Quarterback's Surprise Baby (Bad Boy Ballers Book 2) (10 page)

C
oach blows his whistle
. “Now I want you all to hear this!” he yells. “This goes for Gryphon James but it goes for each one of you too!” He stalks around the locker room, looking all one of us one at a time in the eye. “I don't want you overpaid assholes to be thinking about life outside of this arena,” he yells, “whether it's trouble you got into or some girl you got in trouble! When you are in here, your ass is mine! Hear that? Now get out on that field, and show me your stuff!”

We jog out to practice. ‘Girl we got in trouble.’ That's a new one. I wonder if he stayed up all night thinking of that clever turn of phrase? Coach can be such a dick, but I know it’s intended to keep us at our best. I shrug and lead the guys in our calisthenics as the coach struts around, continuing to yell. This is child's play for me, but it keeps the body running smooth, so I have to do it. My blood pumps slickly through my veins and my breathing strong and deep. I urge the players all to work harder, to push their bodies as far as I can. I think of Odell's body, how it changes when she's aroused, how her breasts get even sweeter and rounder, how swollen and wet she gets between her legs.
Keep your mind on football, Griff
, I tell myself. The other guys aren’t quite as fluid as me but I’m working on it. Coach cedes the practice to me.

“Ok we're changing it up!” I yell at the team. “Sprints! Fifty yards!” I take off as they try to catch me. Little do they suspect that I have to run to keep the blood from pooling in one of the most obvious of places, and the most useless here on the field—my cock.

I push myself to the limit, running like the wind, imagining I'm running away from all my problems, just like I always did. When I take off with that pigskin I am flying toward my future. It used to be money, fame, women as far as the eye can see, and then it was Sabrina and I. I almost stumble when I suddenly realize that a new future has appeared in front of my mind’s eye, and it's Odell in a wedding dress. Odell pregnant with my baby. Of course it's just in my mind, but it feels so real to me. I force myself to keep running, even though I’m shaken.

Is that what I want? The idea does scare me, but I’m excited at the same time.
Me, Odell, together? With a baby?

“Keep running!” I yell as I fall back, ushering them through their paces.

“James!” yells the coach sharply.

“What is it?”

“Why aren't you running?” He’s pissed now. I think fast.

“Just wanted to set up the pylons for the next drill, sir!” I yell.

He looks at me suspiciously before he moves along. I throw some obstacles in the way. In my mind, each one comes to represent something in between me and Odell. The first, our parents. There's no way that anyone could accept my family's history and think that they won the genetic lottery, despite my physical gifts. But most of all, not parents who expect perfection like Odell’s seem to. Could she really go against them for me? Second, Sabrina Forbes and this lawsuit. If she hasn't already poisoned me for all my other relationships by doing her best to brand me as a woman beater, the person who's going to get the brunt of her bullshit will be my lawyer. Can Odell still love me if she hears all these terrible accusations? Third, the press. They're going to have a field day if I get with Odell and get charged. They will eat that story alive. We'll never get any privacy. Fourth. Odell is too smart. What would a lawyer want with a trailer-trash piece of shit like me? This last pylon I throw down harder than the others. Drake runs by, righting it.

“You ok man?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “You go first, Drake! Around the pylons!”

He takes off around the pylons like a shot, showing off his skills. “You bitches can't catch me!” he shouts.

“That's what you think, motherfucker,” The running back yells.

“Language!” Coach yells. Like we're thirteen years old. We’re pro athletes for crying out loud.

But Coach is right about a lot of things, especially that my mind isn’t on the game. Everything is making me think of Odell, when my mind should be on ball playing. I've always I’ve always used work to escape my troubles. That’s why I’ve been able to practice till I fall over.

Suddenly it hits me: I know why I can’t escape my future. It's because in the past I was always running away from something, so it was easy to focus that energy, and what I was running toward was just a poor kid’s idea of success. Now all I want to do is run toward a new life—a life with Odell. When I am with her I feel like I am finally truly alive. Sinking into her embrace, taking her by the hand, and yes, fucking the living hell out of her, night after night. It's something that I didn't know that I needed but now it's everything, and my mind is desperately going back to the thought of her, and the bliss I feel when I’m with her, instead of using all my energy to kill it on the field.

