by June Winters
He let out a deep breath and dialed Kip Sterling's number.
Kip answered right away. “Ah, Lance! I've been trying to reach you. I've got good news!”
“Yeah? So do I, but let's hear yours first.”
“Thanks to that report you filed, the police went to Zickell's and managed to obtain the bar's security camera footage. The footage not only confirmed your account—that you were assaulted first and only acting in self-defense—but also led to the identification and arrest of your assailant.”
“Well hey, that's good. Told you I didn't throw the first punch.”
“We've put a statement out to the press clearing your name. I've already updated Mr. Tremblay about your situation, and I'm happy to report that the team is lifting your indefinite suspension. As soon as you rejoin the team in Boston, you'll be good to play.”
“Great,” Lance said. Maybe this Kip guy had some use after all? “Good to hear.”
“So what's your good news?”
Lance began to pace back and forth on the metal balcony. “You know how you said I didn't have a family-friendly image and all that?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Turns out … I've got a daughter!” Lance wasn't sure how he expected Kip Sterling to react, but the silence that greeted him was deafening. “Kip? You there?”
“Sorry, you said what?”
“A daughter. I just found out I've got a daughter, Kip. She's fifteen months old.”
“Oh no,” Kip muttered, his voice sounding muffled and distant.
“No?” Lance repeated, his guts sinking like he were in a free fall.
“Tell me everything you know, Lance.”
Lance started from the beginning: from the night he met Paige two years ago, to always wondering about her, to trying to find her when the team came to Nashville … and finally, last night, finding her again at the same bar. And, as it turned out, they had a daughter together. And that was surely why he'd been thinking about her all this time, right? Because they had a daughter together, and some part of him knew they had unfinished business!
Kip gruffly cut right to the point. “Have you taken a paternity test yet?”
“No, but she said she would if I didn't believe her—”
“So, what, you were just going to take her word for it? How do you know this is your daughter, Lance?”
“She looks just like me, Kip. She looks like a carbon copy of every single baby picture I've ever seen of myself. And if that's not convincing enough? Hell, the second I met her, the kid had a hockey stick in her hands. If you could just see the way she shoots a ball, you'd see it, too. She's only fifteen months old, but she's already got her old man's clapper.”
Kip groaned. “And you believe the mother?”
“Of course I believe Paige.”
“Why?”
“She didn't have sex with anyone else before she got pregnant.”
“And I'm sure that's what she says. But how would you know if she were lying to you?”
“Well—ah—” Lance gulped. “I guess I wouldn't. But she's not lying, Kip.”
Kip didn't hear him or didn't care; the inquisition continued. “Did you wear protection when you slept with her?”
“Yes—but, before you say anything—remember my Instagram about how my ex poked holes in my condom? My ex must've gotten to the condom in my wallet, too. I didn't even think to check it. But the timeline checks out because Paige was the first girl I slept with after her.”
“Convenient. Her story adds up so neatly, doesn't it?”
Lance's nostrils flared and he growled, “I don't like what you're implying, Kip.”
“I don't blame you. But you have to remember, Lance, you've made yourself a target by over-sharing on social media. See, there's a cost to being 'real' with your fans, as you put it. And the unfortunate reality here is that you've given the world an opportunity to exploit you.”
“Bullshit. If that were true,”—Lance cast a paranoid glance back into Paige's apartment and lowered his voice—“if she were lying and just trying to get my money, don't you think she would've already tried to contact me? Instead of waiting for a chance encounter with me?”
“I don't know, Lance, and neither do you. That's the whole point. The kid might turn out to be yours, but what if it's not?”
“Irie's a she, not an it.” Lance had to bite his tongue not to call the PR jerk an asshole.
Kip ignored the correction anyway. “But what kind of message would that send to your fans, or the hockey world at large, if we got this one wrong? We just got you out of the woods of a major PR disaster. Let's not dive head first into another. You want to be a leader of your team, right? You want to be a captain? Then it's time to start acting like one.”
Lance clawed at his throat; it'd grown tacky and was swelling shut. “Shit. So what am I supposed to do?”
“Listen to me very clearly, Lance. I've dealt with high-profile paternity cases like this before. There's two ways we can go about this. First, if you have any doubt that you're the father, we can fight her on this. She can file a case in family court and—”
Lance's blood boiled and he saw red. “Fight her? Family court?! We're talking about the mother of my daughter, Kip!”
“Or so you think. Lance, I need you to calm down and think rationally before you make a very expensive mistake.”
“I'm not going to fight her. Period.”
“Alright,” Kip said, straining. “That brings us to your second option, which I don't recommend. If you believe the child to be yours, your first priority is to take a paternity test along with the mother, child itself, and any other potential fathers. Absolutely no announcements of any kind until that's been done. She shouldn't have any issues with taking a paternity test if her story is true, and she believes that you're truly the father.”
Lance nearly choked on his words. “But … her ex … he can't be reached.”
“Convenient,” Kip chortled. “I'd also caution you not to make any sort of long-term plans with the child's mother, or give her any sort of financial support before paternity can be established.”
“Why the hell not?”
