Personal Foul (Moving the Chains Book 6)

by Kata Čuić

  She grimaces. “Is that weird? I feel like it’s weird because I’m pregnant. Perhaps sir would be better?”

  Goddamn. This woman does things to me. She’s the whole package—brains and looks, submissive and stubborn enough to make it interesting.

  “Mr. Fossoway?” I suggest.

  She shakes her head. “Too much of a mouthful.”

  “That’s what she said.” I grin.

  “I said no such thing,” she argues. “I took it like a good—”

  A knock on the closed bedroom door shuts her up pretty quick.

  Her wide-eyed gaze pins me.

  “How did you know?” she whispers.

  I wink. I read people for a living. If I wasn’t so good at it, I never would’ve made it to the NFL.

  Without being invited, her mother opens the door and steps into the room. She gasps then covers her eyes with her hand. “What is going on in here?”

  “If you don’t want to know, then you shouldn’t walk in,” I tell her in all seriousness.

  She’s not going to fuck with Amira anymore. Not on my watch. My watch started the second Amira let me kiss her on the mouth before dinner. She made that rule, but she let me plow right through it.

  “I knocked,” Mrs. Deep argues.

  “No one said come in,” I reply. “This is our room. If the door is closed, it means do not enter.”

  Amira’s eyes look like they’re exploding out of her head. I get the feeling no one talks to her mother that way. Ever. Not even her father.

  “I’m not going to lock my bedroom door in my own house. Unless you want to witness first-hand exactly how I make love to your daughter, then you will not open that door ever again.”

  Amira’s mouth flops open.

  I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself until another, deeper voice joins the party.

  “Sahar, what are you—”

  Oh, shit. I’m dead.

  If I walked in on this scene with my daughter? Yeah. I’d kill a motherfucker.

  I almost laugh. I’m actually a mother fucker.

  “Oh,” he clips.

  “Hey. How’s it goin?” My only shot at life is to play stupid.

  “What are you doing to my daughter?” Mr. Deep sounds horrified.

  Okay, okay. Pull it together. Maintain control. I’m a pro at that in more ways than one.

  “The mother of my daughter,” I correct him.

  That was stupid. I’d definitely kill me now.

  “Not yet,” he yells.

  “She likes it.” I point at Amira’s mom. This is a pissing match that I have to win. “You should try it with her. Since she can’t control herself, maybe you can teach her.”

  “He does not mean that,” Amira yelps. She glances at me with rabid panic in her black, black eyes. “You do not mean that.”

  I sigh. If I’m going to score, then I have to go for broke. “You don’t have to pretend you don’t like being bound for their sake. You obviously have a deep-seeded need for submission because of them. Being a good girl is the only way you’ve ever learned to get the approval you crave.”

  Amira’s mouth falls open again.

  I can’t believe a fucking shrink hasn’t figured this out about herself yet. I’ve known it for years.

  “If you ever hurt my daughter, you will crave death after I’m through with you,” Mr. Deep grits out.

  Now, we’re talking. This dude suddenly climbs a few rungs on the ladder of my respect.

  I crawl off Amira and try very, very, very fucking hard not to wince from the pain. I hold out my hand to him—man to man. “Promise?”

  “What?” He is absolutely shaking with rage.

  I speak very slowly. This isn’t just for Amira. This is for our baby, too. “Shake on it. Promise me that if anyone ever hurts your daughter—me included—you will torture them slowly, precisely, and so painfully that they’ll beg you for death.”

  “You’re mad,” he spits.

  I sure as hell feel that way. A year ago, I couldn’t have even pictured the thoughts of the future that play in my head on repeat now. “Maybe. Your daughter does strange things to me. If you won’t agree to protect her for the rest of your life, then I guess that’s on me. It’s cool because I’m signing up for that willingly anyway. So, say good night and let me get back to loving Amira the way she wants.”

