Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (68 page)

T
he house is dark
, but there’s the faint sound of music from upstairs.

Where’s my wife.

I can’t stop saying it. It’s like there’s something possessive about the way it sounds that pulls at something primal and something caveman inside of me.

I follow the music up the stairs, hearing it get louder and louder as I make my way down the hallway towards her bedroom door. There’s no plan here, only this burning, roaring need to bring this whole thing to a head, right here and right now.

No more games. No more using this idea of us being employer and employee as this absurd excuse to deny the obvious magnetic pull between us.

I pause just outside her door, the sound of loud, raucous country music blasting from her room.

I grin. None of that obnoxious club music, no bullshit light beer, and no clingy club-skanks with their hands all over me.

Looks like the party was right here all along.

I grin as I twist the knob and swing the door wide open.

I
freeze
at the sight of Natalie, standing right there in the middle of the room.

Totally. Fucking. Naked.

She shrieks instantly, jumping away and snatching at the covers on her bed, which only has the effect of presenting her perfect, sweet little peach of an ass to me.

“What the
fuck
is wrong with you!?”

She whirls back to me, holding a sheet to her body as she reaches over and turns down the music. She glares at me. “Ever heard of
knocking?
”

“Yeah, but I’m seriously inclined to skip it from now on.”

Her face goes bright red and she glares at me again. “Well?” she says indignantly.

I grin as I lean against the door frame, my eyes hungrily taking in the scene in front of me. “I mean
,
it’s nothing I haven’t seen bef-”

“Would you
please
look away?” She groans, shooting me a look.

“No.”

The room goes still as her eyes go wide. There’s country music playing softly in the background, a warm breeze coming in through the double doors from the terrace, and
damn
if I can’t stop staring at how fucking beautiful she is.

We stand there for a moment, both of us glaring at the other, our eyes saying all the shit the silence isn’t. There’s a flush to her cheeks and something she clearly wants to say hanging on her lips.

But we say nothing at all.

I can feel the blood and beast roaring inside as I move into the room, my eyes locked on her standing there as I step towards her.

“You can’t just
come in
here,” she says softly, still holding that sheet to her flawless, nude body.

“It’s my house.”

Her lip quivers. “Well it’s my room.”

I take another step towards her, my eyes never leaving hers. I watch as she rakes her teeth across her bottom lip, and that small little gesture gets my cock throbbing hard as stone.

“What do you want.”

“I just wanted to say goodnight to my wife.” I watch her chest rise and fall with her breath.

“Where were you.”

I grin. “Hey, just like a
real
married couple.”

Her cheeks flush and she drops her chin down to hide the small smile there.

“I was at a club with some friends.”

She looks up, her eyes flashing something she’s clearly trying to hide, and I keep going, because I have to push this.

I have to push
her
.

“Just some drinks, some dancing.” I pause. “Some girls.”

I can watch the fire blaze up in her bright blue eyes when I say it, her whole body tensing as she bristles.

“Good thing we’re not a real couple or you might just be jealous.”

She swallows quickly and nods icily. “Good thing.”

I step closer.

“You said goodnight, you can go now,” she says quietly, her eyes flitting across mine and her perfect pink lips pursed like a thin white line across her face.

I’m rapidly approaching the point of no return here. She’s standing there like a fucking goddess, chewing on her lip, her eyes flashing fire at me, and her pulse beating quickly in the hollow of her neck. I can see the hard nubs of her nipples poking teasingly out from the sheet in front of her chest.

“Not yet I didn’t.”

“Well say it.”

Jesus, I want her. I mean I
really
want
her
- her as in all of her, not just her body, as much as I want that.

And it scares the shit out of me.

I want every single inch of her, her present and her past. I want to know her better than anyone has before. And I want her because she’s not throwing herself at me - because she’s at no point ever wanted me for what people think I
should
be from the media bullshit and the hype surrounding me.

She stands there, defiant, holding her ground, not giving in, and not doing what so many other girls I know would do here in this moment.

And that’s when it hits me.

I want her because she doesn’t want me.

I move closer, and I can’t even stop myself.

