Football Dick: A Sports Romance (Big Girls, Bad Boys, and Babies)

by Violet Blaze

  Rhoden blinks at me a couple of times and then runs his fingers through his dark hair, breathing out a long, frustrated sigh.

  “Holy crap,” he says, but he doesn't know the half of it.

  “I broke up with him, just like I told you I was going to do. He won't leave alone.” I'm crying and getting pissed and maybe screaming a little bit, all at the same time. “He kidnapped me on Thanksgiving and dragged me to his house. I don't know what to do because he, like, owns the police and I'd probably sound ridiculous if I told them a multibillionaire was stalking me because I met all the points on his stupid list.”

  I'm rambling now, not making any sense, but Rhoden's listening which is a huge positive. We may have only had a handful of conversations in the past, but I've noticed that he never interrupts me. He always listens and responds like he gives a crap. I can't tell you how turned-on that makes me.

  “This is fucking serious, Della,” Rhoden tells me as he reaches out and puts a hand on my bare knee. Heat surges through me and makes me gasp. I notice the muscle in his jaw tighten, but all he does is lick his bottom lip. “I don't care if he is a multibillionaire, he can't force you to marry him against your will. Have you tried talking to the media?”

  “I was worried that he might retaliate.” Against you. Those are the unspoken words hanging in the back of my throat. Rhoden purses his lips, looking over at the row of windows like he wants to kill someone or something. “Like how he threatened you … only worse. My whole family—except my sister—is on his side. My dad, my stepmom, my stepsiblings.”

  “What about the baby?” Rhoden asks in a strange, soft melancholy voice. His brown eyes are deep and rich, focused directly on my face. “You said you didn't … that you and Walter had never had sex.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “Did he rape you?”

  “This is not his baby,” I say as I sit up straight and put a hand on my half-rainbow covered tummy. Rhoden raises his brows at me and then gives a slight smile.

  “Well, that's good,” he says, and I realize that this is my window, that if I don't say anything now, I'll lose my chance. Tears stream down my face, but I'm not sure why. I think I'm just freaking out. “Hey,” Rhoden says, leaning forward and rubbing a tear off with this thumb. His touch is warm, and I can't help but lean into it. “It'll be okay. We'll figure this out.” See? We. He said we, just like Ariana and Scottie do, like all of your problems are theirs, too. I like that.

  “Rhoden,” I begin as he scoots over next to me and presses his big, warm body against mine. “I … this … the only guy I've slept with in over eight months is you.” Deep breath, deep breath. I don't look at him, my entire body stiff and focused ahead on the window that separates us from the driver. I might be shaking a little, I'm not sure.

  “So you're not pregnant?” Rhoden asks, like he's totally confused. I don't blame him. I was shocked as hell, too.

  “No … I am pregnant.” I scoot a few inches away from Rhoden, so I can turn and look him in his whisky-honey brown eyes, smell his rich masculine scent, feel the warmth radiating off his body. Our eyes are locked as I take a deep breath. “Did you know that condoms are only about ninety-eight percent effective if used correctly? Eighty-two percent effective more like if you count in human error. I Googled it.”

  Wow, Della, strong lead.

  Rhoden's still sitting there, just staring at me.

  “It happened on the masquerade party night. I don't remember anything about the condom breaking, but I didn't exactly look at it after. How well did you?” He just keeps looking at me, blinking those dark eyes suuuuper slowly. “Rhoden, this isn't Walter's baby, this is yours.”

  He stares at me for so long that I'm afraid he's not going to believe me, that I'm going to have to get a DNA test and fight to prove the truth I'm telling him right now.

  “I should've told you sooner, when you came over to my place, but … I didn't and then all this crap happened with Walter. I'm afraid of what he'll do to you if he knows for sure. He suspects, yeah, but …” I trail off and then suck in a deep breath. “He wants me to tell everyone it's his baby, even though we've never had sex, wants to put his name on the birth certificate.”

  “Are you … fucking …” Rhoden starts, staring at the floor now, blinking those gorgeous eyes of his. He turns back to look at me. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I lean back and try not to let myself feel hurt by the question. I'd expected this. I had. But it still makes me feel goddamn awful. “He … he's trying to take my fucking kid?”

