Personal Foul (Moving the Chains Book 6)

by Kata Čuić

  “I do not have endometriosis,” I say gently. “Nor have I been labeled a high-risk pregnancy.”

  “Uh.” He closes his eyes. He looks exhausted. “She hemorrhaged during delivery.”

  Alex warned me when he returned home from the baby shower that he would risk team sanctions to be there for this birth. The woman he loves knew the risks but went through with a pregnancy that could kill her anyway. All for the man she loves.

  I don’t have a medical degree, but I understand. It must have been a blood bath.

  “How is Rob handling it?”

  The whole point of Evie calling in reinforcements is because she was worried about how her husband would manage his grief with a newborn to care for. When Alex repeatedly says this small group of people have been through everything together, he is—sadly—not exaggerating. So, they do what they always do. They close ranks.

  “Better than the last time he was covered in her blood.” Alex smirks, but there are dark circles ringing his eyes. “He was in shock for a bit there, but he rallied for his kid. I actually had to drag Mike out of the room to give father and son a little private bonding time.”

  “How is Mike?”

  I never tutored Alex’s old teammates, but he’s talked about them enough over the years that I feel like I know them, too. Mike and Evie are as close as Rob and Alex used to be. They grew up together, and he thinks of her like a sister. I’m also aware that Mike took a very hard hit at the beginning of the season. Just the replay of it scared Alex enough that he took a precious Monday off to fly to Albany to check on Mike personally.

  These people mean the world to Alex, regardless of past skirmishes and heartaches. He always shows it with his actions.

  “He’s…Mike.” Alex laughs, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s clearly worried about his friend’s concussion symptoms.

  We stare at each other across the miles through the wonders of modern technology. The only sound filtering through the speaker is our steady breathing.

  “Are you looking for a distraction to pass the time?” I guess.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Lower that sheet a little more, and I’ll have a good one.”

  I laugh. Even with the last ounce of his energy and lingering tension between us, Alex can’t not make a sexual comment. “I was thinking more like a story.”

  He pops his eyebrows. “I’ve got a good one for you, actually.”

  I was offering to tell him a story, but I like his idea much better.

  “I was giving Mike shit earlier about oversharing advice all the time even though he only has a bachelor’s in psych. Sort of like a fake therapist, right?”

  “Okay.” I’m not necessarily excited about where I think he’s going with this. If a distraction involves insults about my career, I may hang up on him.

  Alex chuckles. “The thing he doesn’t know though—no one knows—is that it’s me. I’m the fake therapist.”

  “Excuse me?” I don’t believe he’s referring to the lessons he gave me in college. That was not unsolicited advice, and it certainly wasn’t a case of someone who doesn’t know what he’s talking about giving it.

  “Did you keep in contact with anyone from State after you graduated? Besides me?” There’s a nervousness in his tone that isn’t usually there.

  “Yes,” I admit. “A few friends from my department. Why?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Any of them share the gossip with you about what a manwhore I turned into after you left?”

  Yes. Yes, they did. They could not wait to tell me all about Alex’s reputation on campus since it was never a secret that I’d tutored him. While they cackled and congratulated me on avoiding getting entangled with such a playboy, I thanked my lucky stars that all of the conversations were either via text or call. My friends could not see me blushing from head to toe if I wasn’t on screen.

  They also did not reach out again after I defended Alex’s right to enjoy a healthy sex drive. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, I told them. If they held slut shaming in such disdain, why would they engage in similar behavior simply because the object of gossip was a man?

  “No,” I say instead. “Why would anyone notice a difference between your exploits as a freshman versus as a senior?”

  His shoulders vibrate with silent laughter. “Maybe because I went from one-on-one exploits to group orgies?”

  I cannot decide if he is trying to shock me or if he is asking a serious question. I’m not entirely certain there’s anything he could do or say that would shock me at this point.

