Personal Foul (Moving the Chains Book 6)

by Kata Čuić

  The perfect version of me is doing her damnedest to tear a hole in her dress way too close to her pussy for my comfort. No one’s ever gonna see that Holy Land again if I have anything to say about it.

  I grip her hand in mine to keep her from messing up her dress anymore. She wouldn’t let me buy her anything for tonight—stubborn and independent as ever even though I’m her pickle dealer these days. I know damn well the dress, shoes, and jewelry cost more than her salary affords. It must suck to be a chick. I dropped bank on a single tux that I can wear for every event, but if she’s caught dead in the same expensive dress twice, well…there’s a reason it’s called being caught dead.

  “What do you want to do?” I ask her plainly.

  She’s on edge all the time, and I’m not convinced it’s just pregnancy hormones. Either she wants to bang, or she’s holding back tears. There’s no in between. I can’t fucking imagine being in her shoes. It’s really easy to want to be the guy to carry her everywhere she goes when it’s not my body and my job on the line.

  Only, it kind of is. She doesn’t need that pressure added to her load.

  “What do you want to do?” she throws back.

  I still can’t believe she asked me to say it in the middle of sex. Like that means anything. A guy who’s either going to get to blow his wad in a hot, tight pussy or who’s going to stumble away with blue balls will say anything to get what he wants. Hell, some of our rookies promise jersey chasers the moon. They still don’t understand those women will be lined up three deep no matter what the players tell them.

  Amira’s not a jersey chaser. She’s not a random woman. The baby girl making her belly jump isn’t a whim. Not for me. They’re the end game.

  I lift Amira’s hand to my lips. “I love both of you. Tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen.”

  Somehow. Please, God, don’t let me fuck this up again.

  She scoffs. “Really? You wouldn’t say it two weeks ago when you were balls deep inside me, but you’ll say it now when we’re fifty cars deep into a nightmare?”

  My chest rumbles with laughter I’m not stupid enough to let loose. “How’d I know that was gonna piss you off?”

  “Sometimes, I think you’re a sadist. You enjoy pissing me off,” she clarifies like I don’t know what a sadist is.

  “It only took you six years to figure that out. No wonder you got your PsyD in record time.”

  She’s practically vibrating with anger next to me.

  I’m dying, trying to hold in my laughter.

  Her entire body deflates on a long sigh. Except her belly that’s still doing a dance. Our baby girl is always more active in the evening. “Oh. I see what you’re doing. If I’m angry, I can’t be anxious. Thank you.”

  I wink at her. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

  “What do we do, Alex?” she pleads.

  Here’s another thing I’ve figured out about Amira after six long years. She actually likes giving someone else control over her. She’s intelligent, stubborn, independent, and a rebel to her core, but she’s also strong in her softness. She doesn’t want to be told what to do. She gets off on implicitly trusting the person she cedes control to.

  That would be me.

  I’m the guy she gives the reins and trusts to make her come her brains out.

  This is not one of those times, and I need to step up my game to prove I can hack it outside the bedroom. Or the living room. Or in the shower. Or my home gym. Or outside on the patio.

  Ever since that girls gone wild night on the couch, she’s begging for it everywhere and anywhere. She doesn’t ask for the D in the kitchen. For obvious reasons. She knows me as well as I know her.

  Almost.

  “Why haven’t you asked me to bend you over the kitchen table yet?”

  She laughs—that deep husky one I’ve been trying to steal for myself since college. “I’m working up to it. I know it’s a sensitive spot for you.”

  “For you, I will break every rule in my book,” I tell her. I’m not joking. I already have. “And for you, I’m going to send you in with Gorge and his wife.”

  She squeezes my hand, but she also knows this isn’t the time to go too deep. “How will you send me in with Gorge? We don’t even know when he’s arriving.”

  “Yeah. We do.” I gesture with our joined hands toward the windshield. “That’s his Maserati in front of us. I’ll text him right now, so he knows what to do. When I pull up to the valet station, you get out and go in with them. I’ll catch up to you inside.”

