Bad Boy's Baby Part 7

Touche.

The elevator delivered us to the lobby. She brushed a cautious hand over her dress, like she didn't trust that the skirt wouldn't ride up and show a scandalous amount of leg. I was praying it would.

"Why are we so formal?" she asked.

I was a jock, but even I appreciated a good meal. "I'm taking you to Le Meilleur."

She stiffened, staring at me with widening eyes. "That's the best restaurant in the city."

I smirked, offering her my elbow as we walked to my car. "Now that sounded genuine."

I helped her into the Porsche, hating the brand new car because it wasn't my cla.s.sic Camaro. Leah liked it. She stared at the interior, the navigation system, the luxury. She was probably a girl who didn't mind a little cla.s.s.

Well, there was nothing cla.s.sier than getting f.u.c.ked in the back seat of a sports car that cost more than her yearly salary, but Leah didn't seem the type. That didn't stop me from imagining it. Wanting it. I adjusted my trousers as my d.i.c.k swelled thinking about her skirt riding up and my c.o.c.k sliding in.

Let's see her write a spin piece on the best s.e.x of her G.o.dd.a.m.ned life.

The restaurant needed reservations a month ahead of time. I called two hours before we arrived, and a private table waited for the Rivets' star near the dance floor. It was a perfectly romantic location for a man taking his longterm girlfriend on a date. Low lights, expensive food, and insufferable waiters. Every girl's dream before slipping into bed with me.

But Leah didn't seem the bed slipping type.

She folded her napkin neatly in her lap, sipped her wine, and looked positively humbled that I would bring her somewhere nice.

"Thinking you were getting a strip club breakfast buffet?" I asked.

She took a deep breath, meeting my gaze with those big, mocha eyes, as rich as the chocolate complexion of her skin. She turned my c.o.c.k to stone, and she didn't have a f.u.c.king clue.

"I didn't know what to expect." At least she was honest. Her voice s.h.i.+fted, taking on that professional, impersonal tone. "I've posted on social media about tonight. I have boxed seats for a baseball game and an event with one of the Rivets' charities we can attend. But, for now? We should probably take a selfie together a little later, to pa.s.s around a picture of you that doesn't include three drunken women and a totaled car."

"Thanks."

Her hands trembled. "I don't know how to handle this from here. How to...make it seem like we're an actual couple."

f.u.c.king her would convince me. "We'll start by ordering an appetizer. I think a salad after that." I leaned closer, voice low. "Then we'll get real crazy and grab and entre."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." I called over the waiter. "People eat on dates. You and I will eat on our date."

I tucked a hundred dollar bill in the waiter's suit. Leah hissed at me. I ignored her.

"Make sure the lady's wine gla.s.s doesn't go empty tonight." I pointed to a variety of foods on the menu-not like I could read the French anyway. "That'll be good for appetizers."

The waiter nodded and scurried to the kitchen. Leah glared.

"Please. Thank you. You're welcome. Ever hear of those words?" She couldn't look angry sipping a gla.s.s of hundred dollar wine. "You have to be courteous, Jack. You're a public figure."

Since when did throwing a ball and dodging rabid linebackers mean I was a public figure? "Hey, I'm being a perfect f.u.c.king gentleman while you bill me for taking you out on the town."

"You make me sound like an escort."

"I wouldn't know." I winked. "Never needed one."

Leah acted like she'd either let her guard down or dump the wine over my head. I liked the indecision. Made her feisty.

"I don't understand you," she said. "You're the star quarterback of a professional football team. You have the money and the power and the opportunity to become the best of all time. Not one of the best, but the best. Why would you throw it away for a threesome with questionable women?"

"You're missing the big picture. It would have been a foursome."

"Oh, whatever." She crossed her arms.

"Give me my moment of glory."

"Was that what it was? Glory?"

"It was fun, Kiss. You know. What people do when they yank the sticks out of their a.s.ses?"

"I can have fun." The shawl covering her bare shoulders said otherwise. "But I also know when it's time to be responsible. You have to plan for your future." She glanced at me, eyes big and beautiful and more distracting than the swell of her t.i.ts. "Have you thought about your future at all?"

"I have a plan for my future." Two, if I counted getting her in bed. "Winning."

"Winning?"

"Gotta win the first game. Gotta win the next. Gotta win the playoffs. Gotta win the champions.h.i.+p."

She waited, as if I had more to say. "That's...it? That's your goal in life?"

"Yeah."

"What happens when you get the champions.h.i.+p?"

That was the kind of dirty talk that got me harder than a lucky girl calling me Daddy. "You think I'll win it this year?"

"Yes...You're Jack Carson." She picked at a piece of bread. "Of course you will."

"I didn't know you were that confident in me."

