The Playbook (a Secret Baby Sports Romance) (12 page)

“I, no, what?” he said slowly, even more confused, and he looked over my shoulder.

“Breakfast. You and me, now.”

“Hey, I’m talking here!”

I turned around and firmly addressed his father. “You need to get out of here before the cops arrive.”

“You little bitch. You’re gonna regret this, Jacob. Your whore, too,” his father said before stalking down the drive. “I’m not done with you yet, boy. You just wait and see.” The man then disappeared around the corner, somehow managing to get past the gate that had closed behind me when I’d driven up, but at least he was gone for now. I waited a beat before I stole a glance at Jacob. His jaw was clenched, his lip split from his father’s punch. He looked pissed.

“Are you okay?” I asked hesitantly, my heart aching and my hand reaching up to cup his face.

S
he was here
. Hell, Lucia was here and had just witnessed something I never wanted her or anyone to ever see. A part of my shame that I had desperately tried to hide. Her eyes were kind but full of questions as she looked at me, and I could feel the dull throb of my lip from where the man, Marshall Maddox, who’d helped conceive me, had struck. And not for the first time, either. I didn’t consider him a father but a tyrant who had made my life a living hell.

“I’m fine,” I said briskly, not wanting to show any weakness in front of her. It was bad enough that she’d seen me get hit and not fight back.

“Come on,” she said, reaching for my hand, her soft voice music to my ears. “Let’s get that cut cleaned up.”

I wanted to tell her to leave, to go back to her cozy home with her perfect father, but a small piece of me, a rational part of me, couldn’t force the harsh, jealous words past my lips. As much as I wanted to be alone, I also wanted to have her here. So, I wrapped my hand around hers and let her led us into the house, the cool interior a welcome relief from the muggy morning.

“You’ve added some things since I was here last,” Lucia remarked as we walked past the living room and toward the kitchen, where I kept a first aid kit. I laughed, unable to help myself, and I felt some of the earlier tension start to ease off. “Just a few things. Now I can sit on a couch instead of the floor.” Everything was finally moved into the space, and I was starting to get used to it being mine now.

“It looks good, Jacob,” she smiled. Unable to help myself, I squeezed her hand before releasing it, pulling out the drawer that contained the kit. “Here, Doc,” I said, pushing it across the counter. “Do your worst.”

“Well,” she said as she opened it and extracted what she needed, “It’s a good thing you don’t need stitches. I’m not that type of doctor, you know.”

“You mean they didn’t teach you that in school?” I teased as she drew close, dabbing the cut to clean it. I focused on her eyes, the kindness in them nearly stealing my breath. I was glad she was here, damn glad. If she hadn’t shown up when she had, I would’ve been in worse shit than I was right now.

“Trust me, you don’t want me to do that,” she said her face set to concentrating as she pulled the gauze away. “I can’t sew a straight line to save my life, and I would hate to mess up your pretty face.”

“You think my face is pretty, Doc?” I asked, enjoying the banter between us. Just talking to her again felt right. Reaching out, I grasped her wrist lightly; her pulse pounded under my thumb. “I think
you
are pretty fucking hot.”

She blushed, and I grinned at her reaction. So at least I knew there was still something; all the time she’d ignored me or walked away, I knew it couldn’t have been because there wasn’t any attraction. There was shitloads of the stuff! Bringing her wrist up to my lips, I kissed it lightly, breathing in her scent. I wanted her. I could feel it all the way to my toes. It would take no time for me to get her undressed and bury myself in her warmth, to forget about what had just happened and everything else for a few moments at least. Her breath quickened as I released her wrist, and I thought she was thinking the same thing.

“Jacob? What happened out there?” she asked suddenly, killing my hard-on immediately. “Was that your father?”

“No,” I said sharply, pulling away from her and walking to the fridge before she could finish dressing my cut. I stared inside the partially empty fridge, letting the cold air wash over me in an effort to regain my composure. “He’s a glorified sperm donor. He’s never been a father and never will be.” I pulled out two bottles of water and turned back to her.

“I could tell you didn’t get along very well, that was obvious,” she responded as I turned back and set a bottle of water in front of her, drinking greedily from mine, mainly for something to do, something to keep my hands occupied.
Why on earth was I talking about this?