  “At least that’s how it looked from an outside perspective. By design.” He scratches the back of his neck. His posture belies his level of discomfort in spite of the smirk on his face. “I, uh, sort of started an underground sex therapy side hustle after you graduated.”

  Okay. He can still shock me.

  “What does that mean?” I question carefully. I’m not entirely sure I want to know in the interests of plausible deniability.

  He shrugs. “There were more people than just you and Zack on campus who needed a little help. I figured it was my civic duty to teach people what they wanted to know in a way that would tip the scales toward safer sexual encounters.”

  This man. He goes about things in such an odd way, yet his heart is far bigger than anyone ever gives him credit for. Me included. Hearts are fragile and prone to bruising. They have long memories to protect themselves from suffering old hurts again and again.

  “You are like Robin Hood,” I muse aloud, the last of my anger about the charity event melting away. “An unsung hero.”

  He tips his head like he’s considering it. “No, not really. I wasn’t robbing the rich to feed the poor.”

  “You were in a sense,” I argue. “You gave power to people who would have had none otherwise.”

  “Yeah, except that they had to pay for it.” He squints an eye.

  “You charged people for your services?” That’s…unethical at best, but I’m learning Alex always has reasons for the things he does. “Let me guess. You donated your profits to charity?”

  “Nah, nothing that selfless,” he assures me.

  “How much did you make in the two years you did this?”

  “Let’s put it this way…Davey has a really nice stock portfolio that will ensure he gets the best care if he’s the last living brother.”

  How he does not consider that a selfless act, I will never understand.

  “You said you were celibate for six years. That means you taught roomfuls of people the rules, yet you never played the game.”

  “Yep.” He nods.

  Suddenly, the math doesn’t add up.

  “That should only be four years, then. I graduated at the end of your sophomore year. You ran the sex therapy your junior and senior years. You’ve been with the Sharks for a little over two years. How has it been six years since you’ve had sex before me?”

  He sighs. His eyes glitter in spite of the bags beneath them. “Because after that very first time I kissed you, I only slept with three other women. I haven’t had sex since my freshman year of college. After you and before you. It all hinges on you.”

  I suck in a sharp breath. His admission hurts as much as it soothes.

  His smirk isn’t quite as confident as usual. “It was sort of a three strikes, you’re out kind of thing. I wanted to get you out of my system so bad after you got together with Zack. It didn’t work, so I didn’t bother anymore.”

  That doesn’t explain the woman he fell in love with after me. The one who he flew across the country to be there for. His explanation leaves me with more questions than answers.

  “I…” He sighs then runs his fingers through his hair. “I’ve always loved you. I’m sorry I was too fucking scared to do anything about it then.”

  My heart flutters in my chest to the point of making it difficult to catch my breath. “No apologies, Rule Breaker. I would have left for UCLA even if you had told me.”


  He nods. “I know. I wasn’t going to be the one to trap you.” The cocky grin that’s so familiar returns to his face. “If you love something, set it free. If it returns to you, it was meant to be yours.”

  I choke out a watery laugh. “Unfortunately, I returned to you tainted.”

  I sound like my parents, and I hate it. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m carrying another man’s baby.

  “No.” Alex’s sharp voice punctures the silence. “Not tainted. Just mine.”

  A stupid sob slips out of my throat. I’ve never cried so much in my life as I have these past months. Pregnancy hormones are turning my life upside down in more ways than one.

  “I’m yours,” he whispers. “I’m here if you decide you want me, too. I’ll always be here. Can’t get you out of my system, remember?”

  I swipe at the tears flowing down my cheeks. There are things I want to say, questions I still need to ask, but I don’t want to do it like this. With an entire continent between us.

  “I don’t like you crying without me there,” he murmurs. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  We need a distraction from all of our distractions. “Tell me about some of your…exploits.”

  “Can’t,” he insists, shaking his head. “That would violate client confidentiality rules.”

  “Touché. I thought you said they were group orgies though? How were those confidential?”