  He latches onto Mrs. Deep’s arm. She’s still shocked silent. I haven’t won the war yet, but I’ll file this battle under the W column.

  He pauses at the doorway. “You are all right, Mahbub?”

  Amira nods, her eyes wide.

  I close the door behind them. I don’t lock it. If it doesn’t open again by morning, then I’ll know Amira has a safe place when I can’t be here.

  “What have you done?” she hisses.

  “Bought a little more respect and set some ground rules,” I answer. That was the plan all along.

  “They will kill you in your sleep,” she insists.

  “No, they won’t.” I undo my belt and pants before stripping down. “Just in case though, we’re sleeping naked tonight.”

  “How will sleeping naked tonight prevent your inevitable death?”

  “Because if either of them walks in and catches a flash of bare ass or your amazing tits, they’ll back down.” I limp toward the bed.

  “I resent your implication that either of my parents find my tits amazing.” She struggles against the binds around her wrists.

  That’s another hard limit for me. If she doesn’t like something, then we’re not doing it.

  I untie her.

  She wriggles her fingers and sits up. “I’m going to get ready for bed.”

  I was hoping for dessert after dinner, but her dull tone makes it obvious that I’ll be going to sleep hungry.

  That’s okay. Today was rough. Tomorrow is a fresh start.

  It’s almost impossible to score on first down. The key is to keep moving the chains, slow and steady. We’re not ready to cross the goal line yet, but when she places an ice pack on my knee before crawling into bed beside me, I know we’ll get there. Eventually.

  I reread the paragraph for at least the tenth time. It doesn’t matter. I’m still not absorbing the words. They may as well be written in Mandarin—a language I actually don’t know.

  I sigh and push back from my desk.

  These are my own notes, but I can’t make myself focus for anything. I’m barely able to concentrate on my clients during actual sessions, which is beyond shameful.

  I’m still exhausted after spending a week with my parents. And that was a month ago. I’m stressed out for multiple reasons, and I’m not coping with anything in healthy ways. Advising others how to work through their problems and find better alternatives to self-sabotage makes me feel like an utter hypocrite.

  I’m barely able to pull my head from my hands even when there’s a sharp rap on my closed office door. “Come in.”

  Blake sticks his head through the crack, wearing a wide grin. “How’s everyone’s favorite baby mama?”

  The various nicknames from the team are really starting to grate on my already raw nerves. I’ve heard it all—mamacita, prego, MILF. That one almost resulted in a fight in the locker room, according to Charlie. He wouldn’t say who the participants were, but I can guess.

  “Is that all I am worth now?” I snap. “A human incubator? What will everyone call me when she’s born? A milk machine?”

  He closes the door behind him as he chuckles. “Mood swings, huh? It’s cool. I can take it. Vent it out, Dr. D. You have to listen to everyone else’s problems all day long.”

  My cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. Rapid hormone fluctuations are no excuse.”

  “No offense taken.” He winks. “Everyone’s entitled to a bad day now and again. You’re a team psych, not a robot.”

  He’s the starting quarterback for a football team that regularly makes it to the playoffs. His
salary numbers in the double-digit millions. His endorsement deals rival Alex’s. He’s entitled to report my bad behavior to the GM and have me fired for speaking to him the way I just did.

  Instead, he smiles. “Today’s the big day, right?”

  I nod and swallow a lump of dread. “It is. We’ll be leaving in a half hour.”

  He strides to stand behind me and kneads his large hands into my shoulders. My muscles relax in increments beneath his skilled touch. “Everything’s gonna be fine. What is it you’re always telling me? Instead of wasting precious energy worrying about the worst-case scenarios, visualize your goal. After today, you get to start picking baby names. That’s exciting, right?”

  I exhale my stress beneath the weight of his ministrations. “It is. Thank you for reminding me what I should be focusing on.”

  He leans over to fix me with his emerald gaze. “That’s what friends are for.”