She perked an eyebrow as she tasted the freshly baked bread. "You never asked what I thought, just kept banging random women on your way to glory."

"What could have been."

"I can't imagine a foursome being a life goal."

What was with her? "I don't have any other goals. I told you. I want my champions.h.i.+p ring."

"That's it?"

"Yes." I frowned. "Why? What the h.e.l.l are you planning?"

She sucked in a deep breath and downed the rest of her wine. "I planned to be engaged while in college at twenty years old. I wanted my first job at twenty-two. Married by twenty-three. First child by twenty-five. Six figure salary by twenty-seven. Second child by twenty-eight. Vacation in Paris by thirty. Rome by thirty-one. Vienna at thirty-two. I'd have my last child when I was thirty-three. That's as far as I've planned for now since I'm certain the best school districts will change by the time I'm ready to sell my starter home and move into a thirty-year house."

Holy f.u.c.k, she was a freak.

Who the h.e.l.l ch.o.r.eographed their life like that? She raised her chin, looking proud and beautiful and as if she expected me to challenge her. She was right.

"Aren't you my age?" I asked. "Twenty-four?"

"Yes."

She didn't look pregnant. She didn't have a ring on her finger. I could read more than blitzes.

"So what happened?" I laughed. "Where's the lucky man you've shackled to a life of no surprises?"

"Sleeping with my best friend."

s.h.i.+t. I didn't expect her to be so honest. Neither did she. She couldn't hide the shame and picked at the bread again.

Who was stupid enough to cheat on her?

"What a p.r.i.c.k," I said.

She shrugged. The shawl fell from her shoulder. She didn't fix it. "Ironically, his wasn't that impressive."

"Well, that's the real tragedy."

Her wine refilled. She drank half right away. "It did the job before it wandered. I think."

"You think?"

Leah caught herself, sighing as I stared in confusion. "That was just a joke."

"No, it wasn't," I said. "Did he f.u.c.k you good or not?"

Her eyes widened. "I'm not talking about this with you."

"It shouldn't ever just do the job. His should be the only G.o.dd.a.m.ned c.o.c.k you can think about."

"You would know."

"d.a.m.n right. Life is too short for bad f.u.c.king."

She was embarra.s.sed. Leah hid it by picking over the served appetizer. "It didn't bother me. Pa.s.sion wasn't as much a deal-breaker as the marriage. I wanted the husband and the kids. The career was important too. Really important. I expected a good salary that could help me travel..." She sighed. "I wanted it all."

She spoke an entirely different language from me. "What about that big c.o.c.k and the great f.u.c.king?"

"That was always just part of the marriage."

"Was it?" I asked.

She fiddled with her napkin. Didn't like talking about s.e.x, probably because she never had it good. I changed the subject.

"So now your grand plan is...?"

She nodded. "Ruined."

"That's easy enough to fix," I said. "Change it. Live for the moment. Get f.u.c.ked, have some fun, you'll find there's more to life than structuring it."

"Oddly sensible coming from a man whose only goal is to win a game and have a foursome."

"I don't want a foursome anymore." I stole the appetizer if only to brush her delicate fingers. "There's only one woman I'd take to bed now."

"And as exhilarating as becoming one of your s.e.xual conquests would be..." Leah rolled her eyes. "I'll pa.s.s."

"Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I think pretending to be your girlfriend is adventure enough for now."

"I think you're afraid."

"Don't tell me you were a psychology major in college?"

I was. Didn't go to any of the cla.s.ses, but I won the college four bowl games. "You were hurt by the p.r.i.c.k who cheated on you. Your plan is ruined. You think you have no time for fun, especially if you need to catch up on that big fancy wedding, the nice career, and make all those little babies."

"Fooling around with you won't get me any closer to my goal."

"Who needs goals when you can have fun?"

"There's more to life than s.e.x."

I grinned. "You're right. There's kissing. Foreplay. b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs. b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs are my favorite."

"One of these days, Jack, you're going to meet a girl and fall so desperately and idiotically in love that you won't recognize yourself."

"Yeah?"

"Yep. Do me a favor and call me on that day. Tell me what you think life is about then." Leah thanked the waiter as he delivered our food. "I won't even bill you for those hours."

"Not gonna happen."

"Your biggest party will be the reception after the wedding." She winked. "Guarantee it."

She was delusional but pretty. Good company over dinner too, better than half the guys I usually went out with. No spilled beer or cat calls or molested wait staff.

I didn't remember what the soup tasted like or what the h.e.l.l I even ordered. Leah sipped her wine and giggled. I didn't know if it was an act for those who recognized us, or if she was actually having fun.

Only one way to find out.

The live music strummed some soft melody that I figured she liked. I much preferred the b.u.mping R&B at the strip clubs or the bars, but I offered my hand to lead her to the dance floor.