  “The first rule of sex club—don’t talk about sex club.” He chuckles, then explains, “It’s a pop culture reference. Never mind.”

  “I have read that book, thank you very much.”

  He squints at me. “That’s a book?”

  “Yes.” I laugh then roll my shoulders, trying to find a more comfortable position.

  “It’s happening, isn’t it?” He stares at me with a soft smile and softer eyes.

  “What’s happening?” The last time he asked me that, we brokered a sex-only arrangement that feels less and less like it’s about sex. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from feeling things I’m too afraid to feel.

  “You can’t get comfortable. Damn. I really hate not being there.”

  “You really need to be where you are,” I insist, rolling onto my other side. I’m six months pregnant, and already, I must look like a turtle floundering on its shell. What will it be like near my due date?

  “Ooh,” he breathes. “That is a damn good distraction.”

  Sure enough, my breasts are much more visible on camera at this angle. I flash him a good shot then readjust his silky soft sheets around myself for more cover.

  Not a moment too soon.

  Alex glances at a sound off-camera. “What’s wrong?”

  Without warning, a large man sits beside him on the floor. “Nothing. It’s good. She’s good. She’s out of surgery. I can’t see her for a few hours though. Figured I’d track you down and give the grandmas some alone time with Robbie. I’m pretty sure after the surgeon told us that Evie’s out of the woods, they were seconds from mauling me to get to that baby.”

  Rob Falls himself—the storied quarterback and Alex’s best friend since preschool—glances at Alex’s phone. His exhausted expression turns into one of shock.

  “Holy shit,” he whispers.

  “Hi. We’ve never met before, but I’m Amira Deep. Congratulations on the birth of your son,” I squeak, feeling fifty shades of awkward that this is our first introduction while I’m completely naked in Alex’s bed wearing my glasses and not a stitch of makeup. My hair must be a frizzy mess. “I’m happy to hear your wife is doing better.”

  Rob glances between me and Alex several times, his eyes wide. “Are you shitting me right now, Fossoway?”

  Alex winces.

  Rob blinks at me. “You’re the tutor. From college. Uh, State. Freshman and sophomore years.”

  Why does this suddenly feel like an inquisition though he hasn’t asked a single question? I didn’t realize Alex had ever told any of his friends about me. He certainly never introduced me to them. That would have been against the rules.

  I feel even worse, remembering the things Alex did to me on the bed Rob and Evie shared in college. “Yes. That’s true.”

  “So, you…” Rob trails off. Sharp awareness dawns on his face. He gazes at Alex. “You…”

  Alex’s shoulders hitch up. “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know whether to punch you or kiss you right now,” Rob says, his voice laced with awe.

  Alex’s face screws up in confusion. “The punching, I deserve. It’s the threat of kissing I don’t get.”

  A low rumble begins slowly at first then gains steam until Rob’s eyes are squeezed shut as he laughs. “I knew that didn’t make sense! Holy shit, all this time, I was missing the most important part of the equation.” He sobers on a dime. “Wait. Which came first—the chicken or the egg?”

  I am definitely missing a part of the equation. I feel like I’m eavesdropping on a conversation that I don’t nearly understand.

  Alex tips his head toward me. “I should let you go, sweetheart. It’s late. I just wanted to give you an update.”

  Rob’s eyes widen again. “Sweetheart?”

  The picture jostles until Rob’s face takes up the center of the screen. His body shifts and jerks. He must have stolen Alex’s phone and is trying to keep it a while longer.

  I must admit, I’m curious. This man gained a son and nearly lost his wife in the past twenty-four hours. What could he possibly be so interested in talking to me about?

  “Where are you right now?” Rob asks, narrowing his eyes.

  I pull the sheets up higher. “At home. In Orlando.”

  His mouth pops open. He rolls his head toward Alex who’s still out of the frame. “You’ve been keeping secrets, buddy.”

  “Yeah. A couple.”

