Quarterback's Surprise Baby (Bad Boy Ballers Book 2)

by Imani King

  Ahh horses. I miss the ranch sometimes. Sure I could live like my brother Rowan, with his beautiful ranch, his non-profit, working on his life’s mission down there in Texas. But there's something that just draws me to the business life. But, there's nothing like riding across the open plain. I can feel my drawl coming back as I mentally transport myself to that scene. But then I think about him padding around the house in those crazy boot-slippers - what do they call them? Uggs? - and I know I need to be exactly where I am.

  And, where I might want to raise kids. I can just see the little ones running around in the spring, playing catch and swimming in the summertime, starting school in the fall, and in their snow suits, little mittens wrapped around steaming mugs...snow angels in winter. I can imagine myself getting on the ground and making some snow angels too. We didn't have those in Texas, and there is still a boyish part of me that wants to fall down and spread my arms in the billowy white layer, just to see what it looks like when I am done. And if Adisa were laying down in the snow with me...

  Well, I'm getting ahead of myself. Still, she the way she looked at me, the way she said my name. I know there's gotta be something real there. Real enough to explore.

  I'm not imagining it, am I?

  A little voice inside my mind asks me what I think I am doing, getting involved with another woman after everything that went down with Stephanie. Can I truly trust my heart? But did my heart really want to marry Stephanie in the first place? Of course I did love her. That part is certain. I rearranged my whole life for her. But when it comes down to it, the Stephanie she showed me was only but a small part of who she really was - a woman who valued superficial things more than she did family. And that was something I never knew about her because she hid it from me.

  But I can't make that same mistake with Adisa. It’s impossible. Everything she is, everything she has and everything she does speaks to how much she values family. When I was with Stephanie, I listened to her words - what she said about her goals, her life's desires. But I missed her actions. I can't be making that same mistake this time, because you can't miss what Adisa is, and what she wants. She lives her values. Even if it makes things tough.

  If I could only be part of that. Be the shoulder she needs. Be a soft place for her to land. That may be my life's wish.

  I wonder what she's doing right now? I pick up my phone to send her a text.

  "Adisa with an A," I write. "How are things going? I'm getting ready for your visit on Saturday... looking forward to seeing you and your brother and sister."

  I see the notification that she's writing, little dots glowing on the screen. Then they stop, and there's nothing. I'm puzzled. It keeps happening - they start, then stop, then start and stop again.

  Maybe it's that damnable flip phone thing that's causing this to happen. I am going to get her a new phone, this is silly.

  As I wait for her notification, I quickly text my assistant to send her the latest phone, and set it up and deliver it today. I hope she doesn't mind - it's nothing for me to do something like this, but I don't want to offend her pride or anything like that.

  Finally I hear the single chime of my phone that means she's finally sent something.

  "About that," it reads. "I'm not sure I can. My father's at Mercy Hospital."

  "Are you there too?" I quickly write back. I'm sure my face is ashen. My heart feels tight. After losing her mom, she must be freaked out. "Is it serious?"

  This time the reply comes quickly. "Yes, it's pretty serious. I can't go into work right now, I'm sorry."

  "Not to worry," I write. Would it be bad for me to just show up? Is it too early in our ‘thing?’ Will it freak her out? We haven't even really kissed yet, aside from the little one we shared, but I don't want her to feel everything is on her shoulders. Just the thought of those gentle shoulders makes me want to protect her from any pain. Is she alone? Maybe she has family there. I guess there's nothing wrong with asking. "Do you want company?"

  "That's all right," she answers after a moment. "I'm ok for now."

  "If you're sure," I answer. "I'm here if you need me, or need anything at all."

  My heart sinks for her, and I wonder what I should do about the fact that we aren't going to meet on Saturday.

  "Are your brother and sister with you?" I write.

  "No they're with friends."

  Oh Adisa, you're so brave. So lovely, and so strong. The cold feeling in my heart dissipates to be replaced by a warm glow as I think of how strong she is, how motherly, how capable. I hear Rowan's drawl in my head. "Nick, you've got it bad," he says.