I force myself to complete the agility drill as fast as I possibly can, but Drake still notices I'm a little off.

“Coach has his eye on your ass today,” he says, hiding his lips behind his hand. “Get it together, brother!'

“Worry about your own self,” I say with a wink, but in reality I'm pretty grateful for him looking out for me. Reminds me of my old Brooks University friends. At least I have one person on the team who’s got my back. Back in the day I could count on a few, Brando, Jackson, Mack. And a few other friends. We all had each other’s backs.

Now, the only one who does is my lawyer, and I may be falling in love with her. Just my luck.

The next sprints drill, I just pretend that Odell is at the end of the track, and I run it, but coach is right—I can’t risk doing badly. The whole reason I have a lawyer is to save my life, and that means my career. Football's always been my life, ever since I could hold a pigskin, and the Super Bowl has always been my dream..

No woman should mess with that. Ever. Not that witch Sabrina, and …not even my silly fantasies of Odell.

T
he day has come
—I’m going to meet with them all. Sabrina, her lawyer, Griff, Carlton, and me. It might prove to be not only the most monumental challenge in my professional career but also the biggest of my personal life. It’s all so complicated: to stand and present my case to the woman who is accusing the man I'm falling for, to the man who wants me out of my job, and to the man I desperately want to save all in one afternoon is enough to drive a person to drink. But today is not a day for Sandra's lunchtime Margaritas; today is a day for double espressos and killer focus.

I'm wearing my most kickass outfit: power pumps, my Louboutins with red soles, a black suit tailored perfectly for my curves, and a blouse that blooms with giant red poppies. My makeup and hair are perfect—except for that one damn strand that always falls in my face. Sometimes Griff pushes it away, and he laughs when it pops back. But I look good, and as a woman in my world—which is to say, a complete boy's club who probably only hired me so they could continue to discriminate against other women and people of color—it's important to look the part. And that means, sexy, but strong. Powerful. Intimidating.

Enough about packaging. The most important weapon in my arsenal is my full report from Kent. With its contents, I may just be able to bring this Sabrina to her knees. If I'm honest, nothing would please me more.

* * *

“
T
hat man there
,” sobs Sabrina, her blonde hair falling like a curtain in front of her eyes, “is a monster.” She grabs a napkin from the plateful of cranberry muffins to carefully wipe mascara from her lashes, but I don't see any actual black tears coming off on the paper. “A monster!” She blubbers the last word out, and Sam, her lawyer, pats her arm.

The nerve. “The only place my client is a monster—” I want to say is ‘in bed,’ but thankfully I control myself—“is on the field.”

“That's not true,” she cries some more. Her lawyer hands her another napkin, even though the first is completely dry. I decide to wait and let her “cry it out,” and Carlton comes to the same decision. I'm the first responder on this case, and he seems to be deferring to that, despite his complete lack of respect toward me otherwise. I'm hoping that she'll see how ridiculous she sounds if it appears that we are all just waiting for her to finish, rather than paying attention to her.

“Do you have any proof, Sabrina?” I ask when she finally finishes her display of crocodile tears. “We understand your position, but currently, it's your word against Mr. James’s. And that won't hold up in court, I’m afraid. Which could waste the time of everyone involved should it reach that level. ”

“Proof?” she sniffles dramatically. This woman should get an Academy Award for this. “Proof? How dare you even ask!” She boohoos a little, and I wait.

“I'm sorry if my question disturbs you, Miss Forbes,” I say, tapping my pencil on the table, “but I’m sure you understand. People
are
innocent until proven guilty in the American court system.”

“Damn right! This is America!” Gryphon seethes. I put my hand on his arm, trying to ignore the feelings that rush through me as I touch his beautiful muscled forearm.

“Please Mr. James,” I say, my voice low. “I’ll handle this. No need to interject.”

“See, this man can't control his temper,” huffs Sabrina's lawyer, Raymond Chu. “And we're merely talking. We can’t just ignore this apparent lack of maturity! An immaturity that led to
documented
injuries for my client.”

I tighten my hold on Gryphon's forearm, which feels like a tabletop, it's so thick and strong.

