Quarterback's Surprise Baby (Bad Boy Ballers Book 2) (13 page)

“
Y
es
, coach,” I say. He pretty much always says the same thing, “The team is my number one priority.” It's true. I have to do my best to put Odell out of my mind. I'm clearly not in hers, and football is the one thing that has always been there for me. It's first. Number one. Gotta concentrate on winning some games.

Just then the coach's daughter comes in the room.

“Hey, you're—”

“Meet Gryphon James, Alexa,” Coach says. “This is my daughter. Don't get any ideas.” She's tall, blonde and stunning. Normally I wouldn't be able to stop getting ideas, but now it seems I’d have to force some. A woman like that holds no appeal for me anymore, despite the way she’s looking at me. Now I want more. Now I want Odell.

“Hey there,” I answer, forcing myself to smile that kind of smile that always makes the ladies cream their panties.

“It's nice to finally meet you,” she says, walking right over to me and picking an imaginary piece of lint off my chest before exaggeratedly brushing it away. “You're a superstar. My daddy always talks about you.” She looks up at me with her cornflower-blue eyes wide. “Always! It's Gryphon James this, and Gryphon James that. It seems you're pretty … exceptional.” She looks down my body and up again. “I bet it's true, in many ways.” How on earth is she saying this in front of her father, I wonder? No shame.

“Don't believe everything you hear,” I say, stepping back. This girl seems like trouble, even if she weren’t the coach’s daughter. I wish I could forget that Odell ever walked into my life, and took over my heart. Odell's just got a hold on me, or maybe my dick, and no amount of push-up bras and short shorts are going to change that. I just have to ride it out.

“Oh I don't,” she says coolly. “I’d like to find out for myself.”

“That's enough Alexa,” Coach interjects. “Griff, you're dismissed. Go run some laps.”

“Will do.” I get up slowly. My body's a little stiff after the last game, but my cock definitely isn’t from looking at this little cheesecake Alexa. It’s weird, since I just think of Odell for two seconds, and I am hard as a rock. Harder.

“Later, Coach,” I say.

“Bye Griffy!” his daughter adds in a singsong. What a little mess she is. Now I can see at least one reason Coach is so stressed all the time. Maybe I should mention her to Drake, if the guy’s so hard up.

Ah well maybe in a few months I'll be in the mood to give her what she wants. Once I'm over this Odell thing.

But I doubt it.

Anyway. From now on I have to listen to Coach. I need to win. And that's all. Train hard, be smart, call the right plays, and build my team. Eye on the prize.

So why does my heart keep telling me the prize is Odell?

S
andra hands me a beer
, but I decline, claiming I’m on a diet. She looks at me strangely. “I wish you had’ve told me before—now I have to drink them both!”

“Like that's such a problem for you, Sandra!” I laugh at her. “You can double-fist some beers with the best of them.”

Sandra keeps her mouth shut, but she's still looking at me. Lizzie elbows her.

“No worries, we can share,” Lizzie says. But Sandra keeps her eye on me.

We're in the stands at the stadium. It's a lot different than being in the luxury box—more fun since we can hear the crowd all around us going crazy for Griff and the rest of the team. The buzz in the air is electric, and a smile grows on my face when I hear people praise the quarterback, knowing that his child is growing in my belly. There's something about that feeling that lets me know that everything is going to be okay somehow, and it's not because of what’s going to happen to me. It’s because I am going to make it okay. There is no way that I won't fight like hell for this little girl or boy to have the best life, whether Griff wants to be part of it or not. I also know that with our genes, the little one will be a champ in whatever he or she chooses to do. I’m also determined to make his or her upbringing better than the one I had myself.

“This is a blast!” Liz says happily, obliviously. “Thanks for inviting me!” She's munching nachos and passing them around, and I take a couple.

“So you’ll take nachos, but no beer, huh,” Sandra says. “That’s an odd... diet,” she says knowingly.

“You missed your calling, girl. You should be a detective, not a lawyer.” I say softly enough that Lizzie won’t hear.

“I knew it!” she whispers, her voice excited. Her smile is radiant. “When are you due?”

“I don't know yet.” My eyes are trained on the field now.

