Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (5 page)

“Yeah, better bring the whole thing then.”

Karen nods eagerly as she runs off.

“Nice stuff we’re drinking, sugar.”

I shrug casually. “It’s all we drink down in Bull country.”

He cracks up. “Yeah, the land of milk and honey is it?”

“Yep.” I resist the urge to grin as I sip on my drink.

“That why you keep losing?”

I stick my tongue out at him, which is pretty much the first indication that I should put the glass
down
instead of taking another quick sip like I do.

“We’re rebuilding.”

Karen returns to the table with our two-thousand-dollar bottle of bourbon, blushing as Holden thanks her with a wink. He pours a generous refill into both our glasses before raising his up.

“Well, here’s to building, or rebuilding, or whatever.”

We clink glasses, and I’m bringing mine to my lips again when he knocks his back in one gulp and reaches for the bottle again. He doesn’t look phased at all as he refills his glass.

“So how far back am I?”

I swallow the doubt that forms in my throat. “Uh, a few.”

“I better keep going then.”

He downs the second one right there, not
once
breaking eye contact with me and grinning right through the shot.

Shit.

Because somehow, in an absurd and juvenile show of bravado, I’ve decided to go toe-to-toe on drinks with
notorious
party-boy drinker Holden Cade.

And something tells me I just bit off more than I can chew.

Or more than I can drink.

D
amn this girl
can keep up. I mean, I can
drink
and this chick is right there with me.

Not to mention, she’s about half my fucking size, which is insane.

Tolerances aside, we’re both
definitely
feeling it. Both of us are getting silly - red faces, snorted jokes, loopy giggles and conversation that’s entirely too loud for a place like this.

And I’m having a fucking blast. Hell, I’m having a better time than I have had in
months
, which is no small thing.

I walked into this dinner with a chip on my shoulder. Hell, a
battle plan,
to wear this girl down and show her who’s really calling the shots here with this deal. After this morning’s little trained monkey show, I showed up here tonight ready to throw down.

Not to mention, there’s the fact that little miss number-cruncher seems to be hell bent on letting me know she’s immune to my charms and my celebrity status, which I honestly don’t believe for a second.

And even if I completely agree with Randy that anything happening with Archie Jacobs’s daughter is a terrible idea, it’s the
principle
of her acting like she’s “above” me that has my blood going. It’s the implication that she’s “immune” to me that gets the competitive instinct in me roaring like an animal.

Which is why I’ve walked in here tonight ready to use every single charming trick and panty-melting line in the book to let her know she is
definitely
not immune to me.

Except an hour in, it’s becoming pretty clear that I’ve
woefully
underestimated this girl. And for the first somewhat concerning moment in a long time, part of me wonders if she
actually might
be immune to my bullshit.

Or she’s just really fucking good at playing this game right back.

The bourbon is loosening her tongue though - well, if we’re being honest, it’s loosening
both
our tongues - and we’re starting to move
way
past “professional business dinner” and into personal territory.

But hell, I’m game, and part of me still wants to see how far things can get pushed before the whole thing blows up.

“So, any special someone you’ll have to say goodbye to if you move to Houston?”

I snort. “Special someone?” I grin at her. “Well gee, 1956, are you asking about my
main squeeze?
”

She rolls her eyes, her cheeks flushed from the bourbon. “I mean do you have a girlfriend, ass.”

The question
does
kind of catch me off-guard, but I quickly shove that aside as I take another swig of my drink and grin at her.

“You wanna know if I’m going steady with anyone?”

She sighs exasperatedly. “You’re impossible, you know.”

I laugh “I try.” I raise the glass as I shrug. “Which, you know, is probably the reason the answer is no; there’s no ‘special’ someone I’ll be leaving behind.” I smirk at her. “That is, unless my contract stipulates Randy staying behind, which I could probably be persuaded on.”

London laughs loudly, and I realize I’m grinning right along with her, my eyes just
locked
on those soft pink lips and the musical sound of that laughter filling the low light between us.

The food comes, and my stomach instantly gurgles at the sight of her steak.

“I didn't realize my personal life would be of any interest to a
scout
.” I wink at her, loving the way that flush on her cheeks gets a
little
darker when I do.

She hides it away though as she shrugs casually. “I just need to know you won't be as distracted on
my
field as you were on yours."

I snort out a laugh, shaking my head.

Damn, this girl can give as good as she gets. I lift my glass in her direction, still chuckling.

“Touché.”

I’ve been pretty fucking committed to building a serious booze tolerance over the last few months, but the bourbon is going straight to my head. On top of that, I’m
sorely
regretting my stupid pride and my choice of trying to make a healthy statement with dinner.

What the fuck was I thinking with
steamed
vegetables?