  I smile up at him. None of the warnings I’ve heard about Blake Mayview have come true. If anything, he’s been a source of comfort and strength during one of the most stressful times in my life. Not only has he taken time out of his busy schedule to teach me the unofficial rules of the Orlando Sharks and to help me learn all the players, but he’s also been supportive of my relationship with Alex. After that first offer for dinner, he stood aside like a complete gentleman when he realized there was more to my living arrangements than what I like to publicize. In fact, Blake wished us well and asked if there was anything he could do to support us since being with a professional football player isn’t always easy.

  I hate to admit that he’s been supporting me as much as I’m here to support his teammates.

  “What can I do for you today, Blake? I don’t want this to be a one-sided friendship. I feel like I take more from you than I give anymore.” I could honestly take another full half hour of this massage.

  Sadly, he squeezes my shoulders a final time before he heads to my couch to sprawl out. His long body hangs over the edges. “You can tell me how it went with your parents last month. For as stressed as you were about their visit, you’ve been surprisingly quiet about the whole thing. I need a break from watching films and trying to motivate everyone else to play their best this weekend. That’s what you give me, Amira. A break from my exhausting life.”

  This, I take very seriously. All of my clients tell me what they need. Not the other way around. If it’s simply an attentive ear to listen, then I do my best—in spite of pregnancy brain. Perhaps they need therapeutic techniques to work through a specific problem. I have the training to provide that. While Charlie might be my favorite, Blake is my easiest client. All he wants is an opportunity to relax and connect with another person in a way his busy, celebrity lifestyle doesn’t allow.

  My goal hasn’t changed in spite of my changing life circumstances. I want to help people. I want to meet them on their level. I want to give others the opportunity to be the best version of themselves that was never given to me.

  “They were as awful as expected,” I confess. “There are photos all over the internet of the single night they insisted we all go out to dinner together. It feels awesome to have people either call me fat or to post about their violent disappointment that Alex is my baby daddy.”

  I cringe every time I say that lie out loud.

  Blake barks out a laugh. “By people, do you really mean jealous women?”

  He already knows me so well, he can even tell when I’m being sarcastic. Not an easy feat with my accent.

  “I’m no stranger to your lives being broadcast all over the internet, but I’ve never been on the receiving end of it before. How do you cope with complete strangers weighing judgment on your personal life?”

  Hopefully, he doesn’t see my question for what it really is—an opportunity for him to avail my services instead of my friendship. The internet is another double-edged sword in modern life. The vast power of global knowledge at our fingertips tends to be overshadowed by cyber-bullying and empty validation-seeking behaviors. I had entire classes dedicated to how to help elite athletes navigate the emotional ups and downs of mass media.

  He rolls his head to glance at me. “I know you’re going to tell me it’s unhealthy, but I bury my head in the sand. I can’t change what people choose to post on social media about what they think of me. I can only control me. I choose not to react by virtue of avoidance.”

  “That doesn’t sound unhealthy at all.” I prop my chin on my fist, not faking my undivided attention. “It sounds like very sound advice. I hope you’re sharing that with your rookies. They’re more likely to listen to you than they are to me.”

  He chuckles then folds his arms behind his head like a makeshift pillow. It warms my heart to see one of the top players on the team make himself so comfortable in here. “That’s because they’re rookies. Any seasoned vet knows this game is just as mental as it is physical.”

  He’s not wrong, but I know flattery when I hear it. “Are you saying I should be making more of an effort to lure the rookies into my den of mental health?”

  “I’m saying it couldn’t hurt,” he laughs. “Do you know how many of them still throw up in the tunnel before we take the field on game day? We’re over a month into the season, but they haven’t figured out how to handle their nerves.”

  “Nervousness can be a good thing if it’s channeled in healthy ways,” I respond.

