Taking Possession: A Secret Baby Romance (Bad Ballers Book 4) Read online

  Taking Possession

  A Secret Baby Romance

  S.J. Bishop

  Contents

  Exclusive Offer

  Taking Possession

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Drop Kicked (Blitz Prequel)

  1. Emma

  2. Jackson

  3. Emma

  4. Jackson

  5. Emma

  6. Jackson

  7. Emma

  8. Jackson

  9. Emma

  10. Jackson

  Bad Ballers Prequel - Free Copy

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  Would you like to read the Bad Ballers prequel? It’s scorching hot! Refer to the end of this book to get a free copy.

  Taking Possession

  1

  Anne

  “Reach out and catch us, ladies!” the coxswain shouted as our boat drifted into the dock of the Potomac Pirates’ boathouse. Eight of us stretched our hands and caught the dock, pulling the boat in gently.

  “Starboards, one foot out…” the coxswain called out, and I hefted myself out of the boat, groaning as my glute muscles protested. Today’s practice had been hard, and I’d thrown myself into each and every one of the strokes.

  “Hurry up, ladies!” the coxswain yelled as the team removed the oars and slid our shoes back on. “The men’s team is coming in.”

  No need to tell me twice. I wasn’t interested in engaging with the men’s team this morning. Our dock was small and could only hold one boat at a time. I was eager to get our boat up and get upstairs before I had to run into Pete – the stroke of the men’s masters eight.

  Pete and I had gone out on our third date last week. Usually, on a third date, you expect the guy to kiss you. Pete, on the other hand, had paused on my doorstep and, instead of leaning in, said, “I don’t know, Anne. I’m not so sure this is working…”

  I’d been too stunned to say anything other than “okay.” Pete had made a quick getaway, and my feelings had been pretty hurt. Yes, he was a bit dull and slightly awkward to talk to, but I thought we’d been hitting it off okay. We’d been friendly before we’d started dating, but now, we hadn’t spoken to each other in four days.

  The team finished putting the oars away and hefted our boat out of the water.

  As we headed toward the locker room, my teammate Jenny sidled up to me. “What a bummer about Pete. I thought you guys would have really hit it off.”

  Yah. So had everyone. I’d thought so too, and maybe it says something about me that I didn’t see his rejection coming. I was usually the one to call it off with guys. Shaking my head, I could hear my mother’s voice: A hundred guys later, Annie, and I’m starting to think it’s not them; it’s you.

  “Well, you never know what’s going to happen until you give it a shot,” I said, striving to sound more cheerful than I felt. “Great job today, BTW. You were killing it up there.”

  “BTW? You’re spending too much time with your kids,” said Jenny.

  “Speaking of which, I have to get going. I don’t want to be late.”

  School started at 8, so I had about twenty minutes to shower and get myself over to Saint Francis Xavier High School. I teach ninth grade English, and while I would love to walk in late to my first period, you can’t leave teenagers alone for long.

  I grabbed a quick shower and slid into my black slacks and heels and a dressy blue blouse that made my hair look especially red. I ran a blow dryer through it until it was only loosely damp and wound it up into a bun. I applied quick, light makeup, grabbed my bags, and hustled out of the locker room.

  On my way out, I caught a glimpse of Pete heading into the boathouse. He’d pulled his unisuit down to his waist, revealing his rock hard muscles. Too bad he had the personality of a dishrag – because the man was really good looking. Sighing, I headed to my car.

  Throwing my bags into the perennially empty passenger seat, I started the ignition and turned on the radio.

  “…stay tuned for our Celebrity News on the half hour! Katie K, tell em’ what’s coming up!”

  “Oh we’ve got lots of good tid-bits for you folks out there! Kyra and Kelly are ensconced in yet another marketing scandal, Late Night’s Mel Rosa’s in hot water over off the cuff comments, and two of the hottest, wealthiest celebs in the biz are once again on the market. That’s right folks: The Barnes Divorce is official!”

  I reached out, turned the radio off, and sat there stunned as silence echoed through the car. Well, shit. I got out my phone and shot a quick text off to my sister. Heard on the radio the divorce went through. U OK?

  Nothing. But I guess that wasn’t surprising. I’d barely spoken to Becca since she’d sent the family an email with the news that she and Dash were calling it quits. My mother was devastated (she loved Dash), my father was encouraging (hang in there, sweetie! We’re rooting for you), but none of us had really been able to have a conversation with Becca since then. She’d texted me a few times (2 busy, talk L8R!), but she hadn’t returned any of my calls.

