ROMANCE: BAD BOY ROMANCE: M.V.B. - Most Valuable Baby (Sports Secret Baby Romance) (Contemporary Interracial Pregnancy Romance) (19 page)

The nurse gently placed the infant in Tanya’s arms, and then the nurse backed away and let Eric press himself closer to Tanya.

“What should we name him?” he asked, his finger gently brushing over the baby’s tiny fists.

The baby beamed at his father’s, and Eric’s exhale choked off. “Hi, baby,” he said, curling his finger around the baby’s fist. “I’m your dad.”

The baby seemed to smile gently.

Tanya’s heart soared and melted all at once. She leaned heavily against Eric, her eyes never leaving her child’s. “He’s perfect. No name will be good enough for him.”

Eric snorted softly. “He’s going to have a big ego with a mother like you.”

“And with a father like you?”

“Crap. It’s going to be massive.”

She laughed, tears escaping her eyes and trailing down her jaw. The baby smiled again, and she cooed at it. “Hi, sweetie. What should your name be?”

It was so hard to think past the drugs, the exhaustion, and the love. Tanya was on the verge of passing out, but she fought past the need. She focused on her boy, on ideas for his name.

Eric hummed against her temple. “How about…Chance?”

She shook her head. “No, he doesn’t look like a ‘Chance.’”

“Isaac?”

“No.”

“Kyle?”

“No.”

Eric harrumphed, making Tanya laugh wetly again. “You are hard to please, baby.”

“It needs to be perfect,” she repeated.

“Well…shy of naming him ‘Jesus,’ we could call him Christian. Or Chris.”

“Chris.” She smiled at the baby—at Chris—and he smiled back. Tanya nodded jaggedly. “Chris. That’s it.”

“Chris Lawson-Reed,” Eric said proudly, his lips tickling her head. “I like it.”

“I do, too.” She hugged Chris a little tired. “Hi, Chris. It’s so good to finally see you.” She pressed her lips against his soft forehead, his warmth and his scents overwhelming her in the sweetest way possible. “I love you so much.”

“I do, too,” Eric whispered, resting his hand on the baby’s leg. “I love both of you more than anything in this world.”

Tanya finally looked over at him. Eric, in a pair of scrubs, bags under his eyes, hair a mess, his team playing a game without him—

“I love you, too,” Tanya whispered, staring into Eric’s eyes.

Eric gave her a watery smile before gently kissing her. His hand made its way over Chris and on top of her own hand.

It was perfect. Just perfect.

THE END

Blitzed by the Baller

CHAPTER ONE

Football players are like cymbals made of out cement. They start off as soft and malleable. They are trained and taught to grit their teeth when things seem hard and, over time, they become impenetrable, immovable and hard bodies made for smashing into each other. But cement can break and so can football players, especially the ones who play like they are invincible.

Noah Alexander, the quarterback for the Carolina Panthers, was such a player. They called him ‘The Engine’, as in he could. No matter what, Noah Alexander was unstoppable. He had a history of doing the impossible. Once, when the opposing team set up a defensive line, he pushed against five men to make it to the touchdown line. He was essentially a God. He looked like one too. He could be Thor’s brother, well, not his actual brother. Loki wasn’t all that cute. Perhaps the better word would be Thor’s twin. Blond hair that he tied up for games. His man bun was too hot for words. Piercing eyes but instead of blue, they were green. I wouldn’t say that I was obsessed or anything, I watched the games the same as everybody else. But I would say the issue of Sport’s Magazine where he was shirtless is still in my bedroom nightstand, even though it’s three years old. He had zero ounces of fat. His herculean body was a series of cut sinew, sculpted by angels. If anybody wanted to see anatomy in true form, they needed only look at him. He looked like a god and, unfortunately, he walked around like he was one too.

It was no secret, Noah Alexander got what he wanted. If he wanted you, you were expected to come. It would be an alternate universe for a woman to deny him company and why would you? He got the best seats and treatment in any establishment. He looked like a star and treated the women on his arm like one. Translation: he treated them like a dime a dozen. He brought his team to the Super bowl twice and was expected to bring them the win this year. It seemed nothing could or would stop the Engine. He was revered so highly that, despite his severe tumble in last night’s game, people expected him to be in the next game in two days from today.

“Guess what babe?” I asked the man in front of me. He wasn’t looking at me or appreciating the décor of the fancy restaurant he took me too. He was looking at his phone. His screen merely an extension of his arm.

You would think he would pay more attention given where we were, and it was on his dime. Cieux, meaning “heavens”, was the newest “it” restaurant on the block. It was the kind of place they served caviar on small silver platters and decorated in a black and silver theme. The waiters, no waitresses, wore white gloves and called every customer “sir” or “ma’am”. For some reason, the fancier the restaurant, the more misogynistic it was. They would know useless things about what type of nuts are in the chocolate torte and how the rabbit loin is cooked. They’d know words like tarragon and what wines go best with your meal. The cost of one appetizer could feed six families in Bangladesh for three months. The chef, I imagined, knew nothing about cooking with butter and only served organic ingredients. It was nice but too much. I was a southern girl at heart and just fine with a hearty bowl of chili or a burger off the grill.

“What?” he murmured. He was well versed in responding with appropriately ambiguous words. “What?”, “Really?”, “Wow”, “That’s interesting” and my personal favorite, “uh huh”. Uh huh meant go on, it said, “I’m listening but only halfway.” I can’t remember the last time I had Bradley’s full attention. Well yes I can, it was when he proposed. I suppose one can’t bend on one knee, hold up a ring, declare his love
and
check his email.