Across from me, London is slicing off tender looking pieces of perfectly seared steak. I watch with a silent groan as she brings the fork to her mouth, her lips closing delicately around it as her eyes close in pleasure.

Goddamn, how does this girl make eating a fucking steak look
sexy
.

Problem is, now there’s
two
hungers growling inside of me, watching her as she chews on her dinner. I’m ignoring my own plate as I watch her stab at another bite, her soft, plump lips closing again over the fork in this tantalizingly sensual way, and right then, I’m fucking
dying
for a bite of steak.

I’m dying for a bite of
her
too.

What the fuck am I thinking?

I watch her like some sort of weirdo for another two bites before she glances up and pauses, the fork halfway to her mouth. She half-grins this amused smile at me, like she’s just caught me.

“Aww, is someone regretting their choice in dinner?”

She wags her brows at me as I feign disinterest.

“Nope.” I quickly grab my fork and stab at my soggy broccoli.

It tastes about as mediocre as I knew it would.

London giggles through another bite, shaking her head.

“How’s that pride taste?”

I force myself to swallow the broccoli, which only serves to make her giggle again.

“Alright, I can’t even watch you try and shove that down. Here.”

London stabs a thick slice of steak with her fork and holds it out towards me with a grin.

I glare at her with a grin on my own face and shake my head.

“Nah, I’m good.”

She rolls her eyes, swaying the fork back and forth seductively. Tempting me.

“Aww, c’mon…” she coos, making a pouty face as she dangles the tasty morsel of steak in front of me. “Just try it.”

Fuck it
.

I lean forward, and I can
almost
taste it when she suddenly yanks the fork away and pops the bite into her own mouth.

“You’re fucking terrible.”

She almost chokes as she giggles, her eyebrows dancing at me as she washes the bite down with a big swig of her bourbon. I sigh as I take a mediocre bite of my fish, watching as she forks another succulent piece of steak into her mouth. She catches me staring again and closes her eyes as she starts to make these exaggeratedly drawn out “mmmm” sounds.

Damn
.

And just like that, I’m not even thinking about fucking food anymore. Because those sounds coming from her closed lips sound a whole lot like another kind of sound that I’d fucking
love
to hear coming out of her mouth.

I put my fork down, grinning as I swirl the bourbon around my glass.

“That good, huh?”

She close-mouthed smiles at me, nodding before looking back to her plate.

“You make those kind of noises for anything else?”

She swallows as she looks up, frowning and shrugging. “Only when I’ve got a delicious piece of meat in my mouth.”

I grin broadly and wickedly, watching her stop suddenly as the innuendo just hangs in the air.

And I’m waiting for her to clam up or turn that adorable shade of pink again, but suddenly she starts
laughing
.

A loud, snorting, uncontrollable case of the giggles, and it’s fucking contagious.

She throws her head back, bringing a hand up to wipe the corners of her mouth as she shakes her head. “Oh God, sorry, I'm apparently in middle school."

I just shake my head, still laughing.

“Okay, sorry, here.” She forks another bite and holds it out to me again.

I give her a look.

“Seriously, I won’t pull it away this time, I promise.”

“I’m walking away from this deal if you do.”

She grins. “Heard loud and clear.”

I lean in and take the bite, watching as she almost subconsciously gently opens and closes her mouth as she feeds it to me. And I’m still watching those lips as I pull way.

The moment hangs in the air, before I close my eyes and chew.

“Want another?" she asks playfully, quieter this time.

I moan around the bite before I just shove my own plate away from me.

“Hell yes.”

She giggles as she holds another bite out for me, only this time slowly drawing it back away from me until I’m leaning halfway across the damn table. It’s only when I’m up with my palms on the table and my mouth inches from hers that she swallows quickly and lets me take the bite.

Yeah, this is decidedly no longer anything
resembling
any business dinner I’ve ever heard of.

I sit back, my eyes locked on hers as I chew. My head’s spinning from the booze, and the room feels warmer as the blood roars through my ears.

I swallow, and we sit like that in silence, letting the moment throb in the air between us before it lifts like a veil.

London swallows quickly and looks down into her glass.

“Think we’re tied yet?”

She grins as she looks back up, tucking a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear, her cheeks flushed.

“I lost track.”

“I’ll cheers to that.”

She snorts a laugh as we raise and clink our glasses, and I watch almost dumbfounded as she tosses back the contents like water.

Where the
hell
does a girl like this come from and how have I never met one before?

I splash more whiskey into both our glasses, feeling
decidedly
drunk and heading quickly down the road to “wasted.”

Dessert comes at some point that I don’t quite remember even ordering. Because somehow, I’m having the best fucking dinner I’ve had in fucking years.

I frown across the table.

“Did you not get anything?”

She shakes her head. “I’m good.”

I shrug. “Suit yourself.”

Time to turn the tables.

I take an exaggerated bite, making wildly inappropriate and loud “mmmm” sounds like she did.

