FOOTBALL ROMANCE: SECRET BABY ROMANCE: Going Pro (Bad Boy Alpha Male Pregnancy Romance) (Contemporary New Adult Sports Romance) (14 page)

It was nearly noon by the time the two of us rolled naked out of bed, and before even stepping outside we knew we'd been found out.

And sure enough, once we'd dressed, and poked our heads out the door, there was Ty, looking furious at Danny in particular, and we knew the party was over.

I cried as he boomed with anger at his old best friend, a knee jerk reaction to the affair even though the two of us were both consenting adults and had every right to do what we pleased with our bodies.

Perhaps not under his roof, though...

He tore Danny a new one, not standing for the fact of such a lowlife screwing his sister, and then he kicked him out angrily, with Danny paying me a last sad look as he rode off on his motorbike.

Then I got mine as well, like I was his stupid child or something, rather than his older sibling. He said that a girl like me shouldn't be risking her entire future with some scumbag like Danny, in spite of how much he'd been talking him up and trying to redeem him for his past prior to finding out that I'd been sleeping with him.

And though I bit back with resistance, I knew, deep down, that he was right. It was actually quite the sobering moment for me, like I could see plainly again, and once I realized how much I'd risked throwing away for some stupid fling with an old crush.

There was no place in my life for a man like Danny. No room to risk everything I'd worked for, only to have it end in heartbreak down the road once he cheated on me, or got arrested, or overdosed.

I tried, then... I tried to be good... I continued with my studies, tried to put the whole affair out of my mind and get on with my life, as hard as it was to stop thinking about him.

And that was when I found out I was pregnant...

God, it was like a shock to my system... Like my worst fears, everything I'd been so careful to avoid over the years, all crashing down onto me like some punishment for a single week's worth of indulgence.

I should have made him use a damn condom... My birth control had clearly not been enough, and god damn it, now here I was...

I didn't know what to do... I didn't want to tell Ty about it, or Ashley. I didn't know if I should be looking for other options right now, whether I felt comfortable even thinking about shit like that. And yet I couldn't even begin to imagine Danny being there for me to help me raise the baby, or allowing my law career to take off in any way, shape or form in the meantime.

I stood outside his door, feeling tensed and immobile, not willing to reach up and press the bell as the anxiety washed through me.

I forced myself to go through with it.

I stood there, shaking, as he opened the door his eyes widening at the unexpected surprise.

“I'm pregnant,” I said, and I waited for him to start cursing, or to tell me to go to hell, or point me in the direction of the nearest abortion clinic and slam the door.

But what he did surprised me far more than any of those things would have.

A smile spread wide across his face, his eyes seemed to well with tears, and he leaned into me, arms outstretched, and whispered, “I love you.”

We kissed passionately, my head light, my senses piqued, and he pulled me inside the house with him. The two of us made wild, sweet, celebratory love like there was no tomorrow, our reunion far sweeter than we might have imagined, and the pleasure of our meeting defying even our own wildest expectations.

It turned out, there just happened to be some good in this bad boy after all.

I no longer had any trouble at all sleeping at night after that.

THE END

Spring break. I was looking forward to it. Not for the reasons one might think either. I am looking forward to sleeping. What? I know, I know. It’s sad, but so true. I have been studying psychology so much I was seeing psychopathic tendencies in everybody. The barista making my latte didn’t catch my yawn. Studies have found psychopaths are immune to contagious yawning. Then instead of enjoying my five minutes of mere sipping, I am side-eyeing this woman I don’t know. Never letting her leave my peripheral vision in secret hopes, just in case, she spazzes out on people. Yea, this double major thing was making me a bit looney. I am a junior at the University of Maryland, studying psychology and sociology. Yes, it’s as intense as it sounds. The study of behavior and mind meets the study of social behavior inside the mind of an overachiever like me. So add that up to one and a half semester full double credits and it’s easy to imagine how tired I am. Good thing I don’t look as tired as I feel. 