“I was offered the job to be Noah Alexander’s physical therapist,” I said excitedly.

“Is that right?” he said, flickering his gaze between me and the phone.

Of course, the only reason I get his attention is because I have the potential to expand his connection network. Bradley was a schmoozer, the biggest one of them all. What purpose did people serve in one’s life if not to solicit professional and business gain? It was infuriating but despite all this I loved him.

“Yes. They called me this morning.”

“Well, I hope you said yes,” he said staring into my eyes. I could see the dark brown pools that convinced me to say “yes” when he asked me to marry him, and I realized I missed them.

“I said I was thinking about it. It’s a big job. Can you imagine what kind of public firestorm would ensue from this? I don’t know if I want people prying into my life. I prefer to stay private.”

He set his phone face down on the table. “Well, it’s not like you’re hiding any major secrets. You barely have a life. What would they find or report on? How many books you read a day?”

That sounded a lot like something offensive, if only it wasn’t true. “Well, tell me how you really feel.” Why was he even with me if I was so boring?

He grabbed my hand and rubbed along my wrist. “Harper, you know I didn’t mean it like that. You’re not everyone’s cup of tea, but you’re mine. I wasn’t saying you’re a bump on the log, merely pointing out that your private life won’t be disturbed. The public will ask you a few questions about his physical condition and leave you alone.”

I sighed. He made it sound so simple. But I knew better. All the media needed was a little fire to fan. They would take this for all it was worth. It didn’t matter that I had never met the man before or that I was his physical therapist, I just knew they would add me to the long list of people he might be sexing. It wouldn’t matter that I was engaged, in fact, it’d be even better. They could speculate about the potential harlot I was being, because who in their right mind would say no to ‘The Engine’. Oddly enough, I was asking myself the same thing.

CHAPTER TWO

“You can’t do this to me, Coach,” I screamed. I sound desperate, but that’s what I am.

“I’m not doing a thing to you, Noah. Have you seen your X-rays?” he asked, knowing I stared at them in disbelief. “You can’t play. You just had surgery on a shattered ACL and that ain’t something I can change.”

I had already skipped a game and wasted two weeks away babying it. Ice, elevation and massaging it just like the doctors requested. Then surgery and now these damn crutches. I was going to get rid of them one way or another.

“The game’s in two weeks. I’ll be better by then.” I sounded confident. I felt useless.

“You think I was born yesterday?” he said, turning away from me. “If you’re better in two weeks, I’m the queen of Sheba. You’re benched, and that’s final.” Then he walked away.

I can’t be benched. You know what happens when you’re benched? You don’t play. The bench means loser. Only losers aren’t on the field. Only quitters take breaks. Only the weak need to catch their breath. I was none of those things. I’m the freaking Engine! I am a machine. I don’t need time to heal. I don’t know who the coach thought I was, but he was about to become the Queen of Sheba. Just watch.

When the tall blond woman walked into my room, I assumed she was a groupie. First strike.

“Hey beautiful, you lost?” I asked, jumping from the patient table. “I can take you anywhere you want to go,” I said seductively. In hindsight, she didn’t look lost. I can remember her face clearly. Determined blue eyes, highlighted by light blue eye shadow, sure steps and a tiny hint of worry along her brow.

“My name is not beautiful,” she said and planted both hands on her hips. I like them feisty.

“Shame, your parents, must regret that decision every day,” I said poking fun. Strike two.

She didn’t blush or falter. If anything, she looked like she was on fire. She looked ever sexier. She stood taller, and fixed her shoulders, her face said, “I’m about to kick your behind.”

“My name is Harper, Harper Brandon and I’m your new physical therapist. Sit down Mr. Alexander so I can look at your knee.” I sat down without taking my eyes off hers, and she smiled. Then something happened. I fell, hook, line, and sinker. I fell so hard and at that moment, I didn’t even know it.

“Hi Harper,” I said, “Where do you want me?”

She shook her head like she was offended my innuendos but I saw her smirk.

“Lay down.”

She was a true professional. No lingering hands and an almost clinical look when examining the area. She had me stretch and show her my range of flexibility. It killed me to see how limited I became after one injury. It was a major one but still, no excuses. I gritted my teeth and pushed harder. I didn’t want her to see how much pain I was in.

“That’s really good Mr. Alexander,” she said, holding my leg up with a light touch.

“You can call me Noah.” She was killing me with the Mr. Alexander talk. Mr. Alexander this. Mr. Alexander that. Mr. Alexander was my father, and I didn’t know that man from Adam.

“You don’t have to push so hard, Noah. You will get better, but not if you strain yourself. Relax,” she said, pushing my foot down a little to alleviate the pressure. “You’re shaking.”

I was. So much for appearing omnipotent.

She finished up the session she called an evaluation. “Based on your results, I’ll send my recommended session count to your coach, and he’ll inform me when you’re ready to start.”

“Immediately,” I said, not wanting to prolong my out of field time.

She smiled and said, “I’ll wait to hear from Coach Stromberg. Have a nice day Noah.”

“Wait!” I grabbed her hand, preventing her from walking any farther. Her hand was soft and missing a ring. I looked down to see long elegant fingers and healthy short nails. They were plain. The women that hung around me wore long, fake things and worse, sometimes they had them shaved to be pointy. What a turn-off. It screamed wicked witch, and I tried to stay away. “Let me take you out to dinner tonight. I promise I’m a better date than I am a patient.”

She snatched her soft hand from my calloused ones.

“Can’t. I’m engaged.” I could see her putting up a mental wall.