“We don’t,” I replied after a moment. I had tried over the years to keep my personal life just that, personal. My father had approached me countless times over the years, butting in at the worst possible moments. He was like a virus I couldn’t get rid of, but each time he reappeared I had to deal with him all over again. I thought I had made it clear to him that he wasn’t going to get anything from me. The last time he had tried, God what a clusterfuck that had been. “I hate him. If the world was rid of him, I wouldn’t shed a tear. And how he found out my address, again, is beyond me.”

“You’re famous,” she said, her lips pulling to the side in a slight grimace. “People will come out of the woodwork to be associated with you. You would be surprised what’s available on the internet these days.”

I had to agree with that. Literally my first month in professional football had thrust me into a spotlight that I probably wasn’t ready for, and suddenly I had more relatives and friends than I cared to mention. It had taken the help of a damn good agent to keep me from handing out all of my well-earned fortune to them. “Speaking of which, you got my flowers? My note?”

She’d torn a piece of the label from her bottle of water and nodded.

“I am, you know? Sorry, I mean. For everything, for not talking to you or coming to see you all those weeks, but especially for the other night. You shouldn’t have had to see that. But like you say, the crazies come out of the woodwork. And if I wasn’t clear before she and I were definitely not doing you know… ’cause we’re most certainly not. Don’t put your dick in crazy, like the saying goes,” I said with an awkward laugh but Lucia kept silent.

“Who’d have thought I’d have my very own stalker? She’s persistent and obsessed. I thought it was cute at first, following me everywhere around the facility, popping up at training like a love-struck puppy; it boosted my ego, I guess. But then it got creepy, you know? Like last night…”

Even though Lucia knew that Izzy was batshit crazy, I still wanted to make it clear to her that women like that who forced themselves into my life meant nothing to me. “And then shit, that thing I said to you about your dad. I didn’t mean it. I just didn’t want you to leave again.”

She nodded and hope started to swell in my heart. Would she forgive me?

“You know, you should probably get a restraining order.”

“I will,” I said and took a step closer, edging around the kitchen island towards her.

“And I don’t mean just one. I don’t want anything to happen to you…”

That made me smile. “I promise, I will. It’s about time I cut him out of my life for good, too. He was not and is not a very nice man,” I finally said, figuring I needed to give her something so she would be satisfied with what had happened out there. “The best day of my life was when I could walk away from him and no longer be under his control.”

Lucia didn’t say anything for a moment, and I watched as she climbed off the stool she had been sitting on and walked over to me, closing the gap. She carefully placed her arms around my waist as she hugged me to her. “I’m sorry, Jacob,” she replied. I let out a pent-up breath and threw my arms around her, burying my face into her hair. Though she was only giving me a hug, I felt like she understood my need not to talk about it. The pain of my childhood was not a topic that I readily liked to discuss.

“So, did you like them, my flowers?” I asked, struggling to steady the emotion in my voice. I had felt the need to do something after the awkwardness of our conversation last night at the stadium and then later when she’d turned up and witnessed me throwing Isabella half-dressed out of my house. The need to let her know that I wasn’t going to stay completely away from her had intensified. I just had to figure out what the hell I was going to do about her being the owner’s daughter.

“I did, and they were lovely. Maybe next time don’t send them to the house, though,” she said with a slight wince, pulling away from me.

“Oh shit, your father saw? Did he see the note? Fuck, I’m so stupid.”

“No, I mean yes, he did, but no you’re not stupid. It’s okay, I covered for you.”

“So he doesn’t know?”

She shook her head. “I’m pretty sure you’re not the only person out there with the initials J.M.”

I let out a relieved breath. We were still in the clear. For now.

“It’s why I came over, though. Want to get some brunch with me, so we can talk?”

“Brunch with you would be awesome,” I grinned, already thinking about what we were going to do afterwards, if I had my way. I planned to spend the rest of the morning in bed with her. Then I would be a beast on the practice field that afternoon, knowing that everything was okay between us. God yes, I loved that plan.

I leaned in close, my hands on her arms, and stole a kiss. Not really caring about the pain or the swelling of my lip. I was gentle and it was over much too quick; I didn’t want to ruin the moment by getting too hot and heavy. She wanted to talk, so that was what we were going to do. There would be time enough later for everything wicked I had running through my mind. But for now it was important that I did what she requested. I wanted to show her I could be more than what my cock could provide. I let her go and stepped back. The light in her eyes was bright, and she nibbled at her lip that I’d just kissed. “We should go,” she said, a little breathless. I nodded; we had to go before I changed my mind.