“I don't imagine a verbal outburst would hold up as proof of anything in a court of law,” I continue mildly. “I'm still waiting for something iron-clad from your side that you believe would hold up, because so far, you have nothing.”

“Fine, fine,” says Mr. Chu. He opens a folder of papers. “Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. Here are some photographs of my client's injuries the night of the attack.” He plops down some photos and shuffles through his papers. “Here is an affidavit from the neighbors that they heard yelling in the apartment before Miss Forbes went to the hospital. And lastly, here is the doctor's report on her injuries.”

He slides them across the table, and I take my hand off of Gryphon’s arm to look through their so-called evidence. My heart beats double-time.

There are some grim photographs in the pile, certainly, but none can be identified as Sabrina. They are either too blurred, or are close-ups of injuries sustained. Some even seem photoshopped, with lights and angles not exactly adding up to a cohesive picture.

“Look Mr. Chu,” I say. “Please, don't make me do your job. These can't be proven to be your client, and I don't want to have link items on the doctor's report to individual photos.”

“Cut the crap, Ms. Williams,” spits Chu. “You know that it's obvious that your monster of a client is the one who did this. All the pieces of the puzzle fit, and we also know how important it is for your client to keep this out of the news. It's not we who should be worried; it's you. Gryphon James is an paid intimidator on the field and a damaged abuser in a relationship, and to pretend that he isn’t, is a betrayal to your—your gender!”

Now I'm getting mad. A betrayal to my gender? I have fought long and hard to become someone and I’ve made great personal sacrifices in order to succeed. Before Gryphon, I hadn’t had sex in years, but besides that—to get to practice law in the first place, and then to rise up to partner? I hardly betray my gender by demanding the kind of proof that any good lawyer would.

“All this evidence is circumstantial,” I say. “And hardly damning to Mr. James. Where’s the smoking gun?”

“Miss Williams, I am surprised. Aren't you a feminist?” sniffles Sabrina, “like me?”

“With all due respect, Miss Forbes,” I practically hiss, “you are nothing of a feminist. And without any substance to your allegations, it’s time for me to present our evidence.” I snap my briefcase open. “I can prove that you have a pattern of seducing, and then framing individuals of means in order to sink your hooks into them and milk them dry of their finances. You're no feminist. You’re a black widow!”

Sabrina's mouth falls open, and with one small sound, her sniffling stops cold. Her eyes narrow.

“How dare you! You're talking about proof, and what proof could you possibly have?” She stands up. “How dare you even say such a thing!”

Gryphon stands up and stares at her. “Keep your hands off Odell,” he growls.

“I can protect myself,” I say, turning to him.

“What is the meaning of this?” Raymond Chu yells.

“Yes, Odell, what
are
you talking about?” Carlton says in a low, desperate voice.

Here is my moment. I take out my files from Kent’s investigation. “Is it not true, Miss Forbes, that you have been pulling this trifling scam for the last six years?” I seethe, pulling out a piece of paper. “First incident: high school in Tacoma. An attempted rape charge settled out of court. You made a cool two-hundred grand out of that.” I throw another paper down on the table. “Second incident: attempted sexual assault, college, Seattle, against another rich boy.” I hold the next paper up. “You netted about a hundred grand that time! I guess that wasn't enough because the next time, you moved across the US to Florida, where you finished college, funding that with the proceeds of a situation settled out of court again, to the tune of 300 grand. The details of that particular incident are still frozen, but it fits the profile.” I turn to her, putting one hand down on the table and wave a sheaf of papers in my other hand. “Is that enough or should I go on? There are three more incidents I can detail. Lightning might strike once, twice, even three times. But six times in as many years? Hardly. You found your way to make an easy living, and you’ve maximized your profits.” Raymond Chu is shocked. He stares at me with his mouth open before he realizes himself and closes it.

She stares dumbly. “But, but I ...”

Chu turns to her. “You didn't disclose any of this to me, Sabrina,” he says. His face is impassive, but you can tell he’s furious. She looks from one face to another, in shock. She'd been expecting sympathy and has gotten only contempt.

“You didn't ask,” she says in a baby voice.

“Of course, I did,” he mutters. “Never mind, we'll discuss this after the meeting. But I warn you: non-disclosure changes everything.” He’s incensed, and should be. I’ve just won this case.

