Dirty Baller: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Vesper Vaughn

  I nod briefly, appeased slightly by the fact that my new manager isn’t asking me to spill my intimate secrets to a journalist. “I think I can do that. Just talk about football, then?”

  Hayley has said nothing until now. “I think that’s reasonable.” She closes her notebook. “I’m free tonight.”

  There’s hope in her eyes that I know has nothing to do with writing this article. She thinks that I’m interested in her. She hopes that I am.

  And I am.

  But I don’t want her to know that.

  “I’m busy tonight,” I say.

  Ivan extinguishes his cigarette and holds up his hands in surrender. “You work out the details. I’ve got better things to do than sit here and arrange social calendars.”

  He leaves the two of us alone.

  “You’re busy tonight? With what?” Hayley asks more challengingly than I’ve ever heard her speak.

  “Flat hunting, not that it’s any of your business,” I say to her.

  She puts her notebook into her large leather handbag. “Then I can come with you. We can skip dinner and you won’t have to spend two hours looking at me.” She snaps the bag shut. “You know where I am. I’ll see you in a bit. Just knock.”

  Great.

  Nothing says not intimate like the woman I want to fuck coming with me to go flat-hunting.

  Looks like my plan is falling to pieces with every passing moment.

  CHAPTER NINE

  HAYLEY

  I know that Ryan doesn’t want me to come along.

  And that works fine for me.

  We shouldn’t be romantically involved. It’s wrong. I have a story to write. An unbiased portrait of a football team. That’s it.

  Then why do I spend an hour showering, shaving all of my private areas and legs, applying makeup, and blow-drying my hair so it’s shiny, straight, and hanging around my shoulders?

  Because I like him.

  That’s why.

  It seems like the more I try to be professional and squash down the animalistic desires he draws out of me, the more I’m attracted to him.

  But flat hunting should be easy. It’s public enough that we won’t succumb to temptation and I won’t ruin my journalistic reputation in the process.

  I can’t fuck a subject of my article. I just can’t do it.

  But you already did, says my conscience.

  I shake my head and reapply another layer of lip gloss.

  If I didn’t want him to fuck me, I probably shouldn’t have dressed like this.

  I actually ran into Topshop earlier and bought a new blouse. It’s low-cut and billowy. A good breeze would probably end in me flashing everyone on the street.

  I tell myself that I don’t want that to happen.

  But then I think about Ryan’s body. His tattoos. His muscles. The way his green eyes sparkle. That head of sandy-blonde hair. His huge…

  Knock knock knock!

  I gulp. “Coming!” I call out. I try not to think about the double meaning in that exclamation. I want to be coming. With Ryan’s face between my legs. I take a deep breath and open the door.

  Oh boy.

  Ryan’s come to play.

  He’s wearing a fitted black t-shirt and jeans that I can already tell make his ass look incredible. I see his breath catch in his chest as he eyes me up and down.

  I’m satisfied that he still wants me. He can tell himself that he doesn’t, but I can see it in his eyes.

  “You…look nice,” he says slowly.

  “Thanks. So do you.”

  We stand there awkwardly for a minute. I hitch my purse up higher on my shoulder. “I’m ready if you are,” Ryan says.

  “Great,” I reply.

  We ride the elevator downstairs in a cloud of silence that continues all the way down to the Tube station, through four Tube stops, a line change, and back up and out onto the street in what looks like a quiet residential neighborhood.

  Mothers and fathers holding the chubby hands of their little kids pass us by.

  “This is a nice neighborhood,” I say out loud.

  Ryan nods. “I think it’ll be quiet.”

  I see an opening into a question. “Do you think the team is going to be good for your own fresh start?”

  Ryan looks at me. “No questions about my past, alright?”

  “I didn’t mean-“

  “I know what you meant. You’re bringing up my past by implying this is a fresh start. Ask me something else.”

  “Sorry,” I reply, keeping my head down as we walk up to a building with a lockbox on the doorknob.