“Will you grab my keys over on the counter? I’ll be right back. Just want to change. We can take my car; I know just the place,” I called to her as I quickly ran towards the stairs. In super quick time, like a superhero instantly shedding his clothes to don his costume, I changed out of my workout clothes into a pair of casual but respectable shorts and a polo shirt. With a glance in the bathroom mirror, I made sure the cut on my lip hadn’t busted open before jogging back down to the first floor. It was knitting together slowly. I grinned regardless. This was what I needed, time spent with her. We’d sort out what we were going to do, how we were going to proceed with her father looming over us, and then we’d get to the good stuff.

As I rounded the corner, I saw that she was holding something small in her hands. “You ready?”

“Jacob,” she said, holding up the book she was looking at. “What’s this?”

Shit.

My world imploded.

No, not now.

I felt the grin slide from my face as I recognized the offending playbook in her hands, forgetting that I had stuffed it in my pocket after yesterday with the plan to burn it at the first opportunity. But I had a habit of dumping all of my pocket’s contents into the new bowl by the door when I arrived home in the evenings, making sure that I kept everything together and that I could find my keys easily.
Fuck
. Damn that black book. Had she read the contents? I would have to talk fast to explain… The entire thing was damn ridiculous, and I’d wanted to get rid of all the things that others had written about her.

“I, um nothing,” I stammered, the cogs of my mind sticky with molasses. They wouldn’t work, how the fuck was I going to explain this? I walked towards her, my hands up in submission, hoping she wouldn’t bolt. She bit her lip and flipped the open book around, hurt registered all over her face as she jabbed at the entry with her name on it.
Dammit!

“My name is in here, with a big X over it. Care to comment on that one?”

“Let me explain, Lucia… this is just like Izzy, a simple misunderstanding. You let me explain that one, let’s sit down and talk. I’ll tell you everything,” I pleaded, reaching for the book. She was much more than what that damn book said. I didn’t want her for any bet anymore, I wanted her because she was Lucia, and she kept me on my toes. She made me feel worthy for a change. She pulled it out of my grasp and tucked it in her pocket out of reach.

“All this time I wondered why you had taken such an interest in me, and now I know.”

“Please, no, it’s not like that. If you’d just let me explain,” I pleaded, reaching for her now. The hurt in her eyes was tearing my heart in two. “You are fucking amazing. The guys who wrote those comments didn’t even know the real you.”

“So where are your comments?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, tears glimmering in her eyes. It made me feel like pond scum, no, even worse than that. I never wanted to hurt her. “What were you going to write? ‘An easy lay if you are nice to her’? Was that it? ‘Cheap date; buy some food for her and whisper sweet nothings into her ear and she’ll get her kit off for you’?”

“Hell, no,” I said firmly, “I don’t think you understand how I feel about you.”

“Then why do you have it?” she shouted.

“I was going to—”

“You were going to what? Work through the rest of the fucking book? God, you’ll have no bedpost left at this rate, there must be hundreds of names in here. It’ll be whittled down to a stick!” Her eyes widened as if she’d just realized something. “How do I even know what you said was true? That Isabella wasn’t here last night because her name is in here? I bet you don’t even have a stalker! I can’t trust a single thing that comes out of your mouth!”

“Lucia, can you please let me explain? Let’s go to breakfast or brunch. I don’t care. Just anywhere so we can talk.”

She looked at me, and I froze as I saw a tear roll down her cheek. Not tears! They made me feel helpless, wanting to give her the world to keep her from crying. Tears meant hurt, and I never meant to hurt her.

“I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t want to talk anymore, Jacob. I knew better than to date players, and I went against my gut,” she finally said, hastily wiping away at her cheeks, as if her tears offended her. “You’re no different, you’re just another playboy player. I had hoped that you were something more, but, well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“Wait, it does matter,” I said as she brushed past me and headed for the door. “Please don’t do this. Wait a minute, Lucia, don’t go!” I said louder, partially angry that she wasn’t going to let me have my say and partially angry at myself for fucking up again. Hell, I needed her desperately and hadn’t realized how much until this moment. I couldn’t let her walk out of the house without an explanation. The problem was, if I told her the truth—everything, including the bet—she was going to fucking hate that explanation even more. I had been stupid, I had been childish, and I was about to lose the one thing that truly meant anything to me.