“What are you guys going on about?” Lizzie asks, crunching away at her plate of nachos.

“Oh, Odell thinks she might go on vacation,” says Sandra. “I was just asking her when.”

“Ooh, where are you going to go?” Lizzie's interested now.

“Not sure,” I improvise. “Someplace warm, with a lot of hot men?”

“Well seems to me that's where we are now!” She gestures to the players. “There are tons of hotties here! Just look around the field! I don’t know about you guys, but I think that Gryphon James is one of the sexiest men alive. That body, that face, he’s perfect! Too bad I’m taken or I’d hit that shit—if I could get near it!”

“Well, that's interesting you say that Liz,” I admit. “Because I was dating him for a bit. We’re kind of on and off, I guess.”

“No way!' She's genuinely impressed. “You have to tell us—what’s he like in bed?” she leans toward me.

“Potent,” Sandra answers matter-of-factly. “Extremely potent.”

I snort as Liz leans back and nods to herself. “Just as I would expect. A hot dude like that, I bet he is.”

“Aren't you married, with a kid, Lizzie?” Sandra teases her.

“Married, not buried!” She grins.

“So you're not still dating?” Sandra asks me.

“I don't know, honestly,” I admit. “It's gotten complicated. And what with quitting my new job—”

“You quit!?” Lizzie exclaims. “What? Didn’t you just
get
this job? How come I miss everything?” We laugh.

“Yeah, I did quit, but I have a different dream now,” I explain.

“What is it?” Sandra asks.

“I’ve decided I’m going to start my own firm,” I say firmly. “And its mission will be to make lives better for girls and women in my profession, and maybe one day, all professions. The sky’s the limit. Anyway, I have a lot on the go that I want to make work, and I can’t concentrate on dating when I’ve got that on my mind.”

“Really? You, Odell? Helping people?” Sandra sits back. “I didn't know you would be up to doing something like that! I'm proud of you!”

“Thanks,” I smile. “Yeah, I didn't realize until I was hired at Smith Williams Smith exactly how hard it can be for women in this industry. And that is even when your father was an prominent member of the company, so much that your name is on the paperwork even before you become partner!” I shake my head. “Sure, some places are progressive, but women can't count on anything in this field, and I want to help change that.”

“Plus, it'll be hard to keep up your work schedule with a little one, won't it?” whispers Sandra as Lizzie waves for a hot dog.

“Yep,” I sigh. “Hey get me one of those too Liz! With extra sauerkraut!

“You want some ice cream too?” Lizzie asks, causing Sandra to laugh.

“Sauerkraut and ice cream might be just perfect for Odell right now,” she giggles.

I elbow her in the side. “Hush! The game's starting!”

I do my best to piece together what's happening on the field, but without those player's wives to teach me, I have to admit it’s a bit of a mystery. I need to study up on football if I'm going to understand what’s going on down there aside from touchdowns. Luckily, you don't need to understand the game to appreciate the sweet moves that Griff's making. It's as if he is perfectly focused. He seems to know where the ball is going to be at all times. He's always a few steps ahead of the others, and the way he runs reminds me of the grace of the ballet dancers of my youth—but with extra muscle, brawn, and tattoos. He rips up the field and the crowd is in the palm of his hand. I can't look away from him, and neither can anyone else. The hours go by easily, watching him dominate the field, and I'm in a dream thinking about him dominating me, when all of a sudden everyone starts screaming.

It's nearly halftime, and Griff's been tackled. He's on the bottom of a huge pile of South Carolina's players, and the crowd is on their feet yelling bloody murder.

It takes a while for them to get off of him, and when they do, he's laying there for a moment, while I internally freak out. Is he hurt? Is he ok? He just got his career back, and I don't want him to lose it now from an injury. Another one of our guys walks over to him just as he gets himself up. All I can think about is going to him and making sure he's all right, but I don't even know if he wants to see me. He hasn't called in days. Then he stands up straight and shakes himself off, and the crowd loses their minds in relief and delight.

At the end of the game I’m daydreaming again when there's another huge roar, and I look around to make sure that Griff hasn't been pounded into the dirt by the other team. Lizzie too jumps up yelling, and we both follow her. “Guys, Odell's boyfriend just scored a touchdown!” She tells us, smiling through the hoots and hollers.