  “That’s not very fair to Gorge’s wife,” Amira murmurs.

  “It’s not exactly fair to us or our daughter, but it is what it is for now.”

  Amira doesn’t look convinced. I’m not convinced either. I want her on my arm. I want people to know her name and ask when our baby’s due. I want her to kiss me in front of the cameras, so the whole world knows.

  “It could be worse,” I say as we move another inch in the damn line. “Mike’s team makes him prance like a fucking pony in public. If it wasn’t for their front office, he wouldn’t have had to publicly break up with Tori and keep her as a secret side piece.”

  Amira nods. She knows all about that story because I told her one night when we were breaking her rule of no pillow talk. She’s been helping me keep tabs on him during his concussion recovery, and she’s also been giving me good tips on keeping Tori engaged.

  “Rob and Evie have been a media storm since college,” Amira adds.

  The worst kind. The kind with consequences.

  I meet her gaze. “I don’t want that for us. Which is why we have to play it smart for now.”

  “Okay.” She blows out a breath. “I’m ready. We can do this, Brawn.”

  Such a simple sentence. Enough weight to make my heart take off and fly outside the confines of this expensive sports car that doesn’t mean nearly as much to me as those words.

  I lift her hand to my lips. “We can do this, Brain.”

  It doesn’t feel like we can do this all of a sudden. By the time I hand over my keys and stars aren’t dancing in my field of vision from all the camera flashes, I’m pretty sure my eyes have been permanently damaged.

  Because there is no way in hell I am seeing what I’m seeing.

  “I’m sorry, man,” Gorge hisses in my ear. He hands me a glass of something that’s hopefully strong enough to calm me down. “He swooped in out of left field, and I had no choice. I couldn’t make a scene with all those reporters watching our every move.”

  “Do you know what’s probably all over the internet right now?” I grind out through clenched teeth. Whatever’s in this glass isn’t Patron, so it’s not helping.

  “No. It’s not,” he swears. “Kyara and I weren’t far behind them. I heard Dr. Deep tell someone who asked that her and Mayview are just friends. He even told the reporters that she’s the team psych.”

  “How noble of him,” I spit. That motherfucker knew exactly what he was doing.

  The bullshit thing is there’s no way she’s still a prize to him. Not with her belly jumping like an alien’s about to explode out of it. Mayview has standards that Amira no longer meets even though her rack looks better than ever. No. What he’s really interested in is fucking me up the ass without any lube. Because I’ve been cock-blocking him ever since I realized what a piece of shit he is during my rookie year. I should have blocked him harder.

  The asshole has no idea just how much he’s got me by the balls. I’m not going to be the one to give him that information. He’ll just use it to his advantage to hurt her.

  We’re in a public venue with hundreds of people sucking down high-end cocktails and shitty appetizers that are nothing more than cheese and crackers with a sprig of parsley on top to qualify as ritzy.

  As long as she stays in my line of sight, I have no reason to panic. I have to play the long game on multiple levels.

  So, I schmooze. I drink. I watch and wait. I eat a metric ton of cheese and
crackers. I fend off easy advances from trophy wives who have no self-respect, and nothing left to lose.

  It’s so wild to be aware that I used to be one of them.

  I’m buzzed enough to be surprised when she sits next to me for dinner.

  I’m not buzzed enough to not be pissed by the wide smile that splits her beautiful face. “This is so much fun! I figured these events were as boring as watching paint dry! I’ve made so many networking connections to potentially start my own private practice in a few years! This has been wonderful!”

  I didn’t even know she wanted to start her own private practice. She never told me. That only pisses me off more.

  “I’m so glad you’re having a good time,” I deadpan.

  All the seats at our table are full. Except for the one on my left. I squint at the place card.

  Charles Jizkowski.

  Thank Christ.

  If Mayview had the balls to sit with us, I’d probably…flip this table.

