.”

Lachlan perked up. “Like a promotion?”

“Sure. Something like that.”

“We should celebrate! Let me take you out to dinner. Three times.”

“Lachlan—”

He wasn’t listening. He pinched Sebastian’s leg to get his attention. “
Say the line, little man
.”

Sebastian flailed, knocking on his head with a tiny fist until he remembered what Lachlan had coached him to say.

“Oh! Right!” The words blubbered out in a steady stream with no real cadence or rhythm. “Lachlan is a lot of fun. You should go out with him because…because you would have lots of fun. And he’s good to have fun with.”

Lachlan nodded. “Smooth, Casanova.”

“He also talked about your butt. I heard him.”

Lachlan shrugged, and Sebastian nearly tumbled from his back. The kid grabbed him like a rodeo bronco, but both of them liked that. Lachlan bucked harder to toss him off.

“I don’t know why you want to be friends with
girls
.” Sebastian tugged on Lachlan’s hair.

“Not just any girl, little man.” Lachlan grinned at me. “
This
girl.”

“Oh, very nice,” I said. “Hell,
I’ll
pay him twenty bucks for this performance.”

“Do I get a date?”

“Nope.”

Lachlan winked. “I won’t stop chasing you, Red.”

Even though I couldn’t say it, I was happy for the distraction. I winked before leaving.

“I’d be very disappointed if you did.”

I
made
a lot of rookie mistakes the first few practices of training camp. Missed a couple passes. Ran the wrong routes. Let myself get taped to the goal posts for the
second
time.

But the worst mistake of all was missing Cole Hawthorne’s blitz during full-pad practice. He drilled my ass into the field, and I was pretty sure I saw my life flash before my eyes. At least I got an encore show of me and Elle in Vegas. That made the pain worth it.

I blinked on the ground, gasping. I could still breathe. That was good. Meant Cole hadn’t ripped holes through my chest on his way to Jack.

Coach Thompson blew his whistle before Cole ripped our quarterback in two, though Jack scrambled anyway, just in case
The Beast
forgot he had been traded to our team last season.

“
Reed
!”

Coach Thompson wasn’t a patient man. He grabbed my shoulder pads and hauled me to my feet.

“What the hell are you doing out there?” He yelled and accidentally spitting in my face. Or maybe it wasn’t an accident. “You realize you’re supposed to be playing
football
, rookie? It sure as hell doesn’t look like you understand a goddamned thing that’s happening out there!”

I jerked a thumb toward the field. Even that hurt. My entire body was one bruised and pulled muscle. My eyes hurt. My teeth hurt. My
pride
hurt.

I tried to explain. “I misread—”

“So you can’t block a linebacker. That’s good to know.”

“I can block—”

“If I get Carson to throw you the fucking ball, are you gonna catch it this time? Or you think you’ll bat it away again like some prissy fucked schoolgirl?”

“I thought—”

“No. You don’t
think
. You do what
I
tell you. You block who
I
tell you to block. You catch the balls
I
tell you to catch. Say
yes, coach
.”

The field quieted. Everyone watched. Just my luck. I gritted my teeth.

“Yes, coach.”

“We only got a six-week training camp, rookie. Start figuring out what the fuck you’re doing on my field.”

“Don’t worry about me, Coach. I got this covered.”

“You think so? Then tell me why I’m bitch-slapping our
first-round
draft choice after every goddamned play. What’s the problem? Is it too hot out here for you?”

“No, Coach.”

“Is it harder than you thought it’d be?”

Yes.

“No, Coach.”

“You miss playing in college?”

Certainly felt more welcoming.

“No, Coach.”

“Maybe you were hot shit on campus, rookie. But here you’re just the filth we scrape off the bottom of our cleats.”

It took a lot to piss me off, but we were getting pretty damn close. “Yes, Coach.”

“You better shape the fuck up. Memorize the playbook. Run the routes. Block the pass rushers. Keep Hawthorne out of the goddamned backfield. Do your goddamned job or you won’t have one by the end of this camp.”

“Yes, Coach.”

He’d already walked away, blowing the whistle to dismiss the team from practice.

Fuck me.

I stayed behind, gathering the team’s equipment. It was worse after practice, when I was tired and irritated. Jack waited by his bag, sipping Gatorade before tossing his gear at me.

“You good?” Jack asked, watching as I hobbled with his stuff, Cole’s pads, and two of Bryon’s bags—that cocksucker filled his duffle with extra bricks to piss me off.

“Yeah. Me and Coach Thompson had a nice heart-to-heart.”

“From where I was standing, it looked more like your lips to his ass.”

“He said his piece. I said mine. We’re on the same page now.”

