Blitz: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Series (Books 1-5) Read online

  I smirked back at her and kissed her gently on the lips. "I know."

  13

  Emma

  Jackson's alarm clock blared in the early morning sun, startling me awake. "What the fuck?" I said, sitting up in bed and searching for the source of the horn that was blasting its way inside my head.

  Jackson sat up beside me and jumped out of bed, naked, running to the dresser where he stopped the torture in my ears with the push of a button.

  "What the hell was that?" I asked, irritated. "It sounded like some fucked up combination of a car horn and nails on chalkboard."

  Jackson shrugged and yawned, acting like the most annoying sound I'd ever heard in my life was commonplace for him. "Coach threatened to sit me out of an actual game if I was late to practice again, so I set the loudest, most annoying alarm I could find."

  "Well, it worked."

  Jackson was staring strangely at me. "You're still here," he said. His chiseled chest was highlighted by the morning sun streaming through his windows. A ray of light fell against his golden skin, making him look almost angelic. His member hung thick between his legs. Even this early, it was at half-mast and ready for action.

  "Yeah," I said. "Why? I'm not exactly a morning person." God, did he want to fuck me again already? Why had I slept with him? Yes, I'd never been so wet in my life, but this could only be a huge mistake. Talk about keeping things professional.

  "No reason," Jackson said. "I'll call you a cab."

  "A cab?"

  "Yeah. To take you home. I've gotta get to practice."

  "Oh," I said. I didn't know why I was disappointed. I knew fucking Jackson had been a bad idea, and I'd done it anyway. I wondered if there was any way I could blame the pregnancy. Hormones make women do crazy things.

  "I need my keys, though," I reminded him. "You said last night that you'd take me back to the restaurant today."

  "Oh, right," Jackson said. He'd clearly forgotten. My irritation with him was growing by the second, and I was suddenly very aware that I was naked in his bed. I pulled the covers tighter around me. It was funny how different things seemed in the light of day.

  "Can't you just drive me there? Then I can get my keys and drive myself home from the restaurant."

  "Sure," he said, grinning. I didn't know what he was smiling about.

  My stomach began to churn. I bolted from the bed, no longer caring that I was naked as long as I made it to the bathroom in time.

  "Are you okay?" Jackson shouted from behind the other side of the bathroom door.

  "Fine," I called back to him, my head buried in the toilet bowl as last night's drinks rose up, burning my throat.

  "Hungover, huh?" Jackson asked. "No worries, take your time."

  I wished I was only hungover. Part of me felt guilty for not telling Jackson about my pregnancy, but why should I? It wasn't like he was my boyfriend. He was just another football player trying to get laid.

  Then why is part of you hoping he asks to see you again?

  "Shut up," I told the voice in my head. I didn't need to analyze myself right now. I sat on the bathroom floor long enough to count the one-inch mosaic tiles around Jackson's toilet, then stood up and slowly made my way out of his bathroom. Jackson was no longer in the bedroom, and I was grateful. I gathered my clothes together and got dressed before he could come back.

  His house was almost too big. I got lost trying to find him. He was in the kitchen, and he smiled when I came in. It was that million-watt smile of his, and my heart skipped a beat. Maybe going out with him again wouldn't be so bad. If I could wrap up his contract today, then it wouldn't be an issue anymore. I'd be free to date him.

  Um... hello? You're pregnant! Pregnant women don't date.

  I sighed and tried to breathe.

  "Feeling better?" Jackson asked. I nodded. "Great. You were in there almost ten minutes." There was a horn blast from his driveway, and I turned my head toward his front door. "Great," he said, that smile still plastered on his face. "Cab's here."

  I turned back to him, anger rising. "I thought you were gonna take me back to the restaurant."

  "I am. Or rather, the cab is." I couldn't believe him. He was trying to get rid of me like I was yesterday's trash. "Don't worry," he said, mistaking the irritation on my face for worry. "If your keys aren't at the restaurant, you can call a locksmith. They'll get you into your car and your apartment." He said it as though I'd just won some sort of jackpot.