  Rob returns his attention to me. “And where, exactly, in Orlando are you, Amira Deep?”

  “At my house, all right?” Alex huffs out. “She’s in our bed, and she’s having my baby in a few months.”

  “What?” Rob yelps.

  Alex was the first to tell our coworkers that I’m having his baby. Yet, it would seem he hasn’t told any of his friends the same lie. That doesn’t make me feel very confident about his professions of love.

  Rob shakes his head. “Well, you’re a dead man walking.”

  “You gotta help me,” Alex pleads.

  I still can’t see his face, and I still have no idea what they’re talking about.

  “There’s no help for you,” Rob says still staring at me. He squints his eyes and brings the phone so close to his face that the image blurs to just the tip of his nose. Thank God it’s dim in here with only the lamplight from the nightstand. He can’t possibly see me in too much detail. He pulls the phone back to a normal distance. “Nope. You fucked up so bad this time, man. They’re gonna tear you limb from limb.”

  “It wasn’t my fault!” Alex shouts. “She’s a demon woman! She has black eyes, Rob! Black, not blue! She worked some kind of voodoo magic on me, and I haven’t been the same since!”

  That’s it. I’ve heard enough.

  I end the call just as Rob starts cackling again.

  Amira’s shoulder rises and falls in a steady rhythm that makes me want to go the fuck back to sleep. Instead of rolling out of bed or closing my eyes, I drink her in.

  At seven months pregnant, she looks like there’s a beach ball shoved beneath her stomach. Silvery pink stretch marks line her skin. A darker line extends from her belly button all the way down to the promised land. She’s earning her stripes all right. She’s so uncomfortable that she hardly ever sleeps tucked up against me anymore. She tosses and turns so much at night that she’s threatened to sleep in the guest room to keep from waking me up all the time.

  I only narrowly avoided that disaster by telling her this was practice for all the sleep we won’t be getting once our daughter’s born. She couldn’t really argue with the practice makes perfect mantr
a.

  She’s hungry all the time, but everything she eats gives her heartburn. Most nights, she falls asleep propped up against pillows to ease the symptoms. She can barely make it through an hour-long session with a client without having to stop in the middle to use the bathroom. In the evenings at home, she’s in there every twenty minutes. It’s hell to stand by and watch her suffer. There’s not a damn thing I can do to make it better. She doesn’t even want pickles anymore.

  The outline of a little foot presses against Amira’s stomach. I reach out and gently push it back in.

  “Good morning, baby,” I whisper. “Let your mom sleep a little longer.”

  I can’t wait to meet her. She’s probably going to look just like Amira. God help me if she has her mother’s personality, too. I don’t know how I’ll handle two of them. I haven’t even seen our baby girl’s black eyes yet, but I’m already under her spell.

  I’ve never been so happy to be so fucked before.

  A fist juts out at the top of Amira’s stomach.

  I smooth my hand over the spot. “Don’t tempt me, kid. She won’t be mad if you wake her up. If I wake her up? There’ll be hell to pay.”

  It’s just a short distance from here to a rack I resist the urge to squeeze with both hands. Amira might feel awful right now, but holy God in heaven, her tits are a miracle. Rounder, fuller, more mouth-watering than they’ve ever been. Her nipples have gotten darker over the past few months. They’re like bullseyes for my tongue.

  “Go to work,” she moans with a sleep-laced voice.

  I chuckle as I scoot closer to her on the mattress. If she’s already awake, then I can get in a few squeezes before I go. I brush my lips against hers. “I was trying to keep baby Fossoway asleep a little while longer for you.”

  “You were trying to cop a feel,” she mumbles.

  “I can do more than that if you want to start your day off the right way,” I promise. Damn. These tits are the best thing I’ve ever put in my hands.

  Amira yawns. “No, thanks. I barely slept last night.”

  This might be the worst part of the third trimester. As horny out of her mind as Amira was, she’s on a permanent lockdown now.