“Austin-”

Her eyes dart across mine as she clutches the sheet in her fists.

“What are you-”

“Saying goodnight.”

And then I’m kissing her - kissing her harder and fiercer than I’ve ever kissed a woman in my entire life. I’m pouring every single thing I have no fucking clue how to say into that kiss as she melts into me.

It’s fierce, and wild, and she’s moaning into me, kissing me back.

But there’s something missing, and I know it. This is need, not want. Her tongue is sliding into my mouth, and my hands are moving down to cup her perfect, bare ass. And I’m roaring inside for this. I’m tied up and twisted in her arms with those satin lips against mine.

But it’s not quite right, because she’s
right with what she said before.

There’s a power dynamic here that feels fucked up and wrong. Because damn if she isn’t kissing me right back, and molding that tight little body against mine through the sheet, but I know it’s because I’ve pushed and teased and wound her up to this moment.

And with literally any other girl, I’d be more than fine letting this happen. Anyone standing here basically naked in my arms and I’d be bending her over that bed, tangling my hand in her hair, and sliding every thick inch of my cock deep inside of her.

But this isn’t working, not like this.

Not with her.

Because I want her to
want me
, not just
give in
to me.

Every other part of me but that one traitorous thought screams at me to shut the fuck up, but it won’t be ignored.

She has to want me.

And that’s going to be the fun part, if I can survive it.

She’s sucking at my lip as I pull away, moving my mouth to her ear to brush against the lobe there.

“
Natalie.
”

“
Yes?
”

I growl into her ear. “
Natalie.
”

“
Austin-”

“Goodnight.”

She freezes as I pull away, grinning.

She blinks, her breath coming in staggered gasps and her lips bright red and marked from my kisses.

Her eyes narrow at me. “You are
ridiculous
.”

“This isn’t happening until you
want it
to happen.”

Her face goes flushed red as she clutches the sheet tight against her body. “What the
hell
do you think that just was?” she says heatedly, her cheeks flushed and pink.

I shake my head, stepping into her again and feeling her shiver against me as I move to her ear again. “This is going to wait until you’re
begging
for it, princess.”

Her whole body tenses before she moves back from me, her whole face wild and angry. “Well then you’re going to have a rough time,” she says icily.

I turn and head to the door, gritting my teeth at what a fucking moral high-ground idiot I’m being. I pause just outside her door, turning.

“Look-”

The door slams in my face.

Nice job, dick.

T
wo frosty days
of ignoring Austin later, duty calls.

It’s the first day of team practice, which is apparently a big deal if you’re into that sort of thing.

And I’m not.

But - as Austin so
handily
reminded two nights ago in my room, this is a job. This is a
role
, and so here I am, playing the part and dressing the part of the big sports star’s wife. I’m painted up, coifed, and dressed to the nines - Dior top, Chanel skirt, Louboutin heels, at ten o’clock in the morning standing on
astroturf
along the sidelines of the stadium where the team is running drills.

I might be out of place on a football field, but dressing a part and looking perfectly put together is something I was born doing.

Thanks, Mom.

I can clean up. I might roll my eyes at it, but my mother groomed me for this life and circumstances such as these where I’m here to smile and look pretty in order to support “my man.” And even if I never really wanted that, here I am anyways.

God
, she’d be thrilled.

This is
literally
her dream - her darling daughter standing poised and put together, smiling at the right times, “engaged and yet unobtrusive, like a lady ought to be.”

Of course, my mother’s dream might involve a bit more horse racing or polo, but I’m sure she’d be pleased nonetheless.

The sidelines where I stand are crowded with managers and PR teams, media cameras and reporters, coaches, agents, and of course, other players’ wives looking about as interested in what’s going on on the field as I am. Being here hits every single pressure point in me for uncomfortable situations, though. People I don’t know, a place I don’t understand, and a thing I’m not familiar with.

One of the catering staff comes around with a tray full of champagne flutes, which I take despite the time of day. I take a calming swig from the glass, eyeing the other wives, clustered together like a high school clique simultaneously smiling and shooting daggers at each other.

