Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance

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by Sosie Frost




  Happily Ever All-Star

  A Secret Baby Romance

  Sosie Frost

  Contents

  Happily Ever All-Star

  Copyright

  Also by Sosie Frost

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Note to the Reader

  1. Rory

  2. Jude

  3. Rory

  4. Jude

  5. Rory

  6. Jude

  7. Rory

  8. Rory

  9. Jude

  10. Rory

  11. Jude

  12. Rory

  13. Jude

  14. Rory

  15. Jude

  16. Jude

  17. Rory

  18. Jude

  19. Rory

  20. Jude

  21. Rory

  22. Rory

  23. Jude

  24. Rory

  25. Jude

  Epilogue - Rory

  Bad Boy’s Baby

  Bad Boy’s Baby

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1. Jack

  2. Leah

  3. Leah

  4. Jack

  5. Leah

  6. Jack

  7. Leah

  8. Jack

  9. Leah

  10. Jack

  11. Leah

  12. Jack

  13. Leah

  14. Jack

  15. Leah

  16. Leah

  17. Jack

  18. Leah

  19. Jack

  20. Leah

  21. Jack

  22. Jack

  23. Leah

  24. Leah

  Epilogue - Jack

  Beauty And The Blitz

  Beauty and the Blitz

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1. Piper

  2. Cole

  3. Piper

  4. Cole

  5. Piper

  6. Cole

  7. Piper

  8. Cole

  9. Piper

  10. Cole

  11. Cole

  12. Piper

  13. Cole

  14. Piper

  15. Cole

  16. Cole

  17. Piper

  18. Piper

  19. Cole

  20. Piper

  21. Cole

  22. Piper

  23. Cole

  Epilogue - Piper

  Acknowledgments

  Once Upon A Half-Time

  Once Upon A Half-Time

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1. Elle

  2. Lachlan

  3. Elle

  4. Lachlan

  5. Elle

  6. Lachlan

  7. Elle

  8. Lachlan

  9. Elle

  10. Lachlan

  11. Elle

  12. Lachlan

  13. Elle

  14. Lachlan

  15. Elle

  16. Lachlan

  17. Elle

  18. Elle

  19. Lachlan

  20. Lachlan

  21. Elle

  22. Lachlan

  23. Lachlan

  24. Elle

  Lachlan’s Epilogue

  Elle’s Epilogue

  Touchdowns & Tiaras - Series Epilogue

  1. Jude – The Fairy Tale

  2. Jack – Bad Boy’s Babies

  3. Lachlan – Once Upon A Hospitalization

  4. Cole - Beauty and the Baby-Sitter

  5. Jude – The Happily Ever After

  Coming Soon From Sosie Frost!

  About the Author

  Happily Ever All-Star

  A Secret Baby Romance

  Happily Ever All-Star

  Copyright © 2016 by Sosie Frost

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you’d like to share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Cover Design: Mayhem Cover Creations

  http://mayhemcovercreations.com/

  Created with Vellum

  ALSO BY SOSIE FROST

  Bad Boy’s Series

  Bad Boy’s Baby

  Bad Boy’s Revenge

  Bad Boy’s Bridesmaid

  Football Fairy-Tales

  Beauty And The Blitz

  Once Upon A Half-Time

  Happily Ever All-Star

  Standalone Romances

  Sweetest Sin - A Forbidden Priest Romance

  Hard - A Step-Brother Romance

  About the Author

  Follow me on Facebook

  And

  Join my mailing list to receive updates, news, special sales, and opportunities for advanced reader copies of upcoming novels!

  Drop me an email at:

  [email protected]

  www.sosiefrost.com

  To L.G.

  I can’t think of anything witty at 4AM.

  Note to the Reader

  Thank you so much for picking up Happily Ever All-Star!

  As a special thank you to my readers, I’m “blitzing” you all with all the football I have!

  For a limited time, Bad Boy’s Baby, Beauty and the Blitz, and Once Upon A Half-Time are included with this book!

  All books are full-length, 75,000+ word/350+ paperback pages long.

  And for all my sports fans out there…I’ve included a 9,000 word Series Epilogue to conclude the saga of the Ironfield Rivets. The mini-novella is included in the back of this book. It’s super cute, and it gives each of our lovely couples their own happily-ever-after…

  Happy Reading!

  Sosie

  1

  Rory

  Toothpaste.

  We had a love-hate relationship. Mostly hate these days.

  Sure, the minty miracle kept me fresh as a daisy during the first day of my neurological fellowship with the Ironfield Rivets. And the astringent peppermint let me smile and talk to my patients as I restored the confidence I unceremoniously hurled into the toilet.

  But…it had a darker side.