London rolls her eyes and grins as she gives me the middle finger.

I almost choke as I laugh around my bite of chocolate cake.

“Here.”

I hold out a bite on my fork, grinning wolfishly at her.

London shakes her head again.

“Seriously, I’m okay.”

“You’re drooling for it.”

She holds my eyes a second too long, the unspoken double meaning lingering like a blush before she quickly looks away.

My cock fucking
throbs
in my pants.

This is not good.

There are a thousand other girls in this city I could go get hard over - girls I could actually
do
something about it with.

London fucking Jacobs is
not
one of those girls. In fact, she’s the very last goddamn name on that list. This isn’t just some girl I’m out to dinner with. This is a
scout
; someone who’s got the power to get me a deal to get me out of this place. On top of that, I’m pretty sure with her stake in the Bulls team itself, she’ll basically be my boss if and when I
do
take this deal.

Like I said, terrible idea. Now, if only my fucking dick would get on board with that sentiment, we’d be good.

I’m still holding the bite of chocolate cake out to her, watching her as she quickly darts her tongue out to wet her lips in this unintentional but very much sensual way.

“Okay,
one
bite.”

She leans forward, and I pull the fork away.

I start laughing.

“
God
you’re the worst!”

But she’s laughing right along with me; biting her lip, her eyes dancing across my face, and setting off every single warning bell inside my head.

Bad idea. Fucking horrible idea. Walk away.

Except I don’t.

“Here, I’ll be good this time.”

I hold the fork out again.

But this time, when she leans in, somehow the fork falls out of the way, and without even really knowing how I got there, my lips are right against hers.

Kissing her.

Oh,
shit
.

F
uck
, I’m kissing London Jacobs. I’m leaning across a fucking restaurant table like a chump,
kissing
a girl.

A girl who happens to be my possible new boss’s daughter. Hell, a girl who happens to
also
be my possible new boss.

There are a thousand different ways why this is a shit idea, and yet here I am, still lip to lip, my hand still reaching up on autopilot to cup her jaw as I start to open my mouth for hers.

Because fuck it if she ain’t kissing me right back.
Kissing
me, not slapping me across the face. Her tongue darts past her parted lips, teasing against mine; the world’s softest moan falling from her lips.

This is a mistake. This is a train-wreck in slow motion - a hot, sexy, sinful fucking train-wreck.

And I can’t stop it from happening.

But of course, it has to end at some point. She pulls away first, her face flushed, and her eyes fluttering open to look right into mine before she sits back in her seat. She looks down at the table in front of her, blinking quickly as a hand comes up to touch her lips, like she can’t quite comprehend what sin they just committed.

And for the first time in, well, longer than I can actually remember, I
don’t
actually know what to say.

I’m mulling over words that feel stupid, frowning slightly, when she simply reaches over, plucks the fork from my hand, and brings it to her lips. She chews the bite of cake as her eyes draw back to mine, never blinking, not looking away this time.

I feel sober.

Well, sort of.

I feel like someone poured cold water on my head, bringing me momentarily out of that warm swimming drunk and sharply into the here and now.

“We, uh-”

She shakes her head. “That was-”

“Drinking, right,” I mutter, clearing my throat and pushing the last of my glass of bourbon away from me. I look up to see the flush settling into her cheeks as she pushes her hair back from her face. She frowns slightly.

“That- I mean, we-”

“Loud and clear, darlin’,” I say quickly, nodding and trying to salvage whatever sense of “business dinner” this was supposed to be.

You know, before this whole thing went off the fucking
rails
and somehow ended up with me
kissing
my would-be new team owner’s daughter.

We sit in silence, through a busser clearing the table, and through Karen stammering and dropping the bill.

London grabs it, making a big show of plucking it out of my reaching fingers and sticking a corporate looking card into the check presenter.

“Oh, this is on us, of course,” she says primly, still avoiding my eyes.

“Right, business dinner,” I say, almost on autopilot.

She nods. “Right, that.”

Karen brings the bill back over, but this time I’m not even hearing her gushing as I just stare at London with a mix of stunned confusion and amusement.

She signs the check and stands, swaying slightly as she clears her throat.

Good, she
is
drunk.

And I don’t mean that in a creepy predator way, I mean “good” as in “good, thank
God
she’s drunk because I’m wasted, and if a girl that small
wasn’t
drunk by now, I’d be fucking worried.”

She still hasn’t met my eyes since that first stunned look post kiss. Truth be told, I’m not even sure what the hell I’d do or say even if she did.

I don’t
kiss
women - by which I mean, not in that goofy, over-the-candle-lit dinner table, Disney movie way.

I
fuck
women. No romance, no strings, no goddamn candlelight
fucking.

This is new.

