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

S
andra looks at me
. “Damn, girl, don't look now, but that dude at the bar is giving you the eye!” she says.

“What dude?” I say. “He cute?” Whoever it is, sounds interesting. Tonight is my night. It’s my last night of real freedom before I become partner at the firm. I don't care what happens, as long as I can do whatever I like. Starting from tomorrow my life is going to be all work, all the time. Big case, some celebrity or something. I'll have to devote almost every waking hour on it, but for twelve more sweet, beautiful hours, I am my own person. A night with a strapping young man might be just the thing to kick off my new job.

“Oh, he's cute. More than cute. Incredibly, searingly, devastatingly hot, in fact.” She nods to herself. “But he's the kind who is cute for one night, not the kind you want to stick with forever. You want a lawyer like you,” she says sagely, nodding her head. “Remember that, Odell. You can mess around, but don’t get attached to a hottie with tattoos like Mr. Bad Boy over there.”

“A lawyer? Two lawyers together?” I'm incredulous. “Sandra. You really think that's a good idea? Can you imagine the arguments? Based on the case Humphrey vs. Simmons, it's clear that there is precedent for the loose end of the toilet paper to go over the top!”
“I rest my case!” She laughs. “Loose end definitely over the top.”

“Can I look now?” I ask her. My head feels pulled in that direction—all I want to do is get a view of the man who could be my perfect prey for the night. Odell Williams! One night only!

“Ok!” she agrees. “Just don't be too obvious about it!” When I turn my head, I don't know how I missed him when I first walked in. He’s damn fine, that’s for sure. Broad shoulders, abs so ripped you can see them through his t-shirt and thick legs in blue jeans. A He’s got a thick head of dark hair cut short to show off his strong jaw, and cheekbones, and ... the bluest eyes on the planet. Boring into me. Somehow the way he's looking at me makes me feel like his hands are all over me. His fingers doing things they shouldn't. But they should. “Mm mm mm,” I say turning back to Sandra slowly. “He is one fine hunk of man. But those tattoos wouldn’t fly at Smith Williams Smith, now, would they?”

“Hardly,” Sandra says. “That firm of yours isn’t exactly the most progressive. It’s amazing that they hired you. Must be trying to reach out so that they can look a little more 21
^st
century.” She takes a long sip. “You ready for another drink?” Sandra grins. “I want to get a better look at this admirer of yours.”

“Sure, sounds good. He's not bad at all!” I say. “See what you can find out,” I say, smirking back at her.

“A fresh Cosmo is on its way!” She stands up then leans in and stage-whispers, “Along with a full report!”

“Perfect.” I lean back and adjust my hair a bit. Even if I don't plan on anything lasting, I still want to look my best when I go in for the kill with Loverboy over there. I sneak another peek at him. He's still got his eyes trained on me from across the room, his burning gaze leveling me. I risk a little smile at him. I don't want him to come over just yet, but I'd be happy to have him know I noticed him.

His face breaks into its own sly, crooked smile, and then he looks away casually. Sandra's just walked up and is standing near him. They're chatting a little, and Loverboy runs his hand through his hair, giving me a nice view of his bicep as he does. Tasty as all get out, this man. Where did he get a body like that? I’ve never seen anything like it. And, the tattoos that peek out from under his sleeves are tempting me to see more of that body.

Sandra comes rushing back to the table, a couple of drinks in her hand. “Ok,” she says quickly, “he's even better up close. I think he must be some kind of athlete the way he was talking to the bartender about the game, and of course, those muscles. But he put our drinks on his tab. So here you go!” She's triumphant. “Just remember, if you go for this guy, it's short-term only! If you don’t listen to me at any other time, listen to that. You need a lawyer, toilet paper roll arguments notwithstanding.”

