Linebacker's Second Chance (Bad Boy Ballers) (41 page)

*Woman, I’ll love you every day of my life no matter what. But I’ll be over the damn moon if we can be parents together.
 

And I would be too. I can’t think of anyone kinder and more generous, a more perfect person to start a real life with. But I’m no good with these real life things, and my body has failed me again. I haven’t told him how painful it is to be so betrayed. Not for the first time, I wonder why I subjected myself to all of this again. But when I imagine that strong, honest face with its perpetual stubble and the plaid shirts that a man in New York wouldn’t be caught dead wearing, I smile and realize why. It’s the reason I came back here with this man. It’s the reason for doing every bit of this over again.
He’s my reason
.
 

“Baby, stop. Darling, I hate to see you like this.” He shakes out the paper and sets it down on the table, and I stop in front of him, staring deep into those blue eyes. “We don’t have to do this. We don’t have to set ourselves up for another round of this shit if we don’t want to. I told you, we can build up our family however we want. It doesn’t have to come from
us
, like this.”

I wipe away the tears that are starting to form. “Maybe just this one cycle. The doctor hear sounded much more positive about the embryos than my doctor in New York ever did. Just this once.” My voice starts to crack again, but I stop it before I break down in the middle of the kitchen into an emotional puddle.
 

“All we’re doing today is a doctor’s appointment. Figuring out the right combo of shots, the right process. We’ve got the best doctor in El Paso--and he’s assured me the whole damn state of Texas and all of New Mexico while we’re at it. If you want to keep trying, we’ll find a doctor in Albuquerque, or we’ll fly out to Austin. Or Dallas. Or Houston.” Rowan walks up to me and takes me by the arms. “That’s the thing, baby. We’ve got money. We’ve got time. And I’ve got you. That’s all I need.” He traces his fingers lightly over my arms, and the rush of electricity zaps between us, hitting me straight in my center. Bending toward me, he presses his lips to mine, light and tender at first and then hungry, hot, and searching. Even through all of the doctor’s appointments, through all of the shots and anesthesia and lost wishes, he’s stayed desperately hungry for me, taking me when he wants and never letting me forget that I’m strong, sensual, and totally, completely *his.
 

“Let’s go in early and get this over with if we can. Then we’ll go to that Argentinian place with the empanadas. I want--“ I close my eyes and imagine it. “The one with the grilled beef inside, and the cilantro sauce.”
 

“Nothing gets me more excited than you talking about food,” he growls, squeezing my ass hard. “And my god woman, I love a good empanada.” I think about the date, about the apartment that Rowan bought when we started the treatments again, about it all. And I calm myself.
 

It’ll be a retreat, a beautiful stay.
 

“I’ll pack my bag,” I say. My stomach gives a nervous leap like it always does when we’re about to leave for El Paso. But maybe this time, we’ll get lucky. Stranger things have happened.

***

    
When the jet touches down in El Paso, Rowan already has a limo waiting for us outside. I roll my eyes and laugh. After my one encounter with Rowan’s limo driver and porter, I learned to drive his Range Rover and haven’t looked back. But for this occasion, I’ll be happy to sit back for a little while.
 

    
“Ms. Albright, your ride awaits.” His voice is full of positivity and light, and he grips my hand as he takes my bag over his shoulder.
 

    
“I’m still nervous,” I say. “But maybe a little less.” I slip into the limo, and we hold hands in silence during the ride over.

    
“Congratulations,” the nurse says when she walks in. “Are you guys having an ultrasound today?” My heart immediately sinks all the way to the pit of my stomach.
 

    
Rowan looks at me, searing pain clearly in his eyes. “No, God no. We’re here to talk about the next egg retrieval. We were waiting the two months between the first try and coming back here again.” He grabs my hand and holds it hard.
 

    
I’m old hat at this kind of loss, the horrible comments from nurses and even doctors, the ones who carelessly assume that everything is fine. I’ve even found my fair share of that type of person at fertility clinics. I squeeze his hand back. The nurse looks back and forth between the two of us, clearly confused.
 

    
“Let me go get the doctor,” she says, and she puts her hand to her chest like she’s seen a ghost. She exits quietly, and Rowan and I look at each other in confusion. Tears are threatening to prick at my eyes, but I swallow them, like I have so many times before. The quiet in the room feels deafening until we hear the click of dress shoes in the hallway outside of the exam room we’re waiting in. The doctor steps in the room and sits down across from us, an unreadable look on his face.
 

    
“Rowan, Cadence.” He looks at us and smiles warmly. Again, I’m grateful for Rowan’s connections in El Paso. “We have some news that changes things for the egg retrieval.”

    
“What?” I blurt out. “Were there problems with my blood panels from yesterday? Problems with the hormones--or whatever the heck you were testing for--“

    
“Well,” the doctor starts, looking between the both of us again. “I’m glad you’re sitting down. We were checking your blood for the remaining HCG from the last round of injections. And to our surprise, we found HCG consistent with a pregnancy between six and eight weeks gestation.”

    
My mouth drops open. “That’s not possible. That’s not at all possible. I was told that I couldn’t get pregnant naturally, ever.” I’m shaking my head, my heart racing fast as the doctor keeps looking at us with a pleased look on his face.
 

    
“It’s possible. I’ve been in this business twenty years or so, and I’ve seen a lot of things happen that were, shall we say, unexpected.”

    
“This is what we’ve been waiting before. This is wonderful news, Doc,” Rowan says. Rowan’s tone is casual, friendly, and nothing about it touches the mix of excitement and terror that I’m feeling right now.
 

