Fair Game: A Football Romance (96 page)

“Yeah, sounds like you’re too busy to have a baby for somebody else,” Amira says, and I kick her in the shin under the table.

“Ouch! God, Liam, watch your big feet, will ya?” She yells.

The waitress drops off a water with lemon for Lourdes and another Long Island for Amira. Lourdes thanks her, and Amira sucks on the straw of her drink like it’s the last bit of liquid she’s ever going to see. We give our orders and the waitress is gone.

“So, surrogacy?” I ask again.

“Oh yes. Well, I have a son, and law school is expensive. I worked my way through my first year, but this coming year is going to require more of my time, so I need a way to pay for it.”

I’d fucking pay her way thorough law school whether she gave us a kid or not. The difference between the two women at this table is striking. It makes me wish for the billionth time that I’d never gotten into this mess with Amira. She’s nothing I look for in a woman, and Lourdes is everything I’ve ever dreamed of.

“I hope we will all be able to help each other,” I say and press the side of my foot against hers under the table. She squirms in her seat and messes with her fork, aligning and re aligning it.

“How long have you been trying to have a baby?” She asks, taking a big drink of her water.

“Oh, I can get pregnant. I’m just not gonna ruin my body doing it,” Amira says, rolling her eyes.

I cringe. What a bitch. A frown line forms between Lourdes’s brows, and I’m about to rescue her when she replies.

“Actually, if you exercise during your pregnancy and eat healthy, your body doesn’t really change much. I look exactly the same naked as I did three years ago.”

My turn to bite my lip. Atta girl! I want to high-five her for putting Amira in her place, but of course, she’s supposed to be my loving wife, and I should be on her side. I’m not.

Amira is staring at Lourdes in shock, and I’m watching them both while trying to decide if I need to step in or not. Lourdes seems to know how to handle herself, but I’m jumping in anyway.

“There’s something you both have in common—not the naked part, although I’m sure that’s not a problem, but you both like to exercise. Amira is a workout fiend. She’s in the gym a couple of hours every day, and other than the occasional alcoholic drink, she eats very healthily.”

Amira beams. She’s feeling secure now that I seem to be on her side. Lord, I don’t know if I can do this for the entire meal. Making nice is hard work.

“Do you? Work out, I mean?” Lourdes asks me.

“Him?” Amira laughs.

“I do. I’m just not a gym rat like Amira. I prefer running outside to the treadmill,” I say. I want to kick her again, but my foot is happy next to Lourdes’s.

“I run outside too. I love the fresh air and the sound of kids playing and the smell of freshly cut grass.”

Soul mate. Life is a motherfucker sometimes. It teases you with things you can’t have and smacks you upside the head with the things it gives you instead.

“Well, now that we’ve established you two are a couple of tree huggers, let’s talk about having a baby.”

Our waitress must have some sort of cosmic connection to the level of tension happening at our table, because she continues to show up at pivotal moments when we all need a mental break from each other. She’s here now with our food, placing the dishes under our noses and giving us pause.

“Anything else I can do for you right now?” She asks. Amira starts to ask for another drink when I interrupt her.

“No, that’s it for now. Thank you, we’re fine.”

The waitress is standing at my shoulder and can’t see my face when I give Amira a death snarl.

“All right, I’ll check on you in a bit,” She says, disappearing before Amira can try and order her third drink.

We eat in silence, but the sound of the restaurant buzzing with conversation around us is deafening. I want to leave, but I don’t want to leave Lourdes.

Amira is using her phone under the table. She thinks she’s being sneaky, but it’s obvious. The alcohol is making her indiscreet. Lourdes is never going to give us a baby at this rate, and as much as I don’t want to, we may as well end this night and cut our losses.

I sit back and place my elbows on the arms of my chair, steepling my fingers, and watch Lourdes take a bite. She feels me watching her. The corner of her mouth lifts ever so slightly, but she doesn’t look at me. Amira’s checked out over there with her phone. I could probably make out with Lourdes at the table and she’d never notice.

“I’ll be right back,” Amira says, standing up. She wobbles a little, grabbing onto her chair, but she rights herself and walks away toward the entrance of the restaurant.

“No chance of you being our surrogate, huh?” I say when she’s gone.

“Why do you say that?” she asks.

I don’t have to say a word. I just turn my gaze to where Amira just disappeared.

“Oh, well yeah, she’s not the most maternal person, is she?”

Of course she would be diplomatic about it. She’s too nice to say
hell no, that bitch is crazy
.