“Ha!” I grin. “Fair enough. This night is just for me, and I'm going to celebrate. If he wants to be a part of it, all the better. And we all know which part!” We laugh, and I sip the sweetness of the Cosmopolitan, tipping it slightly to Loverboy afterward in thanks. He smiles again, and the butterflies take flight in my chest. Damn, he's even hotter when he smiles.

“Speaking of your night, I'm not even sure if I should ask this,” Sandra says, her face twisting a little. “Did your folks call, or send you congratulations on your new position?”

“Ugh, not at all.” My mood darkens. “I'm so over them, I swear. I'm not counting on their approval for anything anymore.”

“Odell, I'm sorry I brought it up,” she says, chastened. “I was just hoping there was going to be some good news for once.”

“That's ok, don't worry about it.” A song I like comes on the jukebox, and I need to get out of this sudden dark mood if this is going to be the night to remember that I need it to be. “You want to dance?”

“Yes! Perfect!”

Moving to the smallish wooden dance floor, we leave our drinks at the table, and I let the mood of the music carry me away. I love dancing. It's one thing my parents couldn't ruin for me, though they’ve tried since I was a little girl. Of course, they had dreams—or even expectations—that along with everything else, I would become a ballerina. But, once I turned eleven, my breasts and butt grew too big for that. I just didn't have that willowy body that you need to be really successful in ballet, and I wasn’t willing to starve myself and eat only an apple a day for the rest of my career. I was just too curvy. My folks pushed me to practice anyway, but I didn't mind that as much as I always loved feeling free in the studio. Even though during the recitals as the other kids were able to pick out their parents’ faces, all I would see was my nanny standing at the back looking at her phone.

“Ok, Odell,” my mother would say as the nanny would take me by the hand and lead me to the car in my little ballet slippers. “Say bye to mama.”

I'd wave “bye-bye,” but she would barely look up from her Chardonnay and legal documents, always working. I close my eyes and let that worrying image fade just as I used to in the studio, letting the music take me over and move me with its rhythms. Before long I feel someone in front of me, and I open one eye. It's the guy from the bar, and my stomach does a little flip before I recover and smile. Sandra's right. He is even better up close with those piercing blue eyes, rugged jaw with just the right amount of stubble, and lips that look very kissable.

Despite his large stature and amazing musculature, he's good on the dance floor—moving smoothly like a man who understands rhythm. That's what I need right now, I think, as he smiles a sexy smirk at me. He complements my movements, and we begin to dance together as Sandra turns to another man who's joined the dance floor as well. After we dance together a bit more, matching move for move, I relax and we get a little closer and a little closer, until I can feel his breath on my neck.

We haven't exchanged a word, and I kind of like it this way. It feels so freeing. A man I'll never see again, who I can be completely myself with—no pretending, no attitude. Sneaking a glance at him dancing, I get a whiff of his cologne mixed with his natural musk and I can't help but move as close as I can. There's a force field between us—an electric fog—where we get as close as possible but don't touch. The thought of touching makes me tingle down to my core, and I feel myself getting wet. That's it. I want this man. His eyes meet mine, and wordlessly we stare into each other's eyes. Now that the ice has broken I somehow feel like I could stare into his blue eyes forever. They're dark blue and fringed with dark lashes; the eyes of someone who has felt pain and been hurt but made it through to the other side. The eyes of someone who is looking at a person he desires completely. I want to fall into those eyes, and forget everything for the night.

I want to forget the fact that they're probably making me partner not because of my stellar grades, but to improve their reputation for diversity and inclusion. I want to forget about the fact that my parents are too busy to care that I've finally reached my dream of working as a partner at an established law firm, even if it is one my father began. And I want to forget the sad fact that I haven't had sex in forever, because I've been trying so hard to live up to everyone else's standards that I haven't even thought about what I want.

But right now I know exactly what I want. This man, this delicious man whose every sensual move matches mine. Whose body is so perfect, it looks carved out of marble, but better—because marble doesn't have tats. No names, no nothing. Just one night of passion with a bad boy I have absolutely no business dating.