London clears her throat as she wobbles a little bit on her heels. She slips her wallet back into her purse and slings it over her shoulder.

“So, goodnight,” she says abruptly, all business, all ball-breaker LJ Jacobs.

I rake my fingers across my jaw.

“Yeah, goodnight.”

“We’ll speak-” she breaks to hiccup once, her cheeks going bright pink as I grin.

“We’ll speak tomorrow.”

She’s talking in a daze, clearly as drunk as I am. Hell, probably more so, considering she’s half my size.

“Yeah, sounds, uh, sounds good.”

I’m stuttering, like I’ve
never
stuttered in front of a girl before.

The fuck was in that bourbon.

“Okay, so…” she trails off again, this time she looks up, her eyes catching mine for just a second before she looks away again.

“See ya.”

She turns, and I’m watching her walk away in a daze, letting the distance grow between us that I know
has
to grow between us after the shit that just happened. But it’s the jingle of her car keys that snaps me right out of that daze.

Fuck, no.

I know the last thing I should be doing after the crap I just pulled is
chasing
her, but she's wasted. She’s drunk as hell, and playing with car keys, and Brandon’s ghost sure as shit won’t let me let her walk away and get into a car.

Not like this.

I’m out the front door of the restaurant before I know it, jogging to where she’s walking on unsteady feet towards the parking lot.

Her breath catches loudly as I grab her arm and pull her around. Her eyes go wide, and her hands jolt up to my chest as she looks up into my face.

“I thought we said no more of that,” she says quickly, breathlessly.

I swallow all the crazy shit I
want
to say and all the crazy shit I want to
do
in that moment, hiding it all with a token grin.

“I actually came out to tell you you're in no shape to drive."

She blinks, her mouth opening slightly in surprise before her brows knit together in a scowl.

She suddenly pushes me back with her hands against my chest, stepping away from me.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly, her face flushed as she takes a deep breath of air.

“Yeah, no,” I shake my head as I shrug. “You’re not.”

She glares at me. “Hey, maybe
you
can’t handle your whiskey, but I-”

She hiccups the world’s most perfectly comically timed hiccup.

“Goddamnit,” she mutters, her shoulders slumping before she looks back at me. “Okay, fine, you’re right.”

“I know.”

She half-smirks at me.

“So,” I step towards her against every fucking warning bell in my head. “So what if we got you a cab home instead.”

She sucks her bottom lip, raking her teeth across it as she eyes me, as if mulling it over.

“Okay, fine.”

“Atta girl, sugar.”

“Don’t push it.” She arches a brow at me, swaying on my feet myself.

I chuckle.

“Where are you staying?”

“The Delmar, downtown. You know it?

I snort a laugh. “Yeah, I know it. Let’s go.”

London bristles. “Uh,
let’s
go?”

I’m already turning, raising a hand to the valet to hail a cab for us.

“Yeah,
let’s.
I know the Delmar because it’s across the fucking street from my condo.”

She blushes a little at what I know she thinks I was insinuating.

“Plus I should make sure you don’t puke all over some poor guy’s cab.”

She rolls her eyes. “I can
hold
my liquor just-”

She hiccups again, and we both immediately start cracking up.

A tiny little hatchback of a cab pulls up, and I open the door for her, my eyes lingering in spite of myself at the way her dress slides up high on her thigh as she climbs in. I slide into the backseat after her, swearing loudly at the stupidly small car as I immediately bang my knees against the seat in front of me. The cab guy immediately apologizes and slides it forward, but it’s still almost comical how much of the backseat my broad six-foot two-inch frame fills up.

London giggles at the way I’m hunched over cartoonishly in the seat, my head pressing into the low ceiling.

“You're a big guy," she says as if this is news to her.

"
Huge.
”

She blushes.

We pull away from the restaurant, and London closes her eyes as we weave through the city streets. I turn towards her at a stoplight, my gaze trailing slowly across her face, from her closed eyes to those full, soft lips. Streetlights fade trails across her skin, her eyelids fluttering and cheeks still flushed red from the whiskey.

Or maybe from me kissing her like that.

And I know I’m on a collision path here, but I’m powerless to stop it. I know I should just get out at the next light and just walk from there or get another cab, regardless of how close her hotel is to my condo. Because every second I stay in this car with her, on the way to her hotel, is another step closer to the mistake I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be able to say no to.

Because despite her being the most inappropriate girl on the planet for me to be thinking these sort of thoughts about - or maybe
because
she is - my cock is
pulsing
hard for her.

The cab makes a sharp turn, and as her eyes flutter open at the sudden movement, she turns and locks them with mine.

And she knows.

She knows the way I’m looking at her, and she knows damn well the way she’s looking at me back.

This might be a train wreck waiting to happen, but right there in that moment we both know we’re powerless to stop it, even if we wanted to.

And I’m pretty sure we don’t.