“Amira is . . . well, Amira is Amira. She’s used to getting what she wants. She’s never had to work for anything, so she can’t imagine you saying no. I, on the other hand, have worked for everything in my life, and I anticipate that you will be declining our offer—if you’re sane, that is, and I think you’re sane.”

She laughs softly and folds her napkin into a perfect square, placing it next to her plate, where she has neatly balanced her fork and knife on the edge.

“I sort of figured her out on the phone yesterday, although I didn’t think I was talking to her at the time. I thought I was talking with Mrs. Weaver, which was very strange, because the Weavers are as straight-laced and traditional as they come.”

“So it’s a no?”

She wrinkles up her nose, but I’m not sure if that’s a yes wrinkle or a no wrinkle.

“I haven’t made up my mind. I believe in second and third chances.”

“How about forth and fifth? She can be a handful,” I say, hopeful that I, or rather
we
, haven’t lost the opportunity to have Lourdes carry our child.

“Come here,” I say, leaning forward and crooking my finger. She hesitates. She even looks around for Amira, but still, she leans in until we’re almost touching foreheads.

“I know she wants you to be the one. She may seem cranky and unfriendly, but she’s got her heart set on you.”

Lie. Well, partially, anyway. She doesn’t want Lourdes to be our surrogate. She expects her to do it, but since it’s out of the question to blurt that miserable fact out, I sugar coat it a little.

I’m so close I can feel her warm breath against my skin. She smells like pasta now—pasta, coffee, and cinnamon. You’d think the three would be a terrible combination, but they’re not. They’re beguiling.

“What about what
you
want, Mr. Wild? Have you interviewed many surrogates? Am I the one you have your heart set on too?”

She’s calling me out, letting me know she’s aware of what’s going on between us. I don’t know if I should admit it or try to keep things moving along with the Amira excuse. I’m going with a little of both.

“We haven’t interviewed any because we were only interested in one—you.”

She lounges back in her chair and I miss her closeness.

“I’ll seriously consider it.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

Amira returns to the table and says she has to go. There’s an emergency with her family, and she needs to make some international calls to Nigeria.

“I hope everything is ok,” Lourdes says.

“It’s not. I’m going, Liam, and don’t worry. I have a car coming. I won’t drink and drive.”

I stand and go to her side, taking her elbow. I’ve never seen her so pale and stricken. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s scared.

“Amira, what’s going on?”

In any other situation, she would be soaking up the public display of affection, but not tonight. She steps away from me, mumbling something about her father, and I take her by the shoulders and turn her to face me, capturing all of her attention.

“Amira, what’s wrong with your father? What’s going on?” I shake her gently until she appears more alert.

“They think he had a heart attack. He’s in the hospital. I have to go.”

Shit. A heart attack. Now it all makes sense. Her meal ticket might be dying, so she’s got to get home and cash out.

Lourdes stands and takes Amira’s hand.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry. Is he going to be ok?” she asks.

Amira looks at where their hands connect and then at me.

“They don’t know. I have to go.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” I ask, and as cold hearted as it may be, I cross my fingers and hope she says no.

“No. Stay here and take care of this baby thing.”

She drops Lourdes’s hand and walks away. Handle this ‘baby thing’. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I can’t do anything without her. She’s not thinking straight. She’s drunk and she’s afraid, albeit for the wrong reasons, but afraid just the same.

Lourdes looks at me with eyes full of compassion, and I want to tell her not to bother.

“She’s tough. She’ll be ok. Don’t worry.” I pull her into a side hug and rub my hand up and down her bare arm. Her skin against mine floods me with familiarity and longing and guilt. I feel like I know her, a part of her, and I find myself wishing I weren’t here trying to convince her to have my baby. Wait, that’s not true. I wouldn’t mind her having my baby at all, as long as it doesn’t have Amira’s DNA.

The guilt is foolish. Our marriage is a morbid scam. But my father was a Marine, and if I learned anything from him before he went batshit crazy, it was to face up to my responsibilities and follow through to the end of things. I’ve been physically faithful to Amira for one reason only—to protect my money and my reputation. All she wants is a piece of masculine arm candy, someone who likes fun and sex and music, all of which I like. But I want intelligence and loyalty and good sex—yes, good sex, of course. The one thing I never thought I would be able to add to that list was having my own family.