  This might sound bad, but I took a strange sense of solace in Becca’s misfortune. It wasn’t necessarily that misery loves company but it was nice to know that Becca’s life wasn’t perfect. My little sister and I have never been close, and since Becca was discovered at the age of 14, she’d really had no time for anyone other than her career. And Dash.

  After a year of dating, Becca had married the New England Patriot’s star quarterback. They were tabloid darlings with a life that everyone envied.

  In fact, keeping in touch with Dash was the only way I ever kept abreast of what was going on with Becca. Dash had always been big on family and had made it a point to reach out to all of us when Becca was too busy.

  If there was a real tragedy in this whole divorce, it was that I wouldn’t get a chance to see Dash anymore.

  My phone buzzed. Startled, I picked it up. Had Becca gotten back to me for once?

  Hey, Annie. I’m in town a few days for a commercial shoot. Care to meet up and grab dinner?

  I blinked. As if my thoughts had summoned him, Dash was texting. Shit. Shit.

  I don’t know why my heart started hammering so hard or why nausea suddenly threatened to overwhelm me. I guess it was because when Dash had been married to my sister, he was my brother-in-law. So what that I was in love with him? I could deny my feelings all I wanted.

  But now, he and Becca were divorced. I’d be sitting across from the world’s most eligible bachelor, having dinner. Breathe, Anne. Dash doesn’t see you that way.

  I was tempted to say no to dinner. Dash Barnes was the reason I was still singl
e. Dash Barnes was the man I compared all other men to and found them wanting.

  While Becca wasn’t overtly upset about their divorce, I knew Dash must be devastated. Dash wasn’t the divorcing type, and I had a feeling – though Becca had confirmed nothing – that she was the one who had instigated the divorce.

  I tried to force my heart to settle by reminding myself that it didn’t matter if I had feelings for Dash. He would always be my sister’s ex-husband. He would always be off limits. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t still be his friend, did it?

  I texted back. Just heard about the divorce. Happy to meet for dinner. U OK?

  The gray bubbles of response appeared before his return message. Ok. Could use a friend.

  I sighed, hitting my head against the headrest. Sure. You pick the place, I typed back.

  2

  Dash

  I was in no mood to do a commercial shoot.

  But life goes on, right? It has to. Obviously. And I’d be terrible at my job if I let life’s distractions keep me from being focused on me. That was how you won football games: focus. You have to know what you want and do what it takes to get to your goals.

  You’ve also got to reward yourself a little along the way.

  I agreed to continue filming the Nike commercial because it was in DC, because it gave me a chance to size up our new receiver, and because Annie lived in DC. At the time I had agreed to do the shoot, my marriage hadn’t yet fallen out from under me, and the DC shoot had been a good excuse to visit Becca’s sister.

  My wife – ex-wife – didn’t get along with her sister, but I’d always been a big Annie fan. She was sweet as they come and a great listener. She was the one at a party handing out hors d’oeuvres or playing with your five-year-old nephew. She has her head on straight. I’d thrown a shit-ton of problems at her over the last five years, and she always had good advice.

  Though I’d wanted to, I hadn’t reached out to her during the divorce. I hadn’t been planning on reaching out on this trip either – I’d convinced myself that I was going to make a clean break from the Browns. But then the divorce papers went through, and the media outlets were all over it. I was feeling pretty shitty, and if there was anyone I could vent to about Becca, it was her sister.

  The moment Annie agreed to meet me, I felt as if pounds of weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I could pretend, at least for an evening, that my life hadn’t turned upside down.

  You pick the place, she’d texted. That was easier said than done. From a publicity standpoint, it would be odd to be seen out with my ex’s sister the day our divorce was finalized. But the real problem was that not many people even knew Becca had a sister. And the two didn’t look alike. If we were seen together, some idiot might think I was on a date. And that was all I needed.

  After giving it some thought, the best place to eat was probably the hotel. I texted Annie the time and place and, after checking my watch, got up to head over to the shoot. Today was going to be rough, no matter what. I just had to try to avoid televisions and radios.

  Though Becca and I had tried to keep things quiet, the public had always been fascinated with our relationship. Based on the coverage after we’d announced the divorce, however, most people hadn’t seen it coming. The Barnes Break Up: Love is Dead! Nobody had heard the fights we’d had in private: fights about scheduling, fights about thoughtfulness, and fights about family. Becca refused to give me the one thing I wanted more than anything: kids.

  “You’re so selfish!” she had screamed at me whenever I’d pushed the issue. “My body is my livelihood, and I won’t sacrifice that for you!” Listing all of the successful models who’d had children hadn’t helped my cause.

  Worse than the scream-a-thons were the weeks of silence that had stretched between us after the fights. I think a good third of my marriage had been devoted to passive-aggressive silence.