I climbed into my Volkswagen Beetle. I called her Lady Bug for short. Lady Bug drove me the four-hour distance to my parent’s home in the suburbs of Virginia. The traffic was as hectic as expected. I got lucky, traveling during the day when most people were working. One had to be strategic in their timing when traveling anywhere on the Beltway. Frankly any traffic within the DMV, that’s D.C., Maryland, Virginia, was ugly. But soon, the wintery chill of spring air was behind me, and I could feel the slightly warmer air of Virginia. I pulled off the highway and not twenty minutes later was driving through the identical matchbox houses to my parent’s house. They were lined up perfectly, with brick fronts, plastic siding, and tiled roofs. The only difference I could see between mine and the other houses was the lady bug mailbox my father and I painted when I was nine. I always smiled at his sentimental nature.

For as long as I could remember, my dad has been a hoarder of everything of mine. He kept papers I wrote in High School and never lost a single school portrait. He still had macaroni pictures I made from the first grade. I loved him all the more for it even though it made for one cluttered basement. Speaking of my old man, there he was on the porch, waiting to welcome me home. He probably heard the Bug’s rumbling to announce my arrival.

“Is that my Vanessa?” He said, walking down the small porch stairs.

“Nope,” I said slamming the driver’s door. “It’s just your neighborhood girl scout, trying to sell some cookies.”

He laughed heartily and pulled me in for a hug. My dad’s hugs were the best: warm, tight, like springtime in the morning and chocolate chip cookies fresh out the oven. His hugs could cure any heartache. I closed my eyes and noise receded. Every worry I had about school and fear I had for my social life receded and I was left with one thing, calm.

He stepped back and went to open the back door and get my suitcase. Spring break was for two weeks, but I was only staying for one. I could only take but so many days off. While the rest of my peers were off gallivanting on Myrtle Beach or some other place easily Instagrammed, I was studying, staying ahead on all my assignments and being your neighborhood bad ass.

“Can you really only stay a week Pumpkin?” He asked pouting and calling me by my nickname.

“Wow Dad, laying on thick aren’t we?” I asked, following him up the driveway to the door.

“Well an old man like me only has so many cards to play. I got to make each play count.”

I lived my entire childhood in the same house. I remember drawing chalk hopscotch squares and the neighborhood girls running through my small front yard playing in the sprinklers. I remember building snowmen in the back and climbing the big oak tree in the yard.

The door close and I surveyed my childhood home. It had not changed at all. The walls were still bright yellow, from the time my mom decided we needed more sunshine in our lives. The front door opened into the staircase that split the living room and dining room. The only visual change I could see was a bigger TV on the wall. The fireplace still had every grade school picture I took and a picture of me at my high school graduation. The dining room had been converted to a sitting room, with a small lounging couch and a table. The wall opposite the floor length windows held a picture of my parents at their wedding. The kitchen was accessible in either direction, and I didn’t have to go in to know I would find a macaroni picture on the fridge and a picture of me in my mom’s hospital bed. Despite her being hooked up to machines, she helped me make the macaroni picture that accompanied it. They went together, and I could understand why dad wouldn’t let it go. One could either go outside to the patio or down to the basement. I didn’t have to look to know where I would see most of my dad’s handiwork.

The basement was his lair, and I suspected he still entertained his friends down there with weekly poker night. Over the years, it had evolved to having more furniture and fewer trophies, unnecessary sports equipment and a treadmill that no one used.  It was the perfect place for a clubhouse and building sheet forts when I was eight. I remember sneaking out the basement door to go to a NSYNC concert and making out with my High School boyfriend there under the pretense of watching a movie.

I jogged up the wooden stairs, more aged from time than they used to be, passing the bathroom and the laundry room on my way. Here was my domain, my safe space and a room that often felt like a time capsule. The walls were lilac, and the bed held a tied lace canopy over the headboard. My desk had stacks of books and CDs in no order. The bookshelf I had was filled with books for all ages and every time period in my life. My yearbooks were mixed in with Dr. Seuss, Zane sat amongst teenage romance novels and Sigmund Freud, 
The Interpretation of Dreams
. I traced along the edges with my finger, knowing I should throw some of them out. Something about the books made me want to cling to them. They, more than the papers I wrote or the things I created, were a part of me.