I used to be a free spirit, roaming the world and spreading music and good vibes to people who loved me. I slept with whomever I pleased and did what I wanted when I wanted. That was before, though. Before I saw Lourdes from across the room that afternoon I met Amira for lunch. That woman made me want things—crazy things, normal things, like babies and houses on the beach.

The coffee cinnamon scent of her skin is making me want cinnamon toast and Starbucks. She shivers under my touch. I want to kiss her, anywhere and everywhere, but I release her instead.

“Do you want to stay for coffee?” I ask.

“You should go make sure your wife is okay. I’ll be fine. Dinner was wonderful. Thank you so much for having me.”

She probably thinks I’m a cold-hearted asshole for not rushing after Amira. I want to be selfish and insist she stay for at least one cup of coffee but I should probably encourage her to go.

“It was my pleasure. We would love to do it again sometime. Maybe at our place? When Amira is home and things are settled with her father, of course.”

She’s been coiled tight all evening until this moment. Her jaw unclenches and her features soften when she hears my casual, easygoing words.

“That would be nice. Yes, thank you.”

I can’t let her go without knowing exactly when I’ll see her again. If she leaves without a plan, I risk her clearing her head and changing her mind altogether.

“Let’s plan on next week. I’m sure she won’t be gone too long. Does Friday night at seven work for you? I’ll text you our address. It’s not listed in the profile.” Inside, I’m cringing. Too much? Too soon? Too bossy?

She surprises me when she rummages through her purse and hands me her phone. I look at it as if I’ve never seen a phone before. She’s letting me enter my information. When I look up at her, she raises her brows, and I don’t waste time entering my full name, phone number, and address to her contact list. Before I hand it back, though, I press call and feel my own phone buzz in my pocket. There. Perfect. Now I’ve got her number too.

Chapter 12

Lourdes

I can’t believe I just had dinner with the one couple I purposely did
not
want to meet with. And not because I’m not interested. On the contrary, I’m
too
interested . . . in Liam, that is.

I’m sitting in my stuffy car that smells like stale cheerios and old milk from a lost sippy cup somewhere in the back, gripping the steering wheel. I can’t have dinner with them at their house. I don’t know why I agreed to it. It was like my mouth wasn’t receiving signals from my brain. I just handed over my phone like we were out at a club, trading numbers to hook up later or something.

My phone. Shit, I never looked at his address. I grab my phone from my purse and open it to my contact list and discover that they live in Bel Air. I would have never guessed Liam to be pretentious enough to buy a house there. He’s so relaxed and unassuming, but Amira? She fits the typical rich, uppity stereotype to a tee. I can’t imagine why on earth she wants a baby unless . . . maybe it’s Liam who wants a child. That seems unlikely, though. He must travel a lot, and being a DJ doesn’t seem conducive to having children, but what do I know? Maybe rich people bring their kids with them wherever they go. Do I want my baby to be a jet-setting roadie with a bunch of wild ravers?

This isn’t your baby, Lourdes. You need to get that straight in your head right now. Whoever I have a baby for, it will be
their
child,
their
sperm and
their
egg. I am merely a host, helping them get from point A to point B.

With that in mind, I know without a doubt that I can’t help the Wilds. Not with the weird undercurrent thing that’s happening between Liam and me. I’ve never felt so immediately connected to a man after speaking to him for just a few hours. It’s unsettling. And the fact that he’s married to one of the most unpleasant women I’ve ever met makes it all the more confusing.

I start the car and head to Rachel’s to pick up Toby. It’s past his bedtime. He’s probably already asleep. Maybe I’ll just sleep in her guest bedroom instead of driving home. I have a feeling there won’t be much sleep going on tonight anyway. Last night was bad enough, worrying about the questions to ask the prospective couples, but now I have a gorgeous blonde DJ with perfect white teeth and lickable dimples to think about. I may as well get used to those lapis blue eyes, his chiseled chest in his fitted Henley, and his seductive, disarming smile, because they’re going to rob me of another night of sleep.

These thoughts are so wrong. I’m a terrible person. I should never contact them again. A pain twists in my chest at the possibility of never laying eyes on Liam Wild again. I have a crush on a married man, a married man who supposedly wants to have a baby with his wife. They don’t seem like they’re on the same page with this surrogacy thing. They both say they want a baby, and obviously they have contacted an agency, but I don’t feel like there is any love between them—no chemistry. And the burning desire to have a child wasn’t there.

When I pull into the driveway, the house is dark. It’s eleven thirty and they’ve all gone to bed, so I creep quietly into the guest bedroom off the kitchen in the back of the house. They had fish for dinner. I can smell it hanging in the air as only fish can do. I wonder how that went over with Toby. He’s a picky eater, or at least he is for me. Rachel has always been able to get him to eat anything. She has a way with children.