They all look vaguely
plastic
. It’s really the only word I can think of, looking at the lot of them. Hell, they’re all dressed the same, in exactly the same yoga pants, stiletto heels, and Balmain jacket combo like it’s some sort of uniform I didn’t get the memo about. I’m almost suddenly self conscious about the far more formal outfit I’m wearing until I take another large swallow of champagne and decide I don’t care.

These women are all the same sort of girl as the lovely Tina - vapid, social climbers and party girls all looking for the next big fish to land.

I grimace as I realize that for all intents and purposes, I
am
that girl now.

Gross.

I quickly knock back the rest of the bubbly in my hands, smiling at the waiter who comes by with a tray as I replace it with a full one.

“So,
Nat
is it?”

I turn to see the flock of plastic-looking wives approaching me as a group, a woman with pink highlights, dagger-red nails, and a diamond nose stud at their helm as they collectively size me up with little sneers on their faces.

Except, same as with Tina, I’ve played this game before. I’ve had
years
of practice tactfully dealing with catty girls and cliquey bullshit like this. And besides, I’ve got a secret weapon here.

I don’t give a shit about any of this.

Judge away, you crows.

I smile plastically right back at pink highlights girl and her gaggle of gold-digger shrews. They can honestly make whatever judgments they want about who I am, what I’m wearing - any of it. Because in six months, I walk away from all this, and they’ll still be here harping on each other on the sidelines.

“Natalie, or Nat,” I say evenly, smiling thinly at the front girl.

“Virginity, hi.”

I almost choke on my champagne.

“Uh, hi.”

She taps the side of her glass with a long, sharp red nail as she raises a brow at me. “Wow, so, Austin Taylor huh?”

The plastic crew behind her all follow her lead, raising eyebrows and looking at me with a sort of appreciation.

What, are they
impressed?

The answer is of course yes, with the whole group of them eyeing me with what now looks like envy and reverence, all because of the “big star” I’ve “managed to land.”

“How’d you manage that, sweetie?”
Virginity
lets her gaze drop to my apparently non-union Chanel skirt, her manicured brow arching dramatically.

I want to roll my eyes. Or puke. Or tell them to spend one night in that man’s house and realize what a ridiculous man-child he is. I want to tell them I don’t
care
about any of this and that I’m just here for the money, before I almost laugh, realizing that probably is
exactly
the situation of every other woman here.

And of course, I’m here to play the role I’m supposed to play, as much as I want to do all of the above.

I push all of it to the side as I calmly smile at them, batting my eyes and playing the part. “Oh, well, you know,” I brush a stray lock of hair behind my hair with a nail, “he’s a
great
guy, and I just fell in love with-”

Virginity starts to giggle, followed quickly by her whole crew, and I frown.

She quickly puts a hand on my arm, shaking her head. “Oh, honey, no offense meant.” She shakes her head sympathetically as the rest of the wives laugh behind her.

“You can drop the act though, the cameras are on the boys now, not us.”

I furrow my brow, quickly taking a sip of champagne. “Oh, I’m not-”

“Right, true love?” Virginity rolls her eyes as she grins at me. “You found true love with a man-child who hits other guys for a living and spends his nights banging as many skanks as possible, right? Just like every little girl’s dream?”

My jaw drops a little as her whole demeanor changes from frosty-cold alpha-chick to smiling and putting an arm around my shoulders.

“Welcome to the jaded wives club, sweetie,” she says with a laugh, nodding at the other women in our little cluster. “Population, us.”

She shrugs. “We all knew what we were getting into, it just goes with the territory.” She nods at a woman with perfect braids and long dark lashes. “Lana here is on her fourth.”

Lana shrugs. “I’ve only had to fuck Josh three times, and we’ve been married six months now.”

She says it like a brag, nodding to whoever Josh is out there on the field amongst the grunting, tackling men.

“Honey, it’s the life.” Virginity shrugs. “Get paid, girl. Work what you got, right?”

She looks me up and down again with a raised brow. “I didn’t think this was Austin’s type but, hey, if it works, right?”

I frown. “Type?”