  “My agent told me the passcode,” he says, punching in a series of numbers. The box clicks open and a metal key appears in Ryan’s palm. He unlocks the door and holds it open for me. “Ladies first.”

  I slide past him and brush against his stomach. I shiver involuntarily.

  I step inside the hallway. Shiny wooden floors gleam up at me. There’s crown molding along the ceiling and a narrow staircase. The flat is bright considering it’s a cloudy evening.

  “This isn’t a flat. This is a house,” I say to him.

  He shrugs. “Yeah, well. I did alright up north.”

  I see dollar signs everywhere I look. I pad after Ryan. I want to ask him how many pounds a place like this costs to rent per month, but I hold back.

  “Do you like the atmosphere of the Hounslow team?”

  Ryan runs his hands along the chair rail in the dining room. “I do,” he says. “The guys are mostly all nice. Except Terence, and you’re free to call him a wanker in your piece, because he is a wanker. They’re all focused on winning and training. That’s as much as I can hope for, I think.”

  I scribble down his quotes as we walk into the kitchen. Shiny, stainless steel appliances line the walls along with mahogany cabinets that reflect the recessed lighting. The countertops are dark granite.

  Ryan spins around suddenly and I nearly smack into him.

  “I have an idea,” he says. “I think we should go by the rules we had the other night.”

  I swallow hard, his chest inches from mine.

  “What rules?” I flash to his face between my legs again.

  “The rules of you asking one question and me asking one question,” he says. His green eyes bore into mine.

  “That sounds fine,” I say, my voice cracking. I can smell his cologne and it’s making me go weak at the knees.

  “You asked me two questions. Now I get two questions,” he says.

  Can he hear my heart beating? He must be able to hear my heart beating. I can hear my heart beating, and I’m only inches away from him.

  “Okay,” I reply.

  He leans forward. “Do you want me right now?”

  I blink at him. “Excuse me?”

  He brushes a strand of hair off my forehead and behind my ear. I tremble as he touches me. “Do you want me right now?”

  I shake my head a second too late. “No.” I know this is a lie. He answered my questions honestly. It’s only right that I answer his honestly. “Yes,” I breathe towards him, correcting my answer.

  He grins at me. “Second question. Have you ever fucked in a stranger’s house?”

  I’m saved from answering by Ryan’s mouth pressed against mine and his hands on my ass. He lifts me up onto the gleaming countertops and moves his hands over my chest, unhooking my bra and lifting my shirt over my head. I’m topless, on a cold marble countertop, in a stranger’s house with the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.

  He kisses my neck and breathes into my ear as he nibbles at it. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since you opened your hotel door,” he says. “You’re my kryptonite.”

  His mouth finds mine again and our tongues twist together. I feel an urging between my thighs. I want him inside of me.

  My fingers fumble at the button on his jeans, and I only just manage to unzip his pants as his mouth closes around one of my nipples. I feel a surge of electricity connecting my tits to my pussy and I
call out in pleasure.

  Ryan stumbles out of his jeans and pulls down his boxers. He gets my pants off of my body and I wrap my legs around him.

  “Do you have a condom?” I ask him.

  “Are you on birth control?” he replies.

  “Yes,” I say. I have a fleeting thought that I might have missed a pill due to the time zone difference, but I’m so wet for him I don’t care.

  All I want is him, inside of me, filling me up.

  “Good,” he breathes, kissing me fully and slipping inside of me.

  Feeling his hard, long cock unsheathed is more than I can take.

  Three thrusts and I’m done, his hands in my hair and both of us coming at the same time.

  CHAPTER TEN

  RYAN

  “I like flat hunting,” I say to Hayley as we both get dressed.

  She smiles at me, looking embarrassed. “We really shouldn’t have done that.”

  I step closer to her and tip her face up towards mine. “And why not?” I kiss her rosebud lips again and I feel her shiver.