  "A locksmith?" I asked. "Gee, thanks. You're a real fucking gentleman." The horn blasted again from outside. My purse was sitting on his counter. I grabbed it and headed out the door as quickly as possible. The cab was already running the meter. Jackson followed me out and slipped the driver a fifty.

  "He'll take you anywhere you want to go," Jackson said.

  I felt like a goddam fool. All my life I'd avoided falling into bed with football players. Now, when I had my first real job working with them, I’d chosen to break that rule. I was a fucking moron.

  "Are you crying?" Jackson asked.

  "No," I snapped. "My eyes are just dry." I blinked back the tears, forcing them to a full stop. Jackson hesitated, then reached into his wallet and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. He handed it to me.

  "What's this?" I asked.

  "In case you need to call the locksmith," he said. "Or need breakfast. Or whatever. It's a gift, you know? I had fun last night."

  I could have killed him. "You had fun last night?" I screamed. "I'm not a fucking whore." I threw the money back in his face and told the cabbie to get the fuck out of here. He backed us down the driveway with Jackson staring after me, his jaw open like he'd just seen aliens land on his front lawn.

  Almost instantly, my phone began to buzz. I looked at my father's cell number glaring on the screen. "Not now," I said, and let it go to voicemail. When I got the beep that he was done leaving a message, I pushed the one button and held the phone to my ear.

  "I heard you had a meeting with Jackson last night," my father's deep voice growled in my ear. "I need to know how it went. I'm hoping you cut through the bullshit and closed the deal. You don't have much more time on this one. If you didn't get him to sign last night, then you're in over your head and I'm taking over."

  The voicemail cut out, and I was left with dead silence. I pushed back the tears threatening to fall. My father never cried, and if I had a prayer of finishing the job I had set out to do, then I had better toughen up like he'd said. Jackson wasn't anything special. Just another player with a contract to sign. I should never have fucked him. I definitely would not make the same mistake twice.

  14

  Jackson

  My head didn't hurt, but my body was sore and I was tired as hell. Fucking Emma was harder work than playing football. Probably because I’d had to work harder to score with her than I did on the field. I opened my locker and pulled my jersey out. My eyes didn't want to stay open, so I sat my jersey down and went to splash some water on my face. The rest of the guys were already on the field. I wasn't late, but I had better hurry before Coach decided I was.

  The water cooled my eyes and I breathed deeply, filling my lungs with oxygen. Voices murmured in the distance, growing louder as whoever it was entered the locker room. The door banged open, and I heard Carter talking to someone. Carter was alright. He was a rookie, and all rookies were kind of punk-asses until they got their feet wet. He'd gotten a little star-struck when Bryant had taken a liking to him and had been following him around like a puppy dog for the last month.

  "You saw them leave together? Are you sure it was Jackson?" Bryant’s gravelly voice scratched in my ears.

  "Yeah," Carter said. "It was definitely that girl from the party. Keith's daughter."

  My ears perked up. They clearly thought they were alone. What the fuck were they saying about Emma? Getting her into bed last night had been as sweet as I'd fantasized it would be. She was a fucking wildcat in the sack, and if I hadn't had practice this morning, I might've tri
ed to nail her again before she’d left.

  I hadn't meant to insult her when I'd sent her home in a cab this morning. I'd had to get to practice. We played Seattle soon, and I couldn't let the team down against our biggest rivals. Yeah, offering her that money had been a bad idea, but I hadn't meant it the way she'd taken it. Goddamn, she was sensitive. I'd only been trying to be a gentleman. Didn't women want men to rescue them when they were locked out of their homes?

  Yeah, but it wasn't YOU rescuing her. It was the taxi driver and the locksmith.

  I paused on that thought. It occurred to me that maybe I was kind of a dick when it came to mornings after. Whatever. It didn't matter anyway. The Tomcats would never pay me what I wanted, so my negotiations with Emma were moot. All I had to do was stay out of trouble long enough to sign with Florida, and I'd be the highest paid quarterback in the NFL. I'd never see Emma again after I switched teams.