“He's not my boyfriend,” I yell as Sandra says, “That's a good thing, right? A touchdown?”

“Well, yes, it means we win!”

“Ok, then, hooray!” Sandra yells.

“Yay,” I say, rubbing the place where the bump will be.

“Are you going to talk to him after?” Sandra asks as everyone around us is going wild.

“I kind of want to,” I say. “He doesn't even know we're here tonight.”

“Look, I'll take Lizzie home, and you can go see him,” she winks.

“You think I should?” I ask.

She looks down at my belly, and then up at my face. “It can't hurt, girl,” she says.

“Yeah, you're probably right,” I sigh.

“I'm more than right,” she grins. “I'm damn right.”

M
y body is aching so badly
. I drag my ass to the shower, trying to avoid all the claps on the back and slaps on the ass that follow a game-winning touchdown, but each one I can't quite dodge away from earns a cringe or a scowl, depending on the force.

“You were on fire tonight Griff!” yells the running back. I still don't know that guy's name. Whatever. As long as he does what I tell him. He's number 56.

“Thanks,” I mutter. It just seems kind of empty, without Odell to cheer me on. I was imagining the whole time that she was watching me in the stands when I was running out there, or that she would meet me at the end zone with her arms spread open like two goal posts, ready to take me in her arms and kiss me. But now I feel broken and battered, and the joy that fills this clubhouse for my win seems utterly empty to me.

Sure, I might take us to the Super Bowl, and it would be my dream, but what are these kinds of life experiences if I don't have anyone to share them with?

It's so strange
, I think, as I let the water wash over me like I do after every game. I never cared about having a woman to be with before. All I wanted from a woman was access to her body—her pussy. It was the touchdown of life for me, to be able to score with a woman, and then just leave. It was my goal not to be trapped in a relationship where I'd have to compromise myself, or worse, eventually be left. But all that was before I met Odell, and Odell is so much more than a sex toy—she’s a champion in her own right. I saw the way she worked; her mind was prepared and ready to exploit any opposition, any ploy of the defense, and make it through to win her argument. And she did it all with her brilliant mind.

I just work with my body, except for calling plays, that is. I'm a dumb jock who hails from a trailer park. Whose body isn't going to be able to do this forever.

I'm starting to see things a lot differently, and it's not all that comfortable.

I force a smile as I walk back to my locker. The team is happy, and one of them goes to pick me up. “No man, not tonight. That tackle crushed me.”

“Are you getting old, Griff,” he teases.

“I just might be, but I can still outrun you,” I toss back.

“You outran everyone tonight,” he grins. “You were like a bat outta hell!”

Except I am in hell right now. Sure, I could call Odell, and she'd probably pick up. And if she showed up I couldn't turn her down—but what I want in the deepest part of me, and what she wants from me, are two very different things. It’s too hard to resist exactly that which would cause me the most pain and that which I can’t hold back from when I get a taste: being with Odell just for one night at a time.

I gingerly put on my shirt, knowing it's going to take the whole week before I am feeling healed from this pummeling, and that's if I'm lucky. I sit on the bench to ease on my jeans. I feel someone sitting on the bench beside me, and I'm set to tell them not to clap me on the back when I find myself staring into those dark chocolate eyes that have mesmerized me since we first met.

“Odell,” I say, surprised. “What are you doing here? And how did you get in?” I try to welcome her with a hug, but I have to flinch.

“Are you ok?” she asks, eyes crinkling into an expression of concern. “I saw that tackle tonight.”

“You were at the game?” It's hard to believe—I was pretending to myself that she was with me on the field and little did I know she actually was there in the stands the whole time.

“Yeah,” she smiles, her beautiful lips stretching to reveal pearly teeth. “It was amazing. You were amazing,” she corrects herself. “But I'm worried about that hit you took.”

“I can't say that was my favorite moment of the game,” I admit. “I'll be paying the price for that one for awhile.” I shake my head. “Did you see the touchdown at the end?”

“If you must know, I was dreaming at that moment, to be honest,” she looks down in embarrassment. “But when my friend explained it to me, I cheered my head off for you!”