  “Because…because…” Her words fade as my tongue finds hers. “This isn’t professional.”

  I laugh. “You think I give two fucks about professional?”

  She shakes her head. “Yesterday you couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Now you just jumped me in this random kitchen.”

  I run my fingers through her hair. “You’re irresistible, Hayley Childs. I can’t help myself when I’m around you.”

  And that’s the dead honest truth.

  She sighs and pulls her pants back on. “So, are you getting this flat?”

  I look around. “I think so.” I clap my hands together. “Dinner? Ivan’s paying, remember.”

  An hour later, we’re ensconced in a booth at London’s hottest new burger restaurant.

  Hayley’s eyes go wide while she looks at the menu. “This is so expensive. Thirty pounds for a burger?”

  I take the menu from her and shut it. “Stop looking at prices and let me order. This place is the best in the city.”

  She looks around at the bustling restaurant. The walls are painted black, and orange Edison bulb lights glow overhead. It’s packed to the gills with young people like us.

  “I’m just happy we got a table,” I say. “I mean, I had to call in some favors to get it done, but whatever it takes, right?”

  Hayley looks at me in awe. “You are hot and then cold and then hot again, Ryan. I just can’t understand you.”

  I clear my throat. “Let’s just focus on right now. Us. Here.” I lean closer. “Ask me questions for your little story, Hayley.”

  She blushes and fumbles in her purse for a pen and paper. “Tell me about how you started playing soccer. Sorry, I mean football.”

  “My mum loved it. She bought me a ball when I was three years old. I used to kick it against the wall of our council house until she’d tell me to stop. I’ve been hooked ever since.”

  Hayley nods and scribbles on the paper, her tongue poking out of her perfect mouth. “Do you think the odds are good for you winning the summer tournaments?”

  “Of course they are. I’m Ryan fucking Mackenzie. I didn’t come down here to play around. I came down here to win.”

  Hayley nods again but doesn’t take any notes. She’s staring at me.

  “What?” I ask her. “Do I have something on my face?”

  She shakes her head. “No. It’s just…I’m trying to figure out how I’m here with you right now. I’m plain. I’m not skinny. I’m not particularly interesting. You could have any woman in here right now.” She nods toward a table filled with hot young twenty-something women who keep giving me the eye. “They know who you are. You could be in bed with all three of them tonight, I guarantee it.”

  I lean closer to her. “Maybe I’m with you because I know you’ll be gone in a few weeks.”

  Hayley doesn’t look hurt. “That makes sense.” She reaches for her glass of water.

  I take her hand before she can lift the glass. “Or maybe I’m with you because I think you’re the sexiest fucking American girl I’ve ever come across.”

  We’re interrupted by the arrival of our server.

  The blush doesn’t leave Hayley’s cheeks for the rest of the meal.

  “Alright, that burger was worth the money. I didn’t think I would say that, but it’s true,” Hayley says as we step outside of the restaurant an hour later.

  I laugh. “I told you so.”

  “You did.”

  Just as I’m about to put my arm around her, a flashbulb goes off.

  “Oi!” I yell, throwing up my hand. “Who the bloody hell are you?” My accent is in full flow. It always pops back up when I’m angry.

  Hayley yelps as the bulb keeps flashing.

  “Ryan! Hey! Over here!” Another camera goes off and soon the passersby on the street are stopping with their camera phones.

  “Headed out to drink drive again with your new slut?”

  I walk over to the photographer and grab his heavy camera, tossing it on the ground. It shatters into a dozen pieces. I grab him by the collar and shove him against the window of the restaurant. “Say that again and I kill you.”

  The photographer grins at me.

  “Ryan! Everyone has cameras!” Hayley cries out. She pulls my arm and I let the guy go.

  I shake my head to wake myself up from my outburst. “Right, let’s go.” I put my arm around Hayley and push through the crowd of people all filming on their phones.

  I hail a cab and we ride back to the hotel.