In the bedroom, I close the door and strip down to my bra and panties and slide between the sheets. I reach to the bedside table to switch off the light and hear my phone buzzing in my purse on the floor. Who on earth would be texting me at this time of night?

I try to reach off the edge of the bed to get my purse without getting up, but I end up cracking my head on the bedside table instead. I curse and rub the lump rising on the top of my head and lean against the side of the bed, pulling my knees up to my chest to read the accident-inducing text.

Did everything go ok? Were you able to choose between the two couples?

It’s Rachel. She heard me come in.

I don’t know. The couple from Malibu sounded so normal on the phone, but in real life, he was controlling, and I could tell she didn’t like him. And the other two weren’t the people I was expecting.

What? Like a couple you didn’t know?

No, they were prospective parents, just not a couple I chose. Not sure what happened. I’m going to sleep. See ya in the morning <3

Her next question is going to be did I make a decision, and I’m not ready to talk about that yet. I don’t like to lie to my sister, but there’s no way I’m telling her I have a crush on the man I might surrogate for.

Ok, night. Love you too.

I sigh and lean my head against the mattress, closing my eyes. I’m so tired I could just sleep here on the floor, and in fact, I do begin to doze off when my phone vibrates in my hand again. Damn, Rachel. Can’t a girl get some sleep around here? I look down at the glowing screen and gasp when I see that it is not my sister. It’s
him
. Every molecule of my body is suddenly on fire. My tummy does a flop and my heart races. I turn the screen over, pressing it against my chest. Oh God, what do I do? What do I say?

I flip the phone over slowly and peek at the message again.

I hope this isn’t too forward or unethical, but I’d like you to come to my club tomorrow night and see what I do for a living. I wouldn’t want my career to detour you from choosing us. Please consider it. The club’s name is Fiction. It’s on Hollywood Blvd. I’ll be there from ten until close, and I’d love to show you around. Liam Wild, AKA DJ Freedom

He wants to show me where he works. Ok, that’s not so abnormal, is it? I mean, it’s not your traditional profession. He probably thinks I won’t choose them if I think he’s a bad boy DJ.

Or, maybe he
is
a bad boy and he wants so spend time with me because he’s feeling the same magnetic pull, the hint of familiarity, or the tingling current that zipped up my arm when we touched tonight.

I can’t. No, no, no. I have to stay far away from that man. If I go, it wouldn’t be to make sure that he is an upstanding citizen who’s capable of raising a baby. If I went, it would be to feel his lips on my cheek and to see his sexy eyes light up when he sees me.

No, I’m deleting him from my phone and I’m never calling them again. Wait a second. How did he get my number anyway? I look at the text again and chew on my lip. I click to my recent calls, and there’s my answer on the first line, an unknown call to Liam. That sly bastard called himself when he was putting his name and address into my phone.

Well that does it. Now I’m sure his interest isn’t innocent. He’s acting on the energy that we felt flowing between us, and I can’t be a part of that. I turn off my phone and crawl back into bed where I stare at the ceiling and wonder why I have such crummy luck when it comes to men.

All of the guys I date end up being boring or clingy. I don’t have a wide variety of college guys to choose from. My off-campus life revolves around Toby, so the few dates I go on are with guys I’ve met in class, and the party crowd tends to shy away from AP courses.

And now I meet a man with a million watts of energy and chemistry exploding all around us, and he’s married and wants me to hire me to have a baby for him and his wife. I squeeze my eyes shut and sigh. Time to leave the pity party, Lourdes, while you still have a shred of dignity. I flop onto my side and wait for sleep to take me.

The next morning, I wake to Toby jumping on the bed, squealing, “Mommy, cancakes!” My sister is standing at the foot of the bed, making sure he doesn’t topple off.

“Cancakes?” I grab his little warm body and pull him close for a hug. “I think you mean
pancakes
, buddy.” I kiss him on the top of his head, and he wiggles free and slides off the bed to run back into the kitchen, where Rachel must already have a batch of ‘cancakes,’ because the house smells like an IHOP. Not only is she awesome with kids, but she inherited all of the great cooking genes.

“Did you sleep okay?”

I toss the comforter aside and sit on the edge of the bed.