  He has the balls. I would flip this table.

  I’m not going to breathe easy until Charlie takes his seat.

  Amira’s hand on my arm barely registers through my haze of rage and expensive alcohol. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recognize this kind of coping strategy makes me a higher risk for getting addicted to the pain pills that I actually medically need right now.

  “Don’t be that way,” she admonishes. “We both agreed this is the best play for now.”

  “How long?”

  Shit. I think I slurred those two little words.

  She squints at me. “How long, what?”

  Her fan-fucking-tastic cleavage is not going to distract me tonight. No, sir.

  “How long after she’s born until you feel it’s safe to come out of the closet?” I definitely slurred that.

  She sighs. It’s full of disappointment that presses down against my already heavy chest.

  Thanks for letting me fuck this up again, God.

  I don’t care if we’re both Catholic. I’m not going to waste my time praying anymore if these are the shitty results.

  “We’re not having this conversation right now,” she decides, pulling her fancy wrapped napkin off her plate then smoothing it over her thighs. “I’ll drive home tonight.”

  Another alcohol heavy body plops into the chair beside me.

  It’s Charlie. Jizz.

  I will not call him that tonight in front of Amira and dig myself deeper into this hole.

  He leans toward me, practically holding himself up against my shoulder. His words sound way more slurred than mine feel. “Dude. You’re gonna lose. Did you see Mayview parading her around this place? Everyone thinks they’re together.”

  I snap my gaze to Amira, but she’s busy chatting with Gorge’s wife on her other side.

  There’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to shut Charlie up though dinner. He’s blitzed.

  In slow motion like a horror flick, he leans past me to yell at Amira, “Dr. Deep! Is B-Lake your baby daddy? Are you gonna marry him?”

  Her frown sinks deep into a secret place of failure that I treasure like a fucking shrine. “Charlie. How much have you had to drink already? You know Alex is the father, and Blake and I are just friends.”

  He shakes his head and mutters, “There’s a three-million-dollar pot that says otherwise.”

  As grateful as I am that he didn’t shout that part, I’m also stuck on the idea that Amira and Mayview are anything but coworkers.

  “Since when are you and B-Lake friends?”

  Shut up, shut up, shut up, Fossoway.

  She hits me with that disappointment again. I feel it in my bones. “Since he’s the starting quarterback for the team, and I’m the team psychologist.”

  “I’m a little fuzzy on your definition of friends. I didn’t think it was a synonym for client.”

  That definitely sounded more like cinnamon than synonym.

  Damn whiskey. Patron wouldn’t let me down this way.

  She raises an eyebrow at me. It’s like looking in a mirror. I recognize it’s one of my own habits even though two seconds ago, I wouldn’t have realized I do that same thing.

  “You are fuzzy on more than definitions right now.” She pushes a glass of water toward me. The bread basket slides over next. “Please eat and drink something before you embarrass yourself.”

  I scoff. Sort of. It sounds more like a snort. “Embarrass you, you mean.”

  She leans into me, her tits pressing against my arm. Her eyes are black and scary. Any second now, she’s going to burn me down. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is for me to attend these functions? Half these players complain about their significant others to me. I know things about their relationships that I can’t divulge. When I’m introduced to these women, I have to smile and pretend I know nothing. All while the player who told me he’s considering a divorce acts like a nervous Nelly even though he brought a woman he no longer loves to a party to be his trophy wife for the evening. You cannot possibly add to the sense of embarrassment I feel in those situations.”

  Oh, shit. I never even remotely considered that. I rest my arm on the back of her chair. It’s not inappropriate touching, but the position pushes us closer together. “What happened to having such a good time, huh? Maybe if you weren’t so busy acting like Mayview’s trophy wife, I would have been by your side to break the tension. Maybe if you’d fucking talk to me about more than the baby, I’d know you want to start your own private practice and how you really feel about getting caught in the middle of messy divorces on the team. Or, maybe since you know who’s single and who’s attached here, you’re exploring your options.”