There were a few pictures of me, but they all had someone else in the picture. Scanning the cork bulletin board on my wall with its crisscrossed pink and green ribbons to hold the pictures, I scrutinized my face in each one. I could see the progression of my features throughout each picture. There were several pictures, but my favorites were the one of my mom holding me. I had to have been a newborn. Even at that age, I had her wild curly blonde hair. One of my best friends in middle school and me. We were both dressed like angels for a Christmas play, and my button nose was furrowed in a slight tantrum because two seconds before the camera flashed, I caught Megan trying to give me bunny ears. There was one of a group of my friends taking a selfie at the beach and me. My skin was tanned, my green eyes were big and bright, and I was laughing as we all tried to smile at the same time. The picture was blurred from my hands shaking in laughter, but I didn’t care. You could see we were happy. The last was my dad, holding me. You could see from my tear streaked cheeks and bruised knee I had fallen, I was sitting on his lap, and although his head was bent talking to me, you could tell from my face that I adored him.

“You hungry honey?” My dad yelled up the stairs. I was, but I knew that dad’s form of feeding me came with delivery menus.

“Yea, your pick!”  I called down.

“Ok. I choose Cho’s.” He called back. “The usual?” He asked.

“You know it.”

I had not always been happy with my age. For some reason, little girls always want to be what they can’t. When you’re four, you want to be five so you can go to school like a big girl. When you’re five you want to be ten so, you can go to middle school. When you’re ten, you want to be sixteen so you can get a cellphone and when you’re sixteen you want to be eighteen so you can feel grown and go to college. When you’re eighteen, you want to be twenty-one to drink legally. Now, twenty-one, I felt just right. I wanted time to stand still. I found nothing more fulfilling than eating take-out, watching sports and drinking beer with my dad. It was about six and his head bounced around, loose on his neck, as he tried to stop the drowsiness before I suggested he go upstairs to bed.

“Can’t hon. The boys are coming tonight.” He murmured groggily. Something about a man with a full stomach and beers meant KO.

“So? Go take a nap. I’ll wake you when they get here.”

He looked at his watch, calculating something before he nodded and pulled himself from the La-Z-Boy. I watched him as he walked away. My dad wore his fifty years of age well. His brown hair was thinning but still laid flat against his head with no bald spots. His six-foot frame was lean though his beer belly was small and growing as the years progressed. His face was bare. I had never seen him with facial hair. His brown eyes were still bright, and he liked to hide the fact that he now needed glasses to read. He was everything I knew as a dad and being completely unreasonable with himself if he thought he was only taking a nap. My dad slept like a log, seriously hard. He probably asked the boys to come by later knowing I would be coming home today. I would just tell them to come back tomorrow and take myself a lovely bubble bath. That was one thing I couldn’t get on campus.

Just after I climbed from the bath and began to comb out my hair, the doorbell rang. I wrapped myself in my satin robe and walked barefoot to answer the door. I didn’t bother with the peephole. Only one of two people could be at the door.

“Hey Mr. Kauffman,” I said cheerfully. 

He stood there a moment shocked. “Is that Vanessa?” he asked. He turned to the man standing in disbelief behind him.

I could only shake my head. He hadn’t seen me in about five years. I more than anybody knew I had been a late bloomer, getting my curves just before I went to collee. I didn’t want to hear the whole
you’ve really grown
speech. It tended to come off condescending. Then again, maybe if it was coming from him, I could tolerate it. I had always secretly crushed on my Dad’s best friends.

“Yep, it’s me,” I said taking a step back. “Please come in.”

“Please, call me Lawrence,” He said waving my words away like smoke. “None of this Mr. Kaufman business,” he said laughing.

Mr. Martin followed him in the door. “You better not even think about calling me Mr. Martin if you’re calling this one Lawrence,” he said shrugging off his jacket. “It’s Brett.”