“Oh,
hoe
, spelled capital S-L-U-T,” she says with a wry grin before smiling at me. “But you look classy - put together.”

I laugh as I take a large sip of champagne. “Thanks?”

And just like that, I’m
in
. And these women aren’t actually that bad, as I suddenly find myself in the middle of a bizarrely personal conversation about IUD’s. Jaded, obviously, and morally questionable, but hey, they have points.

“Game faces, ladies,” Lana murmurs suddenly, smiling and tossing her hair back as a camera crew starts to make it’s way over. Practice has apparently ended while I’ve been engrossed in intimate details of Virginity’s choice of birth control, and I look up to see the players pulling off helmets and slapping each other on the back as they walk off the field.

And there, on the side of the field, is Austin
…surrounded
by a gaggle of giggling, fawning cheerleaders. I narrow my eyes as I watch him sling an arm over one girl’s shoulders, laughing at something she says. Another one in a small little cheer skirt and a high ponytail moves into his other side and strokes his arm, batting her eyes at him. A camera guy moves in and starts snapping pictures of the clichéd big macho quarterback with the two giggling cheerleaders in his arms.

I’m scowling without even knowing how or why, quickly draining my God knows what number glass of champagne as I glare daggers at the two girls fawning all over my fake husband. I realize my hand is in a fist as my face goes dark.

“Oh,
girl
.”

I snap my head up to see Virginity, shaking her head at me.

“You’re gonna have to let that go.”

I quickly smile, pushing the emotion from my face and casually running a hand through my hair. “What?”

She cocks a brow at me. “Caring,” she says with a shrug. “This is about looking after
you
, not him. Smile, look pretty for him, and let him do him.” She shrugs and smiles at me again. “Like I said, get paid, and do you.”

I glance back at Austin, still smiling for the fucking cameras with the two girls. “That’s him ‘doing him’?”

“Yep.” She shrugs. “Of course, you can get smart with it too.” She nods back at the gaggle of wives behind us. “Lana’s only fucked Josh a couple times, but she’s got that shit locked
down
, you know?”

I frown. “Locked down?”

Virginity grins. “Get knocked up, honey.” She shrugs. “I don’t care what sort of prenup you sign, that’s a guaranteed cash-flow for at least another eighteen.”

I wrinkle my nose, shaking my head.

“Yeah, sad, but it’s the way it is, honey,” Virginity says, polishing off the last of her champagne. “Welcome to the game.”

* * *

I
’m
on yet another glass of champagne, standing there on the sidelines glaring at Austin, but I just don’t care.

Because I’m
mad
.

And it’s the bubbly that’s even making me admit that to myself, but it’s true anyways.

I’m mad, and I feel like I’m being mocked - like I’m being made a fool of while my “husband” flirts and gets handsy with a bunch of cheerleaders with me standing right here like some trophy wife cliché.

I know we’re not a “real” couple - I know what we are is set up. But it’s the
principal
of it. Because this might be a fake marriage, but that doesn’t mean I have to sit here and be
real
humiliated.

“Oh you are so bad, Austin!”

The sound of one of the giggly little cheerleaders’ high-pitched, flirty voice has me grinding my teeth, and I turn to see her laughing as she leans up to kiss Austin on the cheek.

I almost crush the champagne flute in my hand, glaring at Austin once more and feeling so stupid.

“We all knew what we were getting into, it just goes with the territory.”

And I did too. Okay, I might not have known who Austin was exactly when I said yes sitting at that picnic table - or hell, when I said it
again
to some preacher in a Vegas chapel when we were drunk. But I knew what the score was. I knew this was basically the same game I’d been born to play - the one where I follow in my mother’s footsteps of being a conversation piece for some man.

Elegant, demure,
sidelined
.

I’ve done
“sidelined.” I did it for two years with Vince, and I’ll be damned if I jump from one situation like that to another.

The hell with this. The hell with “doing my job” or “playing the part,” because I sure as hell don’t need to stand here watching
that
. I pound back the rest of my glass before setting it on a passing tray.

Screw this
.

I storm away, leaving Austin to his clichés.