  That last fight had been our biggest: hours of shouting followed by a whole month of silence. At the end of that month, Becca had presented me with the divorce papers.

  “We don’t want the same things,” she’d said. “You’re miserable, and so am I.”

  I’d tried to argue with her. To tell her that these things happened in marriages and that we could overcome them. “Do you really want to?” she’d asked me, pointedly. “Honestly, Dash. I think you’re just being lazy – that you don’t want to go through the effort of a divorce. Well, don’t worry. I’ve already gone through the effort for you.”

  Becca had orchestrated our split with a thoroughness that suggested she’d been planning it for at least a year, long before our last fight.

  It had taken me only two days to agree to the divorce. She was right. We didn’t want the same things.

  But that didn’t mean separation was easy. I’d had to move my shit out of our house and into an apartment. I’d had to dodge reporters and rumors of infidelity – it had been a mess.

  It was over now, but that didn’t make me feel better about it. I felt, for the first time in my life, like a real loser.

  3

  Anne

  I think I tried on every single piece of clothing in my closet before I gave up and stood in my room, naked and despairing.

  I’ve never been jealous of Becca’s looks. Though Becca is a striking beauty (dark blonde hair, angular face, bold nose, and lush lips), I’m pretty in my own right. My features are softer, and I have red hair that Becca’s always been jealous of (we share the same dark-blue eyes).

  But I’ve always been jealous of Becca’s figure and her style. Becca is almost six feet tall, thin, and willowy. She could wear a bag and look good in it. I’m shorter, have more natural curves, and am solidly muscular from my career as a rower. Finding clothing that fits my thighs without pooling at my waist was difficult.

  Knowing I was going to be late, I finally chose a figure flattering Target dress, used a curling iron on my hair, grabbed my purse, and called an Uber.

  When I arrived at the restaurant, I was overcome by that same terrible, gut-churning nervousness that plagued me at the start of a race.

  Seeing Dash had always made me a bit nervous. When Becca had first brought Dash to my mother’s house, I’d known who he was. Even before they’d started dating, I’d drooled over his Nike advertisements and his spreads in GQ. That first meeting, I’d been beside myself. But Dash had proven incredibly friendly – not at all like that intense, foul-mouthed football player you saw in HD on Sundays.

  He’d always been sweeter to me than Becca had, and I was positive that my tasteful and expensive Christmas gifts were Dash-selected. We’d become textual friends a few years into their marriage. Whenever he came across anything involving Mark Twain, he’d send me a link, and I would text him the latest memes featuring his face.

  Despite knowing Dash for over five years, this was the first time he and I had ever spent time one on one. As I allowed the server to usher me into the private dining room at the back of the Four Seasons hotel, I was startled by how intimate the whole thing felt.

  Dash stood up as I entered, and I offered him what I hoped was a sympathetic smile. In reality, my heart was pounding – just as it always did when I set eyes on Dash Barnes.

  Dash was Prince Charming. He was the guy that every girl wanted to date. He was a blond haired, blue-eyed, six-foot-four stud who’d grown up with gobs of money and had played quarterback on his high school and college football teams. He was a serial monogamist, a walking Ken doll whose only flaws seemed to be impatience, an aggressive competitive streak, and a penchant for dating (and marrying) models.

  Right now, he looked effortlessly impressive. His golden hair was slightly damp from a recent shower and swept back off his high brow. He wore form-fitting black pants and a gray V-neck shirt that was definitely too casual for the Four Seasons restaurant.

  At the sight of me, Dash’s mouth quirked into a half-smile. “Hey, Annie. Sorry about this,” he waved his hand around the intimate dining room. “I think the r
estaurant assumed this was a date.”

  Dash was the only one who ever called me Annie, and my name on his lips sent chills right through me. I knew my feelings were inappropriate, but as he reached to wrap me up in a hug, I couldn’t help but wrap my arms around his neck and inhale the heady, expensive scent of him.

  “God, Dash, it’s been way too long,” I told him as I sat down in the chair the waitress held out for me.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” He winced theatrically.

  “How are you?” I asked. “Are you doing all right?”

  Dash shrugged, grabbing up the menu. “Been better, honestly,” he said. “Today was not the best day. But it’s over. And at the end of it, I get to have a quiet dinner with a friend. I guess it could have gone worse.”

  I tried not to melt.

  “What about you?” he asked. He needed to stop smiling at me.

  “Today was tough,” I agreed. Though for entirely different reasons. “Some kids got into a hall fight. There was punching, hair pulling…” I rolled my eyes. “It was right outside my classroom, so I had to intervene. I grabbed the one girl, but the teacher who grabbed the other got elbowed in the face.”