“There are another two assault cases before this trumped-up charge against my client, Gryphon James,” I continue, warming to my topic, “but clearly he is the big Kahuna. The white whale of Sabrina Forbes' collection of trophy men to suck dry. And now you want a cool two million?” I throw the sheaf of papers down. “Perhaps you might have been successful if you hadn’t gotten so greedy. Maybe just asked for a few hundred grand each time. But a rich client will always hire the best law firm.” I steal a look at Carlton, whose face is filled with awe, or shock, I can’t tell which.

“You threaten my client with bringing this trumped up story to the news,” I finish. “But can you handle having your money-grubbing exploits spread all over the country?” I sit down, head held high, and Gryphon takes his place beside me, his eyes wide. “All the major papers showing your picture? Your name on the nightly news? Getting slammed on the internet? Unless you want all of this to be public knowledge, and the name ‘black widow’ to be your moniker from now on to everyone you meet, Miss Forbes, you can forget the money you're trying to extort from my client.”

“Are you threatening me?” Sabrina asks, her voice shaking, not with crocodile tears anymore but with the rage of a trapped animal.

“Not at all,” I say coolly. “Just stating facts. It’s your choice, Miss Forbes. Either you drop the case, or your record of systematic fraud will be spread all over the news. Would you like another napkin to wipe your ‘tears?’” I push the stack toward her. “Because that's all your getting from this meeting. Except perhaps ...” I turn to Gryphon. “A counter suit? Mr. James, is that something you'd like to pursue?” I can't help but touch his forearm again, an the sparks of electricity almost make me jump. “Because that can very easily be arranged.” I pat his forearm. “Don’t answer now, Mr. James. Think about it.”

I sit back in my chair, knowing that I must for all the world look like the cat that ate the canary.

“Just because some of these charges might be uhhh… somewhat less credible doesn't mean that this particular one wouldn't stick,” Raymond Chu manages to spit out.

“While unlikely, that might be true,” I concede, “so I also had Mr. James investigated, and there is no record of him behaving in an abusive way in any of his former relationships. Mr. James’ success story where he’s emerged from a difficult past will play well to a jury, while your client's behavior represents a clear and repeated pattern of reprehensible behavior: extorting ever-larger sums of money.” I pause. “Your argument is weak, councilor. And you know that better than anyone. You’re grasping at straws here.”

“This meeting is over,” Carlton butts in finally. “Thank you all for coming in today. Should my client decide to go ahead with the counter suit, I'm sure you'll be hearing from us in due time.” He does up the buttons of his expensive suit jacket, very coolly, and motions toward the door.

Sabrina stands up, suspiciously dry-eyed still. “I've had just about enough of your shit,” she tells me.

“What a coincidence,” I answer. “Because everyone else has had just about enough of yours.”

“That's enough, Odell,” Carlton says sharply. I try not to react, but…shouldn’t he be patting me on the back? “Thanks for coming in today, everyone,” he continues. “It's been a pleasure doing business with you all.” He pushes a button to fetch the receptionist and she arrives, cool as a cucumber, face and makeup perfect as usual. She motions them out.

Raymond and Sabrina leave, his hand reaching to her shoulder as she storms out. My face breaks into a smile despite Carlton’s characteristic coldness. Gryphon turns to me, a big grin on his face as well. “How did you do that, girl?” he asks, hugging me tightly. He kisses my cheek. “I don't even know what to say. That was masterful!”

“I have my ways,” I answer coyly. I pull away and take a quick glance at Carlton, whose face has the usual scowl when I was hoping for vindication. He has to rain on my parade. “Look I'll have to meet up with you later, Gryphon.” I pat him on the shoulder and turn away to gather my papers.

“Don't you want to go out and celebrate?” Griff asks. He’s grinning now from ear to ear. “Get a nice drink, anything you want, anywhere you want! My treat, of course!”

“I'd love to, but I still have some things to finish up here.” Carlton's eyes are burning holes into the back of my head. “I'll call you,” I mouth at Griff. He looks stunned, and then quickly acquiesces. “Congratulations, Mr. James.” I finish.

“Thanks for coming today, Mr. James,” says Carlton. “And my congratulations on your recent game. Odell, may I please speak with you for a moment?” His voice is colder than ice.