  "I know, Ro," I say aloud. He could always see through me, even more than my twin could sometimes.

  Well, if I have it that damn bad, there's not much I can do but go with it.

  11

  Adisa

  Despite the situation, my weary heart is glowing golden with happiness. Why did I say no, he shouldn't come? There’s nothing I’d like more than to lean on his shoulder just for a few moments, and rest my head. Breathe in his cologne. Feel the strong muscles of his arm as he puts it around me. Maybe it's because I caught my reflection in the glass of the turned-off television. I looked nice earlier on today, but I guess it’s the stress. My face looks gaunt, my hair an asymmetrical mess. In spite of all that, I have a feeling that he wouldn't care about those things at such a moment. But I can just imagine Rain saying, "Get some control over that hair, girl. It’s all over the place! Man's a billionaire, and only getting richer. Do you really want to show him this side of yourself?"

  Still, who expects a beauty queen at the hospital?

  No matter. I shouldn't get reliant on the man. Dependent. Look at my father, dying of a broken heart. That's where love leads you if you're not careful. I'll just make sure the little ones are ok and I'll come last. That's how mama lived her life and she was the strongest person I know.

  But she's dead, comes the thought of its own accord.

  She's dead.

  And soon my father might be too. And then it happens -- the tears fall down my cheeks, and don't abate until I find myself waking up the next morning, having cried myself to sleep. Sometimes life is just too much. I wonder if I made a mistake, if I’ve made Nicholas lose interest by telling him not to come. I hope not. He’s the first thing I think of when I wake up. That means something. Doesn’t it? I used to think of Jamal but never with this kind of hope and happiness. More like despair. Mostly I was just hoping he would change.

  But people don’t change.

  I struggle out of the uncomfortable chair, and stretch my arms over my head, before making my way to the hospital bathroom. I pass door after door, some open, some shut. In each there's someone who needs help, someone who wishes they had a visitor, or even someone who's getting ready to leave. Someone who will never walk out of their own accord, like my mother. Hospitals can be such a place of pain, and I need to feel some hope right now.

  Splashing some water on my face in the bathroom I try to get rid of the bleariness. Luckily I keep some supplies in my purse from waitressing - some mouthwash, eyeliner, face wipes. When I finally swipe my lipstick across my full lips, I begin to look human again. It's called "Champagne Dreams." Hardly lives up to its promise this morning. More like coffee fantasies. I find a hair tie in my purse and arrange my curls into some semblance of a hairstyle, and head back out to face the waiting room for a little longer. Waiting again. Waiting for news.

  When I get back to the waiting room, I see him, and I audibly gasp. He's turned away from me, but those shoulders, that dark hair, and that flawless butt - that kind of perfection can be only one person. Nicholas. Suddenly I am grateful for Champagne Dreams. At least I don't look a complete mess. He turns around, his eyes soft.

  "Adisa," he says. "I hope I’m not imposing. I brought you coffee. I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I got a few choices. This is a cappuccino, this is a mocha, and this is just a plain dark roast. Go ahead, pick one."

  “Oh thanks so
much, but…Which one would you like?" I ask, trying not to immediately fly into his arms and bury my face in his strong shoulder.

  "Don't matter me none," he smiles. I can hear the Texas in his voice right now, and his voice is usually so modulated, so carefully anything but regional. "I like 'em all.”

  I reach for the cappuccino and sip it gratefully. "How did you know I was still here?" I ask.

  "I called. I said, is there a gorgeous woman in the waiting room? And they said, yes."

  I can't help but smile. "Could have been anyone."

  "Yeah, I told them your name, and then they confirmed it was the right beautiful woman." His voice is light, and his eyes warm as they look at me. "Again, I hope I'm not intruding, Adisa with an A."

  "No," I sigh, knowing it's true. It's just so nice to have someone taking care of me for a change. After being responsible for my brother and sister, and now my father - I want to lean on his broad shoulder, have him kiss me on the forehead with those lovely rose-colored lips.