  She latches onto my thigh with fingers that are twitching. Slowly, she slides her hand up my pant leg until the pressure so close to my balls makes me really question my life choices.

  I have no doubt she’s considering ripping my dick off under this table.

  With one more warning squeeze, she releases. Her expression relaxes until it’s calm and clear. “While I understand better than most that the past informs the people we become in the present, I am not your mother. I won’t be your excuse for bad behavior simply because you have some hang-ups about fidelity, no matter how understandable.”

  “I have hang-ups about fidelity?” All this whiskey is burning off fast with my anger. “You’re the one who can’t accept I could ever be faithful to you just because you happen to know that I loved another woman.”

  “Ooooh.”

  I glance over my shoulder.

  Charlie’s still sitting there, his mouth hanging open.

  I shove a bread roll into his pie hole before he can make a bad situation worse. “Don’t talk. Seriously. Do not talk for the rest of this meal, or I’ll make your life a living hell in the locker room for the next month.”

  “This is not the kind of candlelit dinner I envisioned,” Amira mutters.

  Her soft words are a slap in the face. If she’s envisioning anything with me at all, I’m doing my fucking best to sabotage it. I sigh out my frustration and grip her hand beneath the table. “I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes hold a shade of surprise. “Please sober up. I know you wouldn’t want to embarrass your daughter.”

  I grab the glass of water and chug it. Then, I tear into a piece of bread, slathered with butter.

  Amira goes back to her conversation with Mrs. Betts.

  Thankfully, Charlie’s silent beside me. He might actually pass out before the first course is served.

  Everything’s peaceful, but a sinking sensation competes with the whiskey swirling in my gut. What if Amira’s hesitation to go public with our relationship is justified? What if I don’t have what it takes to be a good father?

  She’s the shrink who knows me better than anyone else.

  What if she already sees the writing on the wall?

  “I didn’t expect you to answer,” he says. The expression of surprise on his face is obvious even on my phone screen. “I
t’s almost midnight our time. I figured you’d be asleep by now.”

  “Did you think I’d be asleep, or did you think I would ignore your call?”

  There’s a split-second of hesitation in his eyes. He doesn’t cover it with a cocky grin. Instead, he glances down then back up at his screen. His voice is soft but raspy. He likely hasn’t slept much in the past twenty-four hours. “I hoped maybe you’re missing my face as much as I’m missing yours even though I acted like a complete jackass the other night.”

  His admission thaws my heart a little. Things have been frosty between us since the team charity event. It didn’t help that he was summoned to Sacramento the following day. We still haven’t talked about what happened. Now isn’t the time.

  “I have been waiting for your call,” I admit. I’m not a completely callous person who has no regard for the well-being of others even if I do shoulder wildly misplaced jealousy for the woman he’s in Sacramento to support. I was not, however, expecting to talk face-to-face. I pull the sheets up higher to cover my bare breasts. Ever since Alex suggested I sleep naked the week my parents were here, I can’t go back to wearing pajamas. “How are mother and baby?”

  Alex blows out a breath. He leans his head back against what looks like a brick wall that has been painted white. He might be in the stairwell at the hospital, actually. “Baby is good. Healthy. Robbie, after his dad. He clocked in at uh, eight pounds and two ounces; twenty inches long, I think. He’s probably gonna be a giant like his dad, too. Born about two hours ago.”

  I am neither surprised that Alex didn’t call me right away nor that he remembers these details most men would not pay attention to. It’s his lack of a fully transparent answer that has me on edge. “And Evie?”

  “Still in surgery.” His tone is grim.

  I have been researching labor and delivery options, so I’m informed enough to know that a woman would not still be in surgery two hours after delivering a healthy baby even via Caesarean section.

  “What happened?”

  He shakes his head, his mouth pulling down at the corners. “I’d rather not tell you. I don’t wanna freak you out since it’ll be your turn in a few months.”