  “Oh, God,” Hayley says, leaning her forehead against the window glass. “I’m going to lose my job.”

  “No, you aren’t,” I say unconvincingly. “I might lose mine, though.”

  Hayley looks at me, her expression pained. “You shouldn’t have done that on my behalf. I’m not worth you being kicked off the team.”

  I put my hand on her knee. “Of course you are.”

  The intimate words hang between us. I grab the back of her head and pull her towards me. Her back arches and she presses her tits into my chest. I kiss her passionately until the taxi stops.

  I throw money at the driver and we tumble out of the cab together. I can’t stop touching her. Her neck. Her back.

  We kiss in the elevator and I start unbuttoning her pants as we fall down the hallway together, tripping over each other’s feet.

  I shove my keycard in the door and I lift Hayley off her feet, throwing her onto my mattress.

  “You let the maids in today,” she says while I work my way down her stomach.

  “Stop talking,” I reply. “I’m busy down here.”

  She gasps as I rip off her panties and lift her legs up into the air. I taste her juices and she’s sweet, just like the other night. She bucks against my mouth and has to put a pillow over her face so she doesn’t bother the neighbors.

  I don’t care if I get too close to her now. I just want her.

  All of her. Every fucking inch.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  HAYLEY

  I’m pacing my hotel room.

  Alison has already called six times to let me know I’m all over the Internet with photos of me with Ryan. She said even Dad saw the news. And he doesn’t read anything to do with celebrities. He calls it trash, not journalism.

  This is not why I went into this business. This is not what I expected when I took this assignment.

  Now I’m going to lose it all because of Ryan.

  The sex almost makes it worth it.

  I’m just waiting for the call. The call that will tell me my career is over, that I’m fired, that I’ll never work again in journalism.

  My phone rings and I dive to grab it off the mattress.

  I hold my breath when I see who it is.

  It’s Sandra.

  Sandra is calling me to fire me. She’s seen the photos.

  It’s all over.

  Everything I’ve worked so hard for.
/>   I’m losing my job because I’m fucking a football star.

  “Hello,” I say tentatively.

  “Childs, I saw the photos,” Sandra says, getting right to the point.

  “Right,” I reply. “I’m so sorry. We were just at dinner together and I was interviewing him and-“

  “And he puts his arm around you because you’re interviewing him? That’s all you’re doing? Tell me the truth.”

  I pause. “Alright. It’s a little more than that between us. We…we were sort of on a date.”

  Sandra is quiet. I hear her take a sip from her coffee mug and I just wait for the deluge to begin. “You’re fucking one of your subjects for this article?”

  I choke on the word. “Yes.”

  “You’re fucking the most scandalous footballer in all of England. Is that right?”

  “Yes and I realize that I’ve lost my journalistic integrity, and I’m prepared to accept the consequences of that.”

  Sandra takes a deep breath and I cringe. “You think I care about journalistic integrity?” Sandra sighs. “If I cared about journalistic integrity, I’d be living in a run-down Florida retirement home while my investment broker runs a Ponzi scheme with my meager lifetime earnings. That’s where my colleagues who grew up in the era of journalistic integrity are right now. No. Fuck journalistic integrity. This is the age of flash and glamour and scandal. This is why I’m still alive in this industry. I follow the smut. The dirt. The sex. I want juicy. I want a meaty story that is so filthy it goes viral. I don’t care if you have to take him to an S & M club, Childs. Get the story.”

  I’m stunned. “Sorry, so you don’t care that people will think that we’re dating? You don’t care that my name will be on the byline?”

  “Get in there, Childs, and really get your fingers on the pulse of all of this. Go for blood. He’s the dirtiest player in the entire league. You need to figure him out. Write about it. I don’t want this boring shit about how the game is played. Our readers already know.”

  “Sorry, you want me to write about Ryan instead of the team?”

  “Our readers want gossip. If you don’t get this done, I’m sending Brenda over to do it for you. Do whatever it takes. Get it done.”