  My turn to blink slowly.

  I stare at Rhoden in shock for a second as he looks at me again, really looks at me.

  “You believe me?” I ask, maybe not the best way to keep instilling confidence in him that I'm telling the truth, but it pops out anyway. “Because I know how impossible this sounds.”

  “I believe you,” he tells me with a weird half-smile. “I can see it written all over your face.”

  “Are you pissed?”

  “At you?” he asks incredulously, and I nod. It's not that I think he should be pissed at me, just that I thought he might be. “Hell no. No. Absolutely not. I'm a little … surprised, I guess. What kind of dickheads are you hanging out with that you think I'd pissed?”

  “The kind that threaten guys into not taking my calls?” I guess and Rhoden purses those gorgeous lips of his.

  “I figured … well, it doesn't matter what I figured. I'm obviously a complete idiot.” Rhoden runs his fingers through his hair, the movement laced with violence. I imagine the energy's directed towards Walter. “I thought you'd lied about sleeping with him, found out you were pregnant and decided to marry him. Fuck, I'm such a dumbass.”

  “You are kind of a dick,” I amend, but it comes out with a weird little laugh-hiccup-sob thing. “I was wondering why you'd avoid me after …” After you came over and we had bareback sex all night on my couch and in my bed. “Anyway, I just thought … well, to be honest, I didn't know you'd take this so well. I mean, I was hoping you would …” I can't seem to hold a proper conversation, so I pause for a minute. I kind of want Rhoden to touch me, but all he's doing is looking at me.

  “I can't believe that piece of shit is trying to take our kid,” Rhoden says. Our. Our kid. I like that so much better. He breathes out and then turns to face me fully, taking me in with a slight twist to his mouth, a cocksure smirk that hides a little of that anger. “I knew there was fate involved here. I told you, didn't I?”

  “You told me you were wrong about that,” I say and his mouth droops a little at the corners. “During the party.” Rhoden breathes in deep, holds it in his chest, and releases it. He doesn't comment, which is fine, but I can't stop wondering why he said that.

  “Mr. Virgin,” he starts, which helps me stop crying, makes me smile a little. “I want to say I'm shocked that he'd do something like this to you, but I'm not. I told you what happened to my friend in college?” I nod and Rhoden shakes his head, like he's trying to puzzle his way through this. “No matter what,” he says, tilting his head in my direction as he rakes his fingers through his hair again, “I won't let him keep me away from my baby.” A pause. “I can't believe we're having a fucking baby.”

  I smile, but I notice he doesn't say anything about me, which is fine since having a baby with someone doesn't automatically make you soul mates, but …

  “How are you feeling?” he asks, suddenly awkward in a way I've never seen before. The look makes me blush as I twist my hands in my skirt. “I mean, emotionally as well as physically.”

  “I'm not that far along, so it's not a big deal except for the fact that I keep puking.”

  Rhoden grins at me, like an excited little boy. It's a little bit … precious.

  “My mom still complains about her pregnancy. She said the Richards always make awful babies—big, awful babies.” I laugh and then choke because I'm still kind of snotty from my miniature crying fit. “I guess you'll have to rename your dog then.”

  “Huh?”
r />   “Little Dick. You'll have to change it, so we can call the kid that.”

  “Hah! Really? In your dreams, Richards. And anyway, what makes you think I named my dog that? You suggested it, but I didn't say I'd accepted.”

  “Nice try,” he says, putting a hand on my knee again. The touch makes me jittery. “I distinctly heard you call him Little Dick when I was at your place.” Rhoden leans in and breathes against my ear. “You had to be talking to the dog since there's no way in hell you were calling me little.”

  I shove him back, but the damage is done. My nerves are loosened up, my anxiety down, and I'm starting to feel like I can breathe again.

  “How do you … want to do this?” I ask him, trying to be cool and modern, like I don't give a crap what he says in response. Only … I kind of do.