“Not really. This is harder than I thought it would be. I feel like I wouldn’t want any of these people to be my parents if I had a choice. It’s such a big responsibility making sure a baby is going to good people.” Rachel sits down next to me and places her hand on my knee.

“No parents are perfect, honey. You just have to follow your instincts and go with the people you think will love their baby like you love Toby. They don’t have to be filthy rich or famous or big time professionals, just two responsible people who have hearts big enough to share their love and their lives with a child.”

“But what if they just think they want a baby and they’re not sure, or what if they’re using a baby to fill a hole in their life? I’m so afraid I’ll get too far into this and learn something horrible about the couple I’ve chosen.” I groan and prop my elbows on my knees and hold my face in my hands. “This is impossible. I’m just going to have to take a year off school.”

“Oh stop it. You are not. You just met these people. Give them a chance to prove themselves. And remember, all kinds of people have babies—trashy people, poor people, people with psych problems or drug addictions. But the people you’re talking with are screened for all of that. They’re good people who can’t expand their family on their own, and they’re looking for help, not judgment.”

She’s right. I shouldn’t be so quick to judge. Maybe Malibu Barbie and Ken deserve another meeting, and I never actually got to meet with the Weavers. I wonder how that happened. I need to call the agency and follow up.

“You’re right. I’m being too picky. I’ll have the agency set up a few more meetings. I’d like to meet the Weavers anyway. I can’t imagine how they mixed up my couples.”

“Maybe it’s fate,” she says, patting my knee. “Time for cancakes. Come on.”

“Stop encouraging that. Remember, I’m an English major. I can’t have my son running around speaking grammatical gibberish.” I smile, and she rolls her eyes when Toby races back into the room and jumps into my arms. When he’s had enough of my hugging, he climbs behind me and begins to jump on the bed again. I watch him with a twinge of jealousy. It’s just not fair that kids get all the energy and adults are left worn out and sleepy. We must use it all up when we’re little until there is just enough left to live the rest of our lives half-dazed.

Toby suddenly stops jumping and squats down to examine something by his feet. A smile breaks out on his face and he yells
pone
as he resumes jumping with my phone in his chubby hand.

“That’s Mommy’s phone.” I pronounce
phone
with an f sound in an attempt to correct his grammar, but it’s useless. He continues to jump, but now he’s holding it over his head chanting,
pone, pone, pone.
Ok, so it’s cute. I can’t help but laugh. The phone vibrates with a text, and Toby’s expression turns serious as he hands it to me.

“Mommy’s,” he says.

“Thank you, little man. Let’s go eat pancakes.” I take the phone from him and follow him into the kitchen, where Rachel has prepared a breakfast that would make Paula Dean proud. We sit down, and I glance at the text I just received.

I’m pretty sure I hijacked the right phone number last night, but since I haven’t received a response, I wanted to extend the invitation again. Fiction, tonight, ten o’clock, please. –Freedom

Shit. I thought if I ignored him, he would go away. No such luck. I fiddle with my necklace while I think of how to respond. I could just keep trying the silent treatment. Surely he wouldn’t keep sending texts to someone who never responds, would he?

“Earth to Lourdes!” Rachel yells, and I look up at her.

“One or two?”

“Oh, uh, two please. Sorry.”

“Important text?”

“More like insistent.”

She slides two pancakes on my plate and one onto Toby’s.

“Who’s being insistent? Is it a guy?” She says, her voice hopeful.

Rachel is usually hell-bent on finding me a boyfriend, but the surrogacy thing has put a stop to that lately, so I’m surprised she’s being suggestive. She points her spatula at a plate of bacon and silently encourages me to take some, so I do.

“No, it’s not a guy. I mean, it’s a guy, but not like that. What happened to staying away from men until this surrogacy thing is over?”

“I know. I forgot—force of habit. So who’s the text from?” She’s avoiding direct eye contact with me while she fixes Toby’s plate. It almost feels like she knows something, but there’s no way she could.

“One of the potential fathers.”

She stops with a spoonful of freshly cut fruit midair.

“One of the daddies is texting you?”

“Yeah, he wants to show me where he works or something so I don’t judge him by his profession and take them off my list, but they weren’t on my list in the first place. I was supposed to meet the Weavers, but instead, this guy and his wife showed up last night. It’s really weird.”

She finishes dumping fruit on Toby’s plate when Ivy swoops into the room with Blake.

“Blake, is it ethical for a potential father to be texting Lourdes and wanting to show her where he works?” she says to Blake as he pulls out a chair for Ivy. Before he can answer, she turns her attention to me.