  The pungent, stomach-twisting paste possessed a harsh scent, a shocking taste, a terrible grittiness, and a bubbling foam. Brushing my teeth became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Throw up. Hate myself. Stare at the toothpaste. Curse the ribbon of positive-pregnancy-test blue cutting through the middle of the gel. Brush teeth. Hold nose.

  Why did I even bother sitting in my equipment-closet turned office? I should have evaluated the team from behind my newfound porcelain desk.

  I couldn’t keep this up. Not only was I throwing up four times a day, the long-lasting-fresh-breath-crystals were getting lodged in my soft pallet. After the second time I sneezed out a burning foam, I got a little cranky. Well…crankier. At least my nose wouldn’t have any cavities, aside from the hole where my brain once resided.

  The fellowship was the career opportunity of a lifetime, but it was a risk taking the gig after realizing I was pregnant.

  My step-mother was right—wicked
as she was. Dentistry was the easy money. Unfortunately, oral surgery didn’t dig deep enough into a person’s head. I was all about the brain.

  Though lately, I’d spent more time with my legs stirrup’d to an OBGYN’s table than kicked back on my desk in the neurological center of Ironfield Regional.

  Not today though.

  Today, I was the doctor again.

  Sure, my tests didn’t involve lube or speculums, but I held out hope. Neurology was an ever-evolving field. And I would have loved an epidural to subdue my last patient of the day.

  Lachlan Reed.

  The Rivets second-year tight-end might have had severe neurological problems, but hell if I could sit him down long enough to take the baseline test. The exam was designed to be completed in less than fifteen minutes. Thirty-five had passed. And twenty seconds.

  Believe me, I was counting.

  Somehow, Lachlan managed to tab out of the computer program, crash my system on a shady fantasy football site, chase a spider-turned-dust-bunny into the ductwork, and break my only non-flickering set of fluorescent lights on a wayward toss of a ball.

  “Please…” I covered my face. “Please, Lachlan. It’s after five. I’m tired. I want to go home. Can you please just take the test?”

  Lachlan grinned. Those dimples saved his ass. Scolding him was like kicking a puppy. I couldn’t punt him away. Instead, I grabbed the spritzer bottle on my desk. My office didn’t come with air conditioning in this August heat, but the ice water cooled me down. I flicked the nozzle into a steady stream and aimed for the Rivets’ most infuriating player.

  “Hey!” He ducked from the mist. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.”

  “This is a timed test. It establishes a baseline evaluation of your cognitive abilities—if you have any.”

  “I don’t know what you’re worried about. My head is fine.”

  Like I hadn’t heard that before. The twenty players that tested before Lachlan attempted to convince me that they didn’t need the league mandated exam. The word concussion scared them—which was good. This game was violent, brutal, and it had hurt a lot of men. I didn’t take no for an answer. I sat them down and got their results.

  This was important work. When—not if—they got hurt on the field, they could take the same test once more. We’d compare the data from both tests and assess if they’d sustained a concussion. A player could try to bluff his way back into the game, but the brain wouldn’t lie.

  I checked my watch. “If it takes you more than twenty minutes to match some shapes and remember a simple series of numbers, I wouldn’t clear you to walk down Sesame Street, let alone play in a professional football game.”

  Lachlan wasn’t listening. He spun his wedding ring across the desk. I slapped a hand over the gold band.

  “Lachlan, focus!”

  He reached for his ring. “Careful with that. You don’t know what I had to do to earn it.”

  “I’ll give it back if you concentrate. Fifteen minutes. That’s all I ask.”

  “Can’t you hook me up to some electrodes or something? Zap me with lightning?”

  “I’m Doctor Merriweather, not Doctor Frankenstein. You aren’t permitted to attend training camp without completing this exam. Do you understand?”

  He grumbled, but that got his attention. He started the test, but I stopped him before he clicked through the first series of questions.

  “You’ve misspelled your name, didn’t enter your birthday, and the answer to sex isn’t all the time.”

  “You haven’t met my wife.”

  “She must be a saint. Finish the test.”

  Lachlan typed entirely too much information into the computer, but I could edit out the dirty limerick he composed to describe his recurrent symptoms. I let him work, plopping into my chair with an exhausted sigh.

  My butt went down…but my girls popped up.

  The blouse valiantly attempted to contain my newfound assets, but my breasts had swelled to obscene proportions. Peeps in a microwave. The molehill made into a mountain range. My once lackluster credentials now intrigued my patients more than the PhD framed on the wall.

  I heaved an exhausted breath.

  Mistake.

  The middle button on my blouse had teetered on the brink of surrender all day. A pep talk at lunch and a bit of scotch tape on the inside of my shirt had bolstered its fortitude, but I’d asked for miracles.

  The straining button popped from my shirt, and a faux-pearl flung across the office to lodge in Lachlan’s ear.