I have to laugh, which hurts what must be a bruised rib.

“So you just came back just to say hi?” I say. “Do you need to get back to your friends?”

“Nah, they left. Are you busy?”

I'm surprised. “Odell, are you asking me out?” I say.

“Yeah,” she says. “You want to go out for dinner?”

“Damn straight I do,” I reply. An actual date sounds good. I grab my things.

“You want me to carry anything?” she asks.

“Never,” I answer. “Even if I were in traction, I would want to be the one who takes the brunt.”

She smiles and gets on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek with the utmost gentleness. “That didn't hurt did it?”

“Not at all,” I smile. “Let's go before all the guys make fun of me.”

“We're outta here,” she smiles, and we slip out the door.

* * *

“
O
f course I am
,” she says. “I am the one who asked you, aren’t I?”

“I’m pretty good at interceptions, so we’ll have to see how it goes when the waiter comes by with the check.” I put my hand on the small of her back and guide her through the door in front of me. It also gives me a chance to get a good look at her legs and ass as they move, and that’s a chance I’m going to take every time.

“Table for two, Mr. James?” says the maître d'.

“Yes,” Odell intercepts smoothly. “I'm treating Mr. James tonight,” she adds, looking sternly at me.

“Yes Miss,” he says. “Well we're very pleased to have you here.” The restaurant is quiet, with only a low murmur coming from the guests. It has a sophisticated yet comforting atmosphere with warm lighting and waiters and waitresses in all black.

“Thank you,” Odell says, as he pulls her chair out.

“Your waiter will be here momentarily.”

“So to what do I owe this honor?” I ask Odell.

“Could be any number of things,” she answers. “For one, we haven't spent much time together since I've been so stressed lately.”

I just nod.

“And besides, I am taking you away from your post-game celebration with your team,” she says. “I have to make it worth your while.”

“Time spent with you is always worth my while,” I answer. “But I thought you preferred to spend most of that time in the bedroom.”

“Isn't that what you wanted, too?” she asks, looking down at her plate.

“Sure. But things can change sometimes, I guess.” I'm the one looking down now.

“Yes,” she says, “they certainly can.”

We're interrupted, or saved depending how you look at it, by the waiter.

“Can I offer you something to drink? Wine?” he says.

“I'll just have an iced tea,” Odell says. “But you go ahead and get whatever you’d like, Gryphon.”

I look at her, before ordering wine. He leaves menus.

“You still not feeling too well?”

“No, but that’s not important right now,” she says. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“No problem,” I say. I can tell she’s getting tense by the way her full, sexy lips are pressing together. “Would you rather talk about your work?” I venture. It’s worse. She looks up at the ceiling and her mouth crumples a bit.

“Oh jeez, Odell. I just thought you would prefer to talk about something good, like being the new superstar at the firm.”

That’s it. She looks completely downcast. She puts her head in her hands. “Let’s talk about us,” she finally squeaks out.

“Oh Lord, Odell, is that why you brought me here? To have the define the relationship talk?” She nods, still looking down at her plate. “Look,” I finally say. I realize she must be under enormous pressure, and I’ve only been adding to pressure on her the last few times we were together by trying to push for something more. Looking at her right now, I know I can’t resist her body, or her soul, even if it’s just given to me a night at a time. “Hey, if you want to take it casual, that’s fine,” I say. “We can see other people and, just you know, be around when the other is around. It doesn’t have to be this whole big thing.” I smile bravely, thinking that she will finally be happy now. She’s gotta feel better with all the pressure off. But then I see it. Big salty tears falling onto her napkin, and little sniffles coming from her. Little sniffles that soon turn into sobs.

“But,” she starts. “But,” she starts again, but it’s swallowed in a sob.

“But what, Odell?”

“But, I’m pregnant!”

The last comes out a bit louder than one might expect, especially in a classy restaurant like this one. I’m speechless. Her sobs grow louder, and a waiter discreetly comes by with a stack of folded napkins. Odell grabs one, and gets up and runs to the bathroom.

Not sure what to do, I take a drink of my wine, smile at the people staring at me until they finally look away, and realize: I have to follow her.