“I know that page. Looks like a pink slip.”

“Anyone ever tell you what a funny asshole you are?”

“Easy, rookie.” He slapped my shoulder with a grin. “You’re doing fine. It’ll take some adjustment. And everyone’s gonna piss off the coach at one point. Gotta make the example out of you since you’re the playboy.”

More like whipping boy. “I’ll take one for the team.”

“Yeah, you’re real magnanimous. Who you gonna marry now to get him off your ass?”

“You, Jack. Told him the truth about us. Said we were real cuddle-buddies.”

“Just as long as everyone knows I’m the big spoon.”

We dumped the equipment in the facility, and I took my shower. But before I could leave for the night, the guys hollered at me and the other two offensive rookies.

“You’re meeting us at McCree’s Bar in an hour,” Caleb said. “You rookies owe us a round.”

More than a round I bet.

As much as I loved a good hazing, nothing good happened when half the team got blitzed. At least in public, our shampoo bottles wouldn’t mysteriously fill with stone-ground mustard, and our clothes wouldn’t magically transform into tutus and Little Bo Peep costumes.

It’d be an expensive night, probably dropping a grand on food and drink for the guys, but I expected it. Just part of paying my dues. I promised to get to the bar early enough to reserve the tables, but my path out of the facility was blocked. I spun the corner only to come face-to-face with a gallon of attitude stuffed into a pint-sized cup.

Her toddler squealed first. My agent, Piper, didn’t bother saying hello.

“You don’t answer my calls. You don’t come to see me.” Piper wagged a finger at me. “You ask Cole what happens when I’m ignored. You won’t win that game, Mr. Reed.” She pointed to her tummy, just barely bumped with a baby. “I’m hungry, cranky, sick, and my newest client can’t seem to stay out of trouble.”

My agent was a lovely woman—beautiful, determined, and a little cube of brown sugar bubbling molten.

Fortunately, her two-year-old was much more agreeable. I grabbed the meatball and swung her into my arms. Rose was getting bigger, but she was still a bundle of giggles with two puff-ball pigtails.

“What’s up, Piper?” I asked.

“You’re
married
?”

“Barried!”
Rose repeated.

“You never said I couldn’t get married.” I set the kid on my shoulders. “You
specifically
said no skydiving, motorcycling, jet-skiing. You said nothing about marriage.”

“I told you not to make any stupid decisions.”

“That’s subject to interpretation. Maybe getting married was the best decision of my life?”

“Oh, I’m sure.” She crossed her arms. “And what does Elle think?”

I bounced Rose to stall for time. “She’s warming up to me.”

“So I don’t need to worry about her smothering you in the middle of the night?”

A man could dream. “Nope, she’s okay. I no longer take any athletic protection home with me.”

“The hallmark of a successful marriage.” Piper sighed. “But I’m not here to talk about your love life.”

“Just couldn’t resist butting in?”

Wrong thing to say. Her eyes narrowed.

“I told you before, Lachlan. Cross me, and I will
eat
you.”

Rose mimicked her mom. “
Eatz you, Lock-in.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

“I’m supposed to meet with Leah Carson so we can coordinate a couple PR events for you, but I just talked to a couple coaches.”

Not what I wanted to hear. “Can’t we do this later? I got twenty guys expecting me to buy them a round in an hour.”

“I know adjusting to the pros can be overwhelming—all the interviews and playbooks and new techniques. But if you need to get help with the plays or drills—”

I stopped her before she suggested anything that ridiculous. “Baby, this offense was
made
for me. By the end of training camp, Jack Carson will be my little spoon.”

“What?”

“I’ll work it out. Just gotta play it cool.”

Rosie screeched. “
Cole
!”

Cole stalked us from the hallway, took one look at me with his kid on my shoulders, and I knew my ass would end up on the ground again. Last thing I needed was a second boot print on my chest to match his mark from earlier. He reached for Rose.

“Give me my baby, rookie.”

He took the girl, but she immediately wiggled, fussed, and fought until she was on the ground. She marched down the hall and pointed to Cole.

“
Daddy! Play!
” Her little feet stomped.

Even Cole couldn’t resist. He chased her before the kid ended up tumbling through the weight room. Piper groaned.

“They’re fun at that age,” I said.

“You have experience with toddlers?” she asked.

“Sebastian,” I said. “He was a nuclear warhead in a diaper. Look away for a minute, and he left a crater. Cute though.”

Piper rubbed her tummy. “Yeah…good thing they’re cute.”

“Just like me.”

“I don’t think the coaches are won over by your dimples.”

“You’d be surprised. I got this under control.”

“I trust you, Lachlan.”