“If a court determines that you've acted as the child's caregiver, you can still end up on the hook for child support—even if the paternity test shows that the child is not likely to be yours.”
“What?! But that's insane!”
“Which is exactly why I'm cautioning you so seriously, Lance. You have a lot to lose, and the captaincy is only the tip of the iceberg. Keep your contact with the mother extremely limited until you have the results of the paternity test in hand.”
“But—!” Lance couldn't bear to tell Kip that Paige had already packed her bags, ready to move to Boston with him. “But she just quit her job because of me, Kip!”
Over the phone, Lance heard the fleshy thwack that had to be Kip smacking his own forehead.
“Oh, that's fantastic. Just do as I've told you, Lance. We'll figure out what comes next once we've got the results of that paternity test in hand. Understand?”
Lance squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah. Sure. Understood.”
He ended the call and stared at his phone. He hated that damned device so much—he cocked his elbow and readied himself to throw it over the parking lot … but before he could, he thought better of it.
With my luck, it'd probably hit some elderly dude in the parking lot and my mug would end up plastered all over the news.
He staggered back into Paige's apartment. He could hear the shower running in the bathroom. In a daze, he threw his body onto the love seat and flipped to the Brawlers game on TV.
What the hell do I do now?
Chapter 22
Paige
Fruity scents and clouds of hot, purifying steam rolled all around Paige. She couldn't stop smiling and quietly giggling to herself as she indulged herself with a long, hot shower. All her worries and stresses seemed to wash away with the soapy lather, down the drain, fore
ver gone.
Everything was happening so fast, she almost couldn't believe it was real. Just yesterday, she was a single mom with a terrible secret—that she had no idea who the father of her daughter really was. And since that time, she'd not only found Irie's real dad—a friggin' professional athlete—but was well on her way to moving in with him and starting a new life together.
But didn't it feel like things were moving too fast? Didn't she know she'd normally never move this fast with a guy?
Sure, she had sudden pangs of doubt—they came quick and furious, like a stabbing knife—but they always subsided when she reminded herself that nothing about their situation was normal. They had a daughter together. He had enough money to solve all of life's problems, enough money to sweep away any of the inherent risks they were taking. And they liked each other. That's why it made perfect sense. That's why it was okay to lose herself just a little.
Besides, she was amazed at how Lance's presence already made things so much easier. From cooking to cleaning to just being able to keep an eye on Irie without her needing to juggle fifty-thousand things at once. For once, she wasn't crushed under the ever-present burden of being a single mother.
She felt something else, something so much better, something so good and right it felt almost holy; like she was part of a tight, happy little family.
And seeing Lance be such a great Dad was a serious turn on. He was a natural. And even though she joked about it, she could already tell Lance would surely want more little ones running around someday. He was so good with kids, she'd gladly give them to him, too.
She couldn't wait to get her hands on him tonight and show how much she appreciated him.
After her shower, she nearly ransacked her wardrobe in the desperate search for a night time outfit that would get the athlete's blood pumping. At last, she found it, at the very bottom of her underwear drawer—a racy set of red lingerie that she hadn't worn in years. She nervously modeled it in the mirror, hoping she still looked as good as he remembered her …
At last, she emerged from her bedroom and into the living room. The TV was set to a murmur—he was watching a hockey game, naturally—and Lance didn't hear her enter.
Perfect.
She struck a sexy pose in the doorway. “Ta-da,” she purred sultrily.
But she still didn't get Lance's attention. He didn't even turn and look. She cleared her throat to grab his attention, but that didn't work, either.
“Lance?” she mewled meekly.
She stepped in front of him.
Aw. Poor guy.
He must've fallen asleep. Sitting perfectly upright, arms folded over his chest. She thought he'd been watching the game—but no. He wasn't. His eyes were squeezed shut and he looked out like a rock.
She sat on the love seat and snuggled up next to him.
With a tired groan, Lance stirred. “Paige. Hey.”
“Hi there, sleepy. You tired?”
“Yeah.” Lance rubbed his eyes and took note of her outfit. “Oh. Oh, hey,” he said, suddenly sounding more awake. He reached a greedy hand for her flesh—but then stopped himself.
She giggled. He couldn't keep his hands off her yesterday, but now he was being all respectful? Was it because now he thought of her as Irie's mother, and not just some random girl he wanted to ravage?
Paige took his hand and placed it on her waist. “Don't be shy. You can touch. I want you to.”
Lance swallowed. He ran his hand over her hip, grabbed a handful of her ass and squeezed.
“I like this,” he said hoarsely. “I like it a lot. But what'd you get all dressed up for?”
She climbed into his lap and loosened his tie. “For you, silly.”
Lance pulled back, his brow furrowed. “But what'd I do to deserve this?”
“You're a great Daddy. And guess what great Daddies deserve?”
He gulped. “I—I don't know?”
She nibbled his lobe and whispered into his ear. “Great Daddies deserve to get their dicks sucked.”
His gaze lowered to the floor. “You don't have to do that,” he muttered.
“No, but I want to.”