  “What do you mean?” he asks, his hand sliding a few inches up my thigh. It's heading towards dangerous territory there. “With the baby?” A few inches higher. “Or with us?”

  I almost choke and then lunge forward to grab the champagne, breaking our contact. I'm not even sure why I do that, since I can't drink any. I just take the bottle and then hold it in my hands like a shield.

  “Either. Or.” I purse and pucker my lips to make sure my lipstick's even, watching as Rhoden sits back with that perfect body of his. The way he moves, it's almost liquid, all smooth and effortless. I feel like a beached starfish sitting next to him.

  “I think we should go to the press,” he says, steering the conversation in a slightly different direction than I'd planned. “We'll announce the news. Our news. We'll tell the whole goddamn world. I might not be a multibillionaire, but more people know who I am than they do Walter Virgin.”

  Rhoden pauses as the car comes to a stop and stays still. We must be at the arts center.

  “Are you still okay to do this?” he asks me as he glances over with a slight hint of concern in his eyes. Is he getting all … male possessive on me? It's one of those annoying but ridiculously adorable things. “I mean, because of all this Walter bullshit, not the baby.” He gives me a crooked smile. “My mom always taught me not to treat a pregnant woman like an invalid—unless, of course, you want me to. Because I've got the sudden urge to carry you everywhere.”

  I laugh again, but then the door's opening and the roar of a crowd breaks into our quiet, warm little space.

  “Your fans have arrived,” I say and Rhoden nods, our eyes meeting one last time before I take the driver's hand and step into the fray.

  The Virgil Center for the Performing Arts is yet another gloriously old building that's been completely revamped and remodeled by the family in question. This particular building is Walter's sister, Anise's, baby. When we were kids, we used to take ballet here together. Of course, I dropped out after like three weeks, but Anise continued on to become somewhat of a prima ballerina. She quit eventually to tackle her rich-heiress-party-girl duties full time, but at least this place got an upgrade.

  I pretend not to be bothered by the giant gold Vs on every single surface of the place and take Rhoden's hand as he pulls me up the steps and past the cordoned off crowd around us. Inside, there are even more people and cameras and shouting. Holy crap. I guess I'd underestimated the Big Dick fandom. As I look around, I notice the words painted on t-shirts, sweaters, signs.

  A woman named Tamara takes us behind a curtain near the tiny stage that graces the lobby. It's been a tradition to hold small performances in here during intermission and ticket sales, ever since the building was originally erected and called Railroad Cross Dance Academy. Even with the ugly Virgil seal of approval on everything, the tradition continues.

  As we squeeze through the crowd and pause behind the curtain that surrounds the little stage, Tamara further introduces herself as the director of operations at the center and starts to gush her thanks at us.

  “You have no idea what this means, Mr. Richards, Miss Garland. The number of programs we'll be able to fund with this money is … it'll have an astronomical effect on the community.” I'm nodding away and smiling when I notice … Walter entering from backstage, appearing in his suit with his sister, Anise, on his arm.

  When I see them walking toward us, I almost throw up—for real this time.

  Rhoden is smiling at Tamara, shaking her hand for the millionth time, when he glances back at me and notices my expression. His smile falls away and his eyes flick over to Walter. That violence I saw in the car, it comes rearing back in a rush.

  “Ah, Walter, Anise,” Tamara says as she scurries over and takes Anise's hand. “We were hoping you'd be able to show. This event has turned into something beyond our wildest dreams. To be honest, we weren't prepared for the crowd, but we're doing our best. So glad you could come.”

  “Well, it's our pleasure,” Anise says, her hair coiled on top of her head in a far more elegant version of the bun I'm wearing. Her dress is this thin sheet of white and gold glitter that hangs on her long, lithe form and emphasizes the points of her hips and her tiny rib cage. To be honest, I'm beyond glad to see her. This could be my ticket off the Walter train.

  That is, if Rhoden doesn't derail him first.

  My hand flies out and takes hold of Rhoden's jacket, stopping him in his tracks as he starts toward Walter and Anise.