  "So I was right," Bryant said. "That slut is spreading her legs for Jackson so he'll sign her goddamn contract. Wait until the rest of the team hears about this. Emma's going down."

  My blood boiled in my veins as I stepped out of the bathroom. "Hey, Bryant!" I shouted, walking steadily toward him. "Leave Emma the fuck alone. She doesn't deserve your shit."

  It was true. Just because I'd bedded Emma didn't mean she was a slut. In fact, as hard as I'd had to work to nail her, I'd say only the opposite could be true. Rumors like Bryant was spreading could kill her career, and she didn't deserve that.

  "What's it to you?" Bryant asked.

  "I hate liars," I said. "Little rich boys like you think they're all so tough, hiding behind daddy's money."

  Bryant's face glowed red with rage. "Poor boys like you hate rich boys like me 'cause you're always living in our shadows."

  "I'm not poor now, and I'm not in your fucking shadow, either."

  "Guys..." Carter said, looking nervous.

  "You may have money, but you'll always be poor. There's a stink on people who climb out of the gutter that never goes away. Emma's probably got it stuck on her now, too."

  "You're just jealous because I earned my way onto this team. My daddy didn't have to buy it for me."

  Bryant's face froze. "What the fuck did you say?"

  "You heard me. It's not a secret. Daddy's money bought you your spot here."

  Bryant's cheeks were crimson. "What the hell do you know? I'm a damned good quarterback."

  "Are you?" I taunted. "Your father's pockets line the NFL Association and all its reporters. How much money has he ‘donated’ to their causes over the years?" Bryant was breathing deeply. He was a firecracker about to explode, and I gladly lit the fuse. "The thing is, you might be good. Hell, you might even be great. But you'll never know for sure because you know I'm right."

  There was so much rage built up in him now that Bryant's eyes were watering. The bandage that covered his broken nose was soaked with sweat.

  "I'm gonna bury you and that slut," he said. "I'm gonna do whatever it takes to get proof you two are fucking and use it to bury you. Once it gets out that she's fucking athletes for contracts, her reputation will be shot. She'll never work in this industry again. And you...say goodbye to Florida. The Association has rules about fucking your way into a contract. Plus, there's Keith to consider. He'll kill you when he finds out you fucked his daughter."

  I smiled cynically. "You fucked her, too."

  "No one will believe that. How many fights have you started in your career? How many fines have you gotten? People don't believe losers, Jackson, and that's just what you are."

  My throat suddenly dried up. I wanted to reach out and break his nose all over again.

  "You're mad because you know I'm right," he said, throwing my own words back at me. My insides burned to let my anger out, but I'd barely been able to convince Coach it had been an accident when I'd busted Bryant's nose. If I touched him now, it would be all over for me.

  Bryant reached out and shoved my shoulder with his burger-sized hand. "Go on, hit me. I dare you."

  Carter stood silently by, clearly uncomfortable.

  "Fuck you, Bryant," I said, then turned and headed for the field. I wasn't going to take his bait. I left my jersey on the bench. I could get it later.

  "You'll be sorry," Bryant called after me, taunting me to come back and fight. It killed me to walk away like a pussy. "I won't stop until you're off this team and out of football. You're gonna wish you'd never messed with me."

  15

  Emma

  The only thing that had gone right for me this morning was finding my keys at the maître d's station when Dorian's opened. I'd driven myself home, showered, and was now headed to Tomcats Stadium to tell my father... something. I was still deciding what I should say. It couldn't be, "Hi, Dad. I fucked Jackson last night, so I'm hoping he signs the contract today."

  "What the hell is wrong with me?" I asked.

  My phone rang, and I glanced at the number. "Sara!" I said, deciding on the spot that she was exactly who I needed to talk to. I was almost to the stadium and still didn't know what to say to my dad. Sara and I had gone to school together. She hated sports but loved jocks. If anyone could help, it was her.

  "Hi!" I said.

  "Hi. Did I leave my blue sweater at your place last time I was there? I can't find it—"

  "I slept with Jackson!" I said, spitting the words out before I could change my mind.