She cupped her hand to his crotch and rubbed him. He wasn't growing yet, and he looked like something was troubling him. Paige leaned forward and kissed him. Their lips embraced, but his kiss left something to be desired. Was something wrong? A frantic fear gripped Paige—was his heart not in it anymore? Was she losing him already? She couldn't let it happen—she needed him, Irie needed him! She kissed him urgently, giving him her tongue, begging him to kiss her like she needed to be kissed.
And then, her ear caught the play-by-play announcer's voice on TV, and she realized what was wrong.
“… the Cats score again, and Florida increases their lead to 5-1. The Boston Brawlers are sorely lacking the explosive talent of their star player and leading scorer, Lance Couture …”
She leaned back. “Sounds like they miss you.”
He nodded dourly. “Yeah. We suck tonight.”
“Poor guy. I can see how much you care. But tonight, no hockey.” She reached for the remote and switched the TV off. “Because you're mine.”
She kissed him again and to her relief, Lance's soul returned to his lips, and she felt a stirring beneath her palm. He was growing now, and the crotch of his trousers tightened. Paige slipped her hand under his waistband and caressed his warm flesh, making him quietly groan as his bare cock fattened in her fingers.
Thank God, she thought. He was just distracted by the game.
She slithered onto the floor and crawled between his thighs. His legs were as wide as tree-trunks. She unbuckled his belt slowly. Tension and hunger built in the athlete's eyes as she deliberately pulled the leather strap free from his belt-loops.
“Paige,” he moaned. “I want you so bad.”
She put a finger to his lips. “I want you to really want me.”
She unbuttoned his trousers, and pulled down his fly one tooth at a time, forcing him to feel each torturous click and clack as the zipper lowered. Lance could barely take it. He panted and grunted, his pelvis gyrating on the love seat cushions. But she wanted to make him wait, she wanted him to feel a fraction of the long, desperate wait she'd endured, before she gave him what he wanted and buried him in her throat.
“Paige …”
A stiff round bulge throbbed in the crotch of Lance's pants. His manhood was begging to be set free. At last, the pressure of his impressive bulge sent the zipper bursting down the rest of the way.
“Well.” Paige giggled. “Looks like you want it pretty badly now.”
“You have no idea,” he quietly groaned.
“You have no idea,” she said, her eyes on his as she reached into his boxers and pulled out his pulsing penis.
She licked her lips. His long, girthy cock was so hard, it looked as if it had been carved out of marble. His hardness glistened, and his gold piercing glinted in the dim light.
Paige wrapped her lips around him and pushed.
“Oh … yes,” he sighed at last.
As it turned out, watching Lance be a gentle, loving father to his daughter was the strongest aphrodisiac Paige had ever known. Seeing him step so naturally into the role of Irie's father spoke to something buried deep inside Paige—her need to protect, her maternal instinct. And now she wanted to please him badly—no, she needed to please him.
She knew just how he wanted it. She licked and sucked at him with a passion that bordered on worship.
She swirled her tongue up and down his length and traced the hard curves of his glans.
She pushed him into her mouth, slurping his many inches hard, fast, sloppy.
She slowed down, too, because she wanted him to last.
She wanted to blow his mind—she wanted him to remember this.
“Paige …!” he warned her at last, when he couldn't possibly hold back anymore. “I'm going to come so fucking hard!”
Good.
She felt him s
welling between her cheeks as he neared his climax. His thighs began to tremble and Lance grabbed a fistful of her hair and held on tight.
Careful not to wake Irie, Lance tried not to make much sound as he exploded into Paige's mouth. “Hnnnnngh!”
Powerful jets of his salty-sweet warmth splattered against the roof of her mouth. His cum rolled down her throat, and she dutifully swallowed it all to please him.
When he had nothing left to give, she climbed into his lap and snuggled into his arms.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “That was incredible.”
“No,” she whispered back. “You're incredible.”
Chapter 23
Lance
You're incredible.
Those were the two words Lance least wanted to hear right now. He didn't feel incredible. He felt like a monster.
He had a beautiful girl draped all over his body. His senses and nerves were still buzzing—because oh, in addition to being a smart and ridiculously strong woman, Paige was also really good at sucking cock.
And yet Lance couldn't really enjoy it. Because all he could think about was Kip Sterling.
That fuckin' asshole.
Lance thought he'd done everything right. He'd owned up to the responsibility of being a father, and what's more, he earnestly wanted to give love a shot with Paige. He wasn't just doing it to make the Brawlers brass happy, either. He really, truly believed that they could make it as a couple, and Irie would be the glue to hold them together forever.
He figured Kip would be singing his praises.
Nope.
The guy clearly thought Lance was an idiot. A sucker. A moron who'd gladly surrender half his career earnings to a woman who'd tricked him with a baby that wasn't even his.
The worst part was, Kip had planted a seed in his brain. No, this wasn't a seed, it was something darker: a toxic poison. A virus of the mind.
It was doubt.
What if he's right? What if Irie isn't mine?
But that was impossible. All Lance had to do was look at Irie and know!
Right?
Paige stretched in his lap, curling into a ball like a cat. She ran her hand under his shirt, exploring the etched lines of his abs with her fingernails. Her lips were turned up in a resting smile. She seemed so happy, so carefree, so oblivious to the mental anguish in his head.