  “Don't.” I step forward and push my breasts into his arm, trying to keep his attention without making a scene. Hey, the move works. He looks back at me with his pupils dilated and his jaw tense. If I lean forward just a little, I can breathe in his scent. “Not here. Beating the crap out of him in public—at a charity event—will only make things worse. It'll only get you put in jail.”

  Rhoden looks down at me, his teeth clenching tight, before looking back over at Walter. Tamara is bringing them directly over to us, weaving around the few people that are standing backstage.

  “Della,” Walter says pleasantly, but I notice his eyes lock onto my fingers where they're clutched in Rhoden's jacket. “Mr. Richards.”

  “Just call me Big Dick,” Rhoden grinds out as I let go of his jacket. When he smiles this time, it's not at all friendly. “Didn't expect to see you here, Mr. Virgin.”

  “Well, I wanted to be here to support my future wife.” He holds his hand out to indicate me and smiles as the director looks obliviously among the three of us. Anise has a slightly puzzled expression on her face, raising her brows as she sees me staring at her.

  “Hey, Tamara,” Rhoden asks, turning to the director of operations in her pale pink suit and frizzy blond curls. “Could you give us a moment?”

  “Sure thing,” she says, reaching up to squeeze Rhoden's shoulder and then squealing, giving it another squeeze. “Oh, that's nice. No way my husband's built like that.” She laughs as I blush for her. “Just let me know when you're ready to make an introduction speech and I'll get the mic.”

  “Thanks,” Rhoden says as she moves away and the four of us are left alone in a weird bubble amongst all this chaos. “Your future wife, huh? You mean your future wife that's carrying my baby?”

  Anise's eyebrows practically disappear into her hairline as I squeak out a shocked sound of disbelief. Walter looks like he always does: pressed suit, slicked back hair, a gentle shaved and plucked illusion of facial hair.

  “Watch yourself, Mr. Richards. Clearly you're unfamiliar with Della's history of mental illness. Try not to believe everything you hear.”

  I gape at him as Rhoden's hands turn to fists. With what looks like an extreme amount of effort, he uncurls his fingers and tucks them into the front pockets of his dark wash denim jeans.

  “Walter,” Anise starts, turning her head slightly to look at her brother. “What the hell is going on?”

  “It's not important,” he says, smiling softly at me. “The other day, Della told me she'd slept with so many men that her child's father could be nearly any member of the Adders. But clearly, that's not true. As far as I know, the only person she's been sharing her bed with for the past year is me.”

 
“As far as you know doesn't extend all that far then, does it?” Rhoden asks as he lifts his chin, and I pray to God that he doesn't believe any of Walter's crap.

  Walter's mouth thins a little and he glances away sharply before looking back at us.

  “If she did have some kind of affair,” he grinds out, “it wouldn't matter. She is my fiancée, and there's no doubt in my mind that that child is mine. Della's attempts to separate me from the baby might be working on you, but any court will find me in favor of full custody.”

  “I should kick your ass where you stand,” Rhoden growls at him, getting in the man's face. “I should beat you to a fucking pulp until you can't figure out which end is your head and which is your ass. Although looking at you now, I'm not sure you don't already have that problem.”

  “Boys, boys,” Anise says, slipping expertly between them. I get the feeling that she's done this a few … hundred times before. “We're here to support the arts.”

  “I'd be happy to make some art with your brother's face and my fist,” Rhoden says which is super cheesy and kind of … sexy. He crosses his arms over his chest and gives me a look. It's a long, lingering study of my face, like he's taking my mettle.

  It makes me want to prove myself.

  “Anise,” I say as quietly as I can. “I broke up with your brother. We have never slept together. This is not his child.” I take a deep breath and look her straight in the face. “He won't leave me alone. He's basically stalking me.”

  Anise looks between her brother and me.

  “Like I just said, she's not making much sense. I'm worried about her, that's all.”

  “Maybe we should go?” Anise asks, stepping back. “This isn't exactly the time or place to have this discussion.” As soon as she says that, it's like a bubble's been popped and the roar of the crowd comes crashing into the room around us. “Walter?” The man in question stares at me for a minute and then quirks the corner of his mouth in a small smile.