But right now, I know this is everything. This is all that we’ve been waiting for … and more.
 

And I’m never letting him—or this beautiful baby—go. This journey is finally done, and we can relax, together at last.

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Gryphon

Creaking open the door, I'm hit with the smell of perfume, alcohol and the sight of women. So many women. There's gotta be a fine girl in here that I can forget my troubles with. Just a few hours of semi-sentient pussy, that's enough for me. All I want is to feel her lips wrap around me—both sets.
 

And then oblivion will be mine.
 

At least until tomorrow morning, anyway. And that's all I need.

Maneuvering through this bar is reminding me of being on the field, getting through the sea of guys wanting to take me down.
 

Just like she wants to take me down.
 

There I go, thinking about it again.
 

Don't think. Drink.

“Yeah, I'll have a whiskey, neat. And a beer,” I say, sitting my ass down at the bar. From my perfect vantage point here, I can see the chicks as they walk in. I’m looking good and can tell I’m already drawing a few stares. If all goes as planned I should have a full buffet of women to choose from before the evening is through.
 

The whiskey comes, in a heavy glass, just the way I like it. I down it, which settles my lawsuit nerves a bit and I relax and can concentrate on the thing that will top the night off perfectly: finding the sexiest woman I can, to suck my dick.
 

Thank heaven there's a baseball game on the screen. It doesn't stress me out like football might. I glance at it and, during the commercials, evaluate the talent in tonight's bar.

There are the soccer moms in the center of the room with their short haircuts and overly brittle laughs—too high maintenance and not all that feminine, but you know they’d work hard in bed with a man like me. The barely-legals are in the corner trying to case the joint themselves, just in case someone figures out that maybe they should be showing some ID. Too young. And then there are the married couples having a date night—longing in their eyes, but not for the one they’re with. They've got nothing to say to each other—just looking around aimlessly, careful not to let their eyes settle on any one person for too long lest the accusations start.

Fuck me if I ever become one of those folks. It’d be too damn dreary to have nothing to say to someone, because they’re in your face all the fucking time. “How was your day?” Who the fuck cares? Women are trouble anyhow. Not that men are much better. Who would want to marry anyone? It’s for suckers.
 

I pour the IPA down my throat to chase the whiskey. Sweet nectar. I just want to drink enough so I can obliterate the thought of that dumb bitch trying to take me down. I did absolutely nothing to her, and she's acting like she's the martyr of martyrs, painting me as the great big evil villain. But the real reason she's going after me is because of what makes the world go round.
 

No, not love.
 

Money.
 

She wants my money. Tons and tons of it. Money that I’ve bled, sweat and cried for.
 

Shit, I promised myself I wouldn't think about this tonight.
 

“Barkeep, another IPA please,” I say. “And fuck it, bring another whiskey too.”

“Coming right up, Griff,” he says.
 

I guess I’ve met this bartender before. He should know my order then, shouldn't he? I shoot the next whiskey and chase it with the beer. One thing about being a solid wall of muscle is that it sure does cost a lot to get drunk, but luckily for me money isn't an issue—as long as I get to keep what I have, that is. The muscle thing ensured that for me when I was 20—just a little older than the scantily clad girls in the corner—and got signed for the first time. Straight outta college ball at Brooks U. And now Sabrina’s trying to take it all away.
 

I thought things were going to be as smooth as silk, once my dreams came true, but you wouldn't believe the number of people who are willing to take everything you've got. Lie, cheat and steal.

There I go, thinking about it again. I look across the top of my drink at the bar, willing myself to forget.

Then I see her. Walking in, looking like she's glowing from the inside, her skin set against a flimsy white shirt, her dark chocolate eyes flashing as bright as her smile. And the kind of lips that would feel perfect to kiss and suck as you buried yourself deep inside.
 

She's got jeans on and her curves are killer, legs from her cute ass to her high-heeled shoes. She's talking to another girl, but honestly? I couldn't pick that one out of a lineup. No one but this single, solitary girl even exists anymore.
 

I watch her as she pulls out her chair, hooks her bag onto it and settles that fine ass down. She pulls a lipstick out of her purse and traces her full lips with it, her dark eyes lowered in a coy way that makes me want to bend her over. Watching her press her lips briefly together before letting them go soft, sends a shiver straight to my cock—which has been at very strict attention ever since she sauntered into the place. I pull my eyes away and attempt to watch the game again, but I can't concentrate. I search for her reflection in the bar mirror so I can stare at her a little longer without detection, but no dice.

Those lips. Those hips. They're just what I need, to forget everything. Just for one glorious night, to be able to plunge myself over and over into her luscious body and to turn that sweet mouth into the crumpled “o” of orgasm after orgasm. That would be perfection. I look over at her again. She's laughing and talking with her girlfriend. They're in perfect harmony.
 

“You want another one, Griff?”

Another, and another and another.
 

“Yeah, just the IPA this time.” I hold back because I don't want to waste this chick with on a whiskey dick. She’s too hot to take that risk. It's never happened before but with the way my luck's been going these days, I can't count on anything.
 

Then it happens. Our eyes meet. Those rich, Godiva eyes shine directly into mine for what seems like an eternity, but probably is only a second or two. It's like she's locked on to me, and I can feel not only her beauty, but her intelligence. There's something real in those eyes.
 

Slowly she turns her head back to face her friend, but her eyes are on me until the last second. Then she sips her drink. It's one of those fancy girlie drinks—pink, with a straw and a crazy garnish. Probably sweet as all hell. I wonder what her lips taste like. Icy strawberries?