  "You... whoa! Back the fuck up. When?"

  "Last night."

  "And?"

  "It was amazing."

  "That's great, Emma! I told you!"

  "Until he kicked me out this morning and offered me a hundred bucks and a cab."

  Sara was silent, which is how I knew things were as bad as I'd feared. "You're kidding," she finally said.

  "Nope."

  "A hundred, huh? That's not even enough for a high-priced hooker. I never would have thought you were such a cheap date."

  I laughed, feeling a little better. I wished I could tell her everything, but I still didn't know what to do about my pregnancy, and I didn't want anyone influencing my decision. It had to be mine, and mine alone. "Seriously, what am I gonna do? I still need to finish negotiations with him. How can I face him after that?"

  "Look, if he wants to be an ass, that's his problem. You're better than that. Hell, you're better than this whiny little bitch act you're putting on right now. Regroup and get him to sign."

  I pulled into the stadium lot and parked my car. "You're right. I guess I just needed a reminder."

  "That's what I'm here for," Sara said.

  I hung up and went to find Jackson. One way or another, we were going to finish these negotiations. If he wouldn't take me seriously, then I would have to make him.

  "Emma!" my father's voice rang loudly through the air before I could get onto the field. The locker room smelled hot and sweaty, and my father's presence in it only made me wish I'd taken another route to the field. If only I'd gotten to Jackson before my father had gotten to me, maybe I could've sorted this shit out.

  "Hey, Dad."

  "I've been calling."

  "Have you?" I asked. I felt the confidence I'd had only minutes before shatter as he stared me down. He was almost a full foot taller than me, and I was literally standing in his shadow as he leaned over me.

  "What the hell happened with Jackson last night?"

  "Nothing," I answered, a little too quickly. "I mean... nothing bad. I'm very close to signing him. We're meeting again tonight to sort out the details."

  "You mean you got him to agree to a lower salary?"

  I nodded, knowing how foolish I was being but unable to find a way around it.

  For once, my father seemed flummoxed. "Really?" he asked. I nodded again. It felt like my mouth was drying up from all the lies I was telling. "Well..." His eyes darted around the room, and I wondered what he was searching for. When he finally looked at me again, there was a strange look there that I'd never seen before. Pride?


  "I'm sorry if I doubted you," he said. "Ever since your mother died... I see her in you. She was a strong woman, too. She'd be as proud of you as I am."

  Shock waves rattled through my bones. Never in my life had my father said he was proud of me. My heart pounded against my chest. "Thanks, Dad," I said in barely a whisper. He had to leave now before I cried.

  "Stop by my office in the morning with the papers."

  "Sure," I gulped.

  He turned and left me alone. I counted to sixty, allowing myself a full minute to feel the terror I was barely holding back. Then I did what Sara had said to do. I regrouped, squared my shoulders, and went to find Jackson. He was out on the field, tossing the ball around. I didn't bother asking why he wasn't in his jersey.

  "Jackson," I said, hoping I sounded confident.

  He turned to me and smiled. Not his million-watt smile that he'd perfected for his fans and the cameras. A real one. This was the smile Jackson's family got to see. I was taken aback by it for a moment.

  "We need to finish your contract details," I told him.

  "Sure," Jackson said, acting as though this morning with the cab had never happened. "I'll meet you tonight at Dorian's."

  "Oh no," I said. There was no way in hell I was falling for that again. "We'll talk here at the stadium. We can use one of the conference rooms."

  Jackson eyed me doubtfully. "Dorian's is better," he said.

  "Fuck Dorian's. It's now or never."

  16

  Jackson

  I still couldn't believe how pissed I'd gotten at Bryant's threats against Emma. Yeah, he'd made threats against me too, but it had been the ones about Emma that had really gotten under my skin.

  Am I jealous? Is this what jealousy is?

  It was a new thought for me. I'd never been jealous of anyone before. Sure, I'd been envious growing up of all the things other kids had and I didn't, but this was different. This was a blood boiling, hell raising kind of envy from deep within. And it was all centered around Emma and Bryant.