“Now if you would just put in the good word for me to Elle…”

Piper waved a hand. “That’s beyond my three percent commission. You’re on your own.”

Yeah, I knew that was too good to be true.

I left the practice facility—
carefully
crossing the street. I wasn’t risking my ass every time I crossed the lot, especially since the guys had somehow convinced Elle to join us at the bar.

And I wasn’t leaving without her on my arm.

McCree’s was a hole-in-the-wall bar on the south side of town—a place where Ironfield’s trendy revitalization skipped. It was blue collar. It was dim. It was small.

And Wednesday nights were karaoke.

My kind of show. Especially since I now owed the team the remainder of my dignity, at least, what bits of it I’d scraped off the practice field. I skipped the pleasantries and handed the bartender my credit card.

The team knew how to haze—through my wallet and up on stage. Good thing I liked to sing.

And I had the perfect audience.

The guys filed in, but I found my seat in the corner. Elle teased her straw in a particularly fruity and tropical looking drink. She studied her camera as I leaned over the booth.

“Any requests, dear?”

The camera flashed and nearly blinded me. Fair enough.

“I’m here for the show, Charming.” Elle patted her camera. “Just documenting this embarrassment.”

“
Embarrassment
?” I laughed. “This is fun.”

Elle wove a hand through her hair, framing the tease of her smile and wicked dare of her eyes. “You actually
want
to sing?”

“I’ll serenade you all night, Red.”

“Are you flirting with me…or is that a threat?”

“Depends…what will get me those dates with you?”

“Tell you what…” Elle leaned close. “How about you and I get out of here?”

“Yeah?”

“We’ll take a nice ride downtown.”

“I’m loving this idea.”

“I’ll wear a pretty little dress.”

“
Awesome
.”

“And we’ll spend a nice night at my lawyer’s office, settling this divorce.”

I flagged down a waitress. “Can someone get this lady another drink? She agrees to marry me when we’re tipsy.”

Jack delivered her an unopened beer. “Well, well, well. Here’s the team’s newest lovebirds.”

Elle groaned. “And, with any luck, I can fly away from him.”

“Whadda think, rookie?” Jack held up an electric razor. “Want to tweet a nice little song for us…or are you gonna let me manage your hair style for the rest of training camp?” He pointed a couple tables over. A razor poised over our third-round draft choice’s head. “Frankie took the coward’s way out.”

No dice. “As much as I’d rock a dick and balls shaved into my head, I’m here for the music, baby.”

Elle stroked her camera. “Thank God this thing doesn’t pick up sound.”

“You’re gonna change your
tune
pretty quick, Red,” I said.

“You better order me another drink. This is going to be a long night.”

And it wouldn’t have to end if all went to plan. I accepted Jack’s challenge and hopped onto the stage as a chorus of cheers erupted in the bar. The house lights dimmed, and the stage spotlighted my full glory.

Jack baited the team, standing on a chair and drawing the attention of the entire bar. I counted only a handful of non-Rivets personnel. Less of a chance for this to end up on YouTube.

Unlike the last time I karaoked at college. But I doubted this one would end with the fire-breathing or the two girls begging for a ride home—and not in my car.

“For your entertainment tonight…” Jack announced me to great acclaim from the offense. “Our first-round draft pick, Lachlan
Charming
Reed, has offered his talents for our amusement. What’s he singing tonight, men?”

Someone foolish entrusted Caleb and Orlando to pick the songs. They cackled over the selection book before cueing a song with a malicious grin. I grabbed a wireless mic and braced myself for their particular brand of torment.

The poppy twang of Millennial country roared through the bar, and the guys and I both cheered.

Taylor Swift.

Yee-haw
.

This was too damn easy. They thought they’d embarrass me? Hell, I was about to give them the full fucking concert. I even stole a cowboy hat from one of our less-fashionable receivers.

A kicky little beat started. Elle whistled as I spun,
shaking it off
like the song commanded. The lyrics scrolled on the screen, but who needed the help? I knew the words, and I dove across the stage in my best interpretation of the current Princess of Pop.

Elle was the first one to clap, but the team exploded. The linemen leapt out of their seats, shouting and cheering as I sang.

In fucking key.

Hitting every note.

Shaking my ass like Tay-Tay wished she could move.

I owned the bar, zipping from one side of the stage to the other. I held the mic out for the audience to sing, twerking what my momma gave me and making her proud.

I’d never met a problem I couldn’t solve with a good hip thrust. This was no different. I gyrated like Shakira and melted a song like Justin Timberlake, and damn if I didn’t collect the panties of five college co-eds giggling like banshees in the corner.

By the end of the song, I was sweeping away another thong, a pair of bikini panties, and a receiver’s boxer shorts.