I dance closer to him, and for the first time, our hands touch, sending a burst of pure electricity through me. As a slow song starts, he takes my arm and drapes it over his shoulder, and my other hand disappears into his as he smiles. We sway back and forth, and all I can think of is tilting my head back so that he can touch his lips to mine and pull me closer to him. I don't want to make a scene in this bar—I can't be making out with strangers on a dance floor! It takes all my strength to lean in and kiss him. I console myself by drinking in the sight of his strong shoulders, his bulging pectoral muscles, and his biceps. I breathe him in deeply and my body relaxes against his.

When the song ends, I look around for Sandra and see she's at the table by herself.

I smile apologetically.

“Thanks for the dance, gorgeous,” he grins. His voice is low and sweet.

“Thanks for the drink,” I shoot back.

“Pleasure's mine.”

I disentangle myself from him feeling a little lightheaded, and return to the table.

“That was pretty hot,” Sandra says as I sit down. “I'm impressed!”

“What can I say, he's perfect.” I realize I’m a bit out of breath, and it’s not because of the exercise. What a man.

“He’s perfect for one night,” she corrects me. “Hold out for a lawyer when you want to get married. Athletes are no good.” She says adamantly.

“Too true,” I concede. “In fact my first case has to do with some famous athlete, I heard. So I'll get an earful every day of just why a person shouldn't get wrapped up with one of them.” I glance at him back at the bar. “Still, where is a lawyer going to get a body like that?”

“Forget the body, look at his face!” She smiles. “Just the right amount of dangerous.”

“God, I know,” I say, leaning forward. “The tattoos alone!”

“So sexy,” she nods. “Just don't fall in love.”

“No worries there,” I say confidently, but the way it feels when he's close to me is something that I don't want to let go right away either.

Two more drinks appear at our table. “From the gentleman at the bar.” The waitress says matter-of-factly.

“I think he's trying to get us drunk,” I laugh. “Little does he know I'd go home with him right now.”

“You're so bad,” smiles Sandra. “I love it!” We clink glasses and take long sips.

* * *

L
overboy
and I are in the alley. His incredible body is pressed up against mine, pushing me against the wall. He's got my arms above my head, and we're kissing ferociously. His lips and tongue are addictive and I can't get enough. He tastes like whiskey and cosmopolitans, which probably shouldn't taste this good, but I can’t get enough. His hand slithers up from my waist to catch my breast, and he circles the hard nub of my nipple with his thumb, making me moan and squirm.

I can feel his hard cock pressing against my hip, and I push against it, loving the feeling of his desire. There’s nothing but pure lust between us. He lets my hands go, and I take the chance to run them down his body. When I get to the ridge of muscle that makes a v at his hips, and points down to his succulent cock, I have to pull him closer. My hands press him into me, and he moans a little.

“Shh,” I say. “I don't want anyone to hear us!”

“Why not, who cares about them,” he grins before taking my face in his hand and silencing me again with a kiss. God, he is more intoxicating than the five cosmopolitans I had tonight. “But if you're that worried, we can go to my place,” he murmurs. His place is probably a ratty old college-type room with posters on the walls, I bet. But what the hell—it’s my last night of freedom, and I want to live it up. Anonymous sex with a beautiful man: Odell's finally finding her freedom. At long last.

“Ok,” I say. “Let’s do it.”

“Excellent.” He kisses me again and leads me out to the street, where we jump in a cab. He gives his address to the driver before he pulls me onto his lap. Our mouths meld together, as the bulge of his cock presses into me. His strong hips lift me gently up and down as he squeezes my breast with his hand. I might come right here in this cab if I'm not careful.

“Hey,” he says into my neck. “I don't even know your name.”

“Let's keep it that way,” I say.

“I like the way you think, sexy,” he says, and I cover his mouth with mine. I don't want to talk; I just want to kiss. He feels so different from most of the other guys I've been with—huge and built like a Mack truck—except beautiful.