  Their nerves aren’t unjustified. These men have made it to the pinnacle of their career, but that time isn’t guaranteed. Even players who were drafted with a required four-year contract can be cut from the team because of injury, salary cap issues, or poor performance if their agent isn’t savvy enough to get the right wording in all the clauses. All it takes is a perfect storm of football stars to line up, and a rookie’s dream fades to dust before his eyes. It’s no wonder the players throw up before games under that kind of pressure. It’s also no wonder the vets are aware of what a mental drain their jobs are.

  Blake raises an eyebrow. “Are you in a bad mood today because you’re nervous Alex isn’t going to respond in healthy ways if he finds out you’re having triplets?”

  “What?” I snap out of my mental planning for a seminar on how to channel anxiety into motivation. The mention of multiple babies sends me into a panic. Alex would probably laugh about it and insist on being called Daddy Cubed. “No. Why would you even ask such a thing? Isn’t he acting as excited in the locker room as he does at home?”

  I inwardly cringe at my question. Out loud, those words in that order sound like a fishing expedition. If Alex is only faking it with me because he’s addicted to helping damsels in distress, then I honestly don’t want to know that information. It’s bad enough that I can’t bring myself to ask the single question that keeps me awake at night while he’s sleeping peacefully with his body wrapped around mine.

  Because I’m not dealing with any of my current circumstances in healthy ways, obviously. More pleasurable sex than I’ve ever had in my entire life? Sure. Confronting my complex emotions about the man who gives me multiple orgasms every day? Nope.

  I have a baby to worry about and a new job to excel at. I don’t have the emotional fortitude to confront so many problems all at once.

  Blake’s smile immediately calms my nerves. “Are you kidding? He told the team he’d buy everyone dinner tonight to make up for missing part of afternoon practice. I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t rig all the lockers with pink or blue glitter bombs to announce the news. He’s definitely excited.”

  A laugh rumbles out of my chest. I can actually picture him doing that. “I’ll do my best to convince him not to pull any pranks, but we honestly don’t discuss what goes on in the locker room. It’s a conflict of interest for my work. If the players want to talk through something that happens in there, then I don’t want to be biased by already having heard a third-party version of the events. Alex doesn’t talk about his teammates to me, and I don’t talk about what might be discussed in sessions.
”

  Blake nods as he stares at the ceiling. “That’s gotta be so rough on you though. If I ever find a woman to settle down and spend the rest of my life with, I want the kind of relationship where we can talk openly to each other about what’s bothering us. You know, sit down to dinner, vent about the shitty parts of our jobs, then make each other feel better. What the hell do you two talk about at home if such a big chunk of your lives is off the table for discussion?”

  My cheeks heat and I press my thighs together. The first response that automatically pops into my head is that we’re too busy moaning most of the time to worry about talking. That’s not true though. We talk about everything and anything. Except work.

  “I’ve known Alex since he was a freshman at State,” I admit. Not that it’s a secret at all. “We have plenty of shared history and experiences. There’s always something to talk about.”

  Blake doesn’t look convinced. His brows pull down as he frowns. “Okay, but if you’re planning to spend the rest of your life with the guy and raise a family together, you can’t only talk about the past. You have to be able to share the present if you want any hope for a future together.”

  I glance at my laptop screen, so I won’t have to meet Blake’s gaze.

  He hit the nail on the head, and he doesn’t even realize it. Alex wants a future, but I’m the one who’s stuck in the past.

  “Do you see this little dark space here?” The ultrasound tech points at the screen.

  I nod like a bobblehead. This is the most important film I’ve ever watched, but hell. It’s just shades of gray. I can’t make out anything. The fast, whooshing sound of a little heartbeat fills the room. It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard.

  Amira grips my hand tighter as the tech smiles at us.

  “That’s a girl. You’re having a girl.”

  Amira gasps.

  I tear my gaze away from the screen to glance down at her. Tears blur her black eyes.

  “Is she healthy? Is everything perfect?” Amira whispers.

  The tech nods as she continues moving the wand through the jelly on Amira’s stomach. She stops then clicks the mouse, moves then pauses.