  Too bad we weren’t playing golf. That hole in one might have made for a good story instead of a potential trip to the emergency room to check his ear drum.

  “Ow!” He shook his head. “I’m sorry! I’m taking the test!”

  The button dropped to the floor. I kicked it away and slapped a hand over the blouse. No need to encourage my chocolate cannonballs to blast out of my shirt as well. My new body was one hell of a battlefield, and the only person losing was me.

  My waist hadn’t changed…yet. My chest was out of control—like a Willy Wonka curse that punished me for sneaking Reese Cups for breakfast instead of Greek yogurt. Years of chess clubs, library study sessions, and medical school hadn’t prepared me for this sudden boon to my appearance.

  Sure, it was unethical to say I was a proctologist, but it had scared away the team and halted the flood of phone numbers, party invitations, and wildly inaccurate anatomical drawings.

  “Lachlan, you shouldn’t have to count on your fingers.” I rubbed my head. “There’s no math questions. It’s all memorization.”

  He buzzed his lips. “I might need to redo the test.”

  First do no harm. Do no harm. Do no harm.

  “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head on the field today?” I asked.

  “Nah, still conditioning.” He yawned. “Sleep deprived though. The baby isn’t sleeping through the night yet.”

  I forced a smile.

  Uh-oh. Was it a smile? Or did I flinch?

  Oh god, he didn’t realize I was pregnant did he?

  If anyone found out, I’d be ruined.

  Then again, if Lachlan Reed couldn’t repeat a series of three numbers forwards and backwards, there was no way this Sherlock had deduced that I was pregnant. We were just making small talk. Conversations held by normal people who weren’t competing for a cutthroat, prestigious fellowship. My secret was safe, and so was my job.

  I still couldn’t believe I nearly blew this chance on the wrong man.

  Technically, I had done more than blow him.

  I restarted the test for Lachlan, but the instant his hand clicked the mouse, the laptop went black.

  He leapt away from the computer. “That wasn’t my fault.”

  I had the feeling most disasters in the Rivets organization were Lachlan’s fault.

  I clicked the mouse. Nothing. Pressed the power button. Nothing. I reached for the power cord, but I didn’t expect the snap.

  A moment of terror stilled me. Was it a rib? The heel of my shoe?

  Oh God, I wished it were my neck.

  Nope. It was my bra. The jagged slip of the underwire punched inwards. I yelped and burst upright.

  Lachlan jerked away. He tripped over the power cable, whipped the laptop off the desk, and ducked as it smashed against the floor.

  “That…might have been my fault.” Lachlan handed me the spritzer bottle. “Go ahead.”

  I gave him one squirt. “You know…you’re young. You probably haven’t had any concussions yet.”

  “Really?”

  “Would we really be able to tell a difference?”

  “Awesome! Can I go? Gotta get home and see my son.”

  “Please.” I pushed him to the door. The underwire attempted to puncture my lung, and I forced a smile. “I’ll…do your assessment later.”

  Much, much later.

  A flash from the hallway blinded both of us. The team’s photographer—Elle—came to collect her husband. She carr
ied both a camera and her four-month old baby boy. She trusted Lachlan enough to hold the child, though I suspected she’d hook her husband to the baby leash when they ventured into a crowded public location.

  “How’d he do?” Elle tucked her camera into a converted diaper bag. Her little boy reached for the dyed red ends of her hair. “Is he healthy?”

  A man that irritating would outlive all of us. “We didn’t get very far, but I think he’s okay. He…might have some undiagnosed ADD issues though.”

  “Well, obviously.”

  Lachlan took her hand. “Let’s go, Red. I got some rookie hazing to take care of.”

  Elle rolled her eyes. “You’re hazing?”

  “Yep.”

  “So…explain to me how you got taped to the goal posts yesterday?”

  “That was an accident.”

  “Right.” She poked her baby’s nose. “Say bye-bye to Daddy, Nick. He’ll probably be hogtied and stuffed in a locker tonight.”

  “That only happened once.”

  Elle thanked me, nuzzling both her baby and her husband. The two deliriously happy, wretchedly sweet, and unabashedly perfect lovebirds scampered away with their lovely family, shared smiles, and squirming baby boy.

  And that was fine.

  So I didn’t have a husband. Or a boyfriend. Or a supportive father for my unborn baby.

  I did have a killer rack and peppermint flavored burps. What more could a girl want, especially with an MD and specialization in neurology? Plus, I had been offered a fancy new office converted from my very own Ironfield Rivets’ supply closet!

  Modern day fairy tale, right?

  I retreated to my office and closed the door. My laptop rested in shards on the floor. The fellowship didn’t leave much in the grant for new computers, but it was better to ask for forgiveness than to tell the organization I was three months pregnant.

  Even if I denied it for a long as I could.

  It’s not a pregnancy. It’s heartburn.

 

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