  "How about a bagel?" he asks. "Or a pastry?" He holds up a brown bag with the name of a fancy bakery tastefully printed on it.

  "You've really got it all," I smile at him. But as I reach for it, the voice of the doctor breaks our conversation.

  "Miss Jones?"

  "That's me," I barely choke out. "Is there news about my father?"

  His face is kindly, a little stern. Weathered, certainly. "Your father is doing well." I breathe again, not realizing I had stopped. "He's made it through surgery and he is resting comfortably."

  Nicholas' hand is on the small of my back now, and I want to fall into his arms in relief. It means so much to me that he is here, that he was thinking of my comfort, my happiness, when I spend my time thinking of everyone else’s. Not that I mind - I want to, but it touches me to be cared for, to be fed, to be offered an arm and a shoulder. Especially now as I finally get the news of dad.

  "Can I...can I see him?" I ask.

  "I'm afraid not yet," says the doctor as he flips through the chart. "What you need to do is go home and get some rest. You can come back and see him this evening."

  "Thank you doctor," I mumble. He's fine! He's actually fine. I feel like running and singing. Well, no. I'm exhausted. I feel like having a long bath.

  "Hey, how did you get here?" Nicholas asks as he leans forward to catch my eye.

  "I rode along in the ambulance," I say. I'm just realizing that I don't have a way home. My car is still stuck in the parking garage at work, since Nicholas gave me a ride when it broke down yesterday.

  "Ok, well don't worry about a thing. I'll take you wherever you need to be. And I won't even tell your boss that you're taking the day off." His eyes twinkle. God, I could fall into those eyes. They're so beautiful. My own almost close in relief and fatigue. "You're exhausted," he says. A new tenderness fills his voice, and he takes me in his arms. They surround me. I didn't know a hug could feel so good. His body is the perfect size for me - shoulders that my head nestles into easily, body that fits mine perfectly. Just as I had imagined, so many times. But I shouldn’t forget --this is my boss!

  I pull away and look at him for a moment. "You give good hugs," I finally say.

  "I'm glad you enjoy them," he says. "You're welcome to one just about anytime you like." His drawl is definitely coming back. And it’s adorable. My cowboy! Well I hope so, anyway.

  "I just might take you up on that," I grin. How long has it been since someone hugged me like that, since they kissed me, since... we we know what comes next. It seems like it's been years, but I only wish it had been, after that ex of mine. Jamal, that snake. He used to make me feel like I owed him when he paid me any attention at all.

  "Let's go," he says, handing me my half-full cappuccino, which warms my hands, and if I’m honest, my heart. Then he gathers up our garbage and throws it out. I watch the outline of his muscles moving under the fabric of his shirt, and it transforms this mundane task into something glorious. I wish I were a painter, so I could capture the beauty of his body, of his movements.

  Oh Lord, I might be falling for this man. Correction, I realize as he turns toward me and offers me his arm. I am falling for this man. I gratefully take it and lean into him a little. He twinkles a little at me.

  "You're so brave, Adisa," he says, and I can tell he means it.

  "I try to be," I reply. But inside I don't feel so brave. I just feel tired, and thankful that I have someone to lean on, even if it's only for right now.

  12

  Nicholas

  I open the door for her. She's not a tiny woman like Stephanie was - in fact her luscious curves are one aspect that draws me to her so intensely - but right now she seems so curled in on herself. It must be so hard to have so much on your shoulders. That's one reason it feels so good to try to take some of that burden away from her.

  We drive to her house in a gentle silence. I glance at her every now and then and see her emotions working their way out on her face, just in a hint of the movement of the corner of her mouth, or in the sigh that escapes those luscious lips. I would talk to her, but she just seems to need that peace and quiet right now. So I reach out and pat her hand gently. To my surprise she takes mine and squeezes it, and keeps ahold of it while I drive. I try to make it so I don't have to switch gears very often as I don’t want to break our connection. But every time I do, we grasp each other’s hand again, and every time feels so gratifying, such a relief. Her hand feels so soft and smooth, the richly dark skin contrasting against my light skin, so small against mine. And there's something else there as well; something electric. A shiver that connects us together, like a tiny thread from my heart to hers, that we can touch.

  I squeeze her hand in response to her, and she sighs again, but there's a different quality to it this time. Now it carries a whisper of longing, and my heart jumps. I feel it too, I want to say. I want to hold you and treasure you, feel you in my arms, cup your full breast in my hand, slide my thumb over your nipple as my other hand traces its way to the small of your back. And then I want to pick you up and carry you to my bed.

  Her finger strokes the skin of my hand, small circles tracing smoothly over my palm as I pull up outside her house.

  "Do you want to come in?" She asks.

  Good God, yes, I think. But I don't want to take advantage of her in this vulnerable state. How could I. I am her boss, after all, even just temporarily, and I don't want to push her. I know what would happen if I went in there. There would be no stopping us, no stopping us once we held each other's bodies in our arms. The connection is too strong, already.

  "I'd love to, but I don't want to impose. But..." Another thought occurs to me. "Are you ok being alone right now?"

  It would be wrong of me to leave her alone as well, when she needs someone. Am I fooling myself?

  What are you getting yourself into, Nicholas? I hear Rowan's voice in my head again. You don't want to do anything you'll regret.

  That's literally impossible. I just don't want to make her do something she will regret. I wouldn't regret a moment of spending time with her.

  "No, I'd love it if you came in." Her voice is quiet, dignified. But I can hear the softening of her heart in it, in the way she says ‘love.’ It echoes my thoughts, my feelings.

  Here goes nothing. I shut the engine down and hop out, jogging over to the other side of the car to get there before she opens the door herself. She seems surprised that I'm doing so, but it's just the way I was raised, especially when I’m alone with a woman. We may not have always been wealthy, we Corbett boys, but our parents were always very careful to show us how to behave with a lady, in a formal situation, that sort of thing. Not that they were ever stuffy at all; in fact my mother's laugh could make anyone in the room crack up, and they are always very welcoming to visitors. It's something I've always loved about them.

  I offer Adisa my arm again, hoping she'll snuggle into it like she did the last time, and she does. The feel of her grasping onto me, smilin
g up at me, is something I could really get used to.

  We walk slowly up to the door, the only sound the sound of our footfalls on the scattered dried leaves.

  She pulls a key out of her pocket. It has a small stuffed animal on the keychain which bounces as she turns the lock. I can't help it, I can barely breathe thinking of being alone in the house with her. It'll take everything I have not to just pin her down, hike up her shirt and bare those round breasts. Kiss my way down to their peaks.

  "Here we are," she says, turning to me and smiling. "It's going to feel so empty in here, with Dad gone and the kids at school. It's never this quiet..."

  "I imagine not," I say, watching her bend over to take off her short boots. Her body drives me wild. And the feeling is only getting more intense. "You're such an angel to take such good care of all of them." It’s not just her body, it’s her kindness. Her soul. Her love, which shows in everything she does.

  "I don't have much choice, but thank you." She takes my coat and I can feel the electricity between us. There's a gleam in her eye, I'm sure of it. "My mother would want me to, and she was my inspiration. A real lady," she says.

  "Like you," I smile.

  "I never thought of myself as a lady, per se. It’s a lot to live up to, her memory." Her eyes are downcast for a moment. "It was really hard, losing her." She seems to catch herself then, and her face clears. “Would you like a cup of coffee, or tea?"

  "Sure, whatever you're having." I look around their home. Everything is well worn but clean and pretty, and organized. Very comfortable, maybe because it’s not standing on ceremony or anything like that. Kinda reminds me of the ranch I grew up on. It's definitely not like one of the Park Avenue places where you can't imagine that anyone ever actually lives there, ever spends any time there - a house that's only for show, empty as an old tin can, and about as comfortable. That’s designed, and maintained, and cleaned by someone other than who lives there -- I've been in a lot of places like that since I've been in in NYC, and this is honestly a breath of fresh air.