Player: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Aubrey Irons

  By that scale, asking one to fake marry me for money really is pretty tame in comparison.

  Natalie shrugs in front of me, dropping her spoon into the paper cup on the picnic table in front of her. “Anyways, for now I guess I’ll go stay at a friend’s-”

  “So, I might have a job for you.”

  She blinks as I cut her off, frowning at me. “What?”

  This is a terrible idea…this is a truly stupid idea.

  I don’t know this girl at all, aside from thirty whole minutes of conversation and knowing how her tongue tastes against my lips. I don’t know a damn thing about her, or her family, or really even if she’s some sort of ax murderer.

  The smart thing to do here would be to walk the fuck away. The smart play here would be to drive her to this friend’s house, send her on her way, and then go play Derek’s public image game.

  Except, I don’t do, or say, any of those things.

  Instead, I lean across the table, level my gaze at her, and say literally the last thing I’d ever in a million years have imagined myself saying to a girl.

  “How’d you like to get married?”

  7

  Natalie

  I stare at the man across the table from me, for a moment putting aside how attractive he is, or how grateful I am for him rescuing me from the hotel, and realizing that I actually know nothing about him.

  Who the hell is this guy?

  He’s a crazy person, right? He’s some rich psychopath with a warehouse somewhere where he uses power tools on unsuspecting women making horrible choices during emotionally unstable times – women that get in cars with strangers.

  And for that moment, I’m pushing aside how dreamy those eyes are, or how primally biologically attractive that jawline is, or the tight muscles of his chest through his t-shirt. My eyes dart behind him, measuring how far it is to the ice cream stand window, and wondering if I could make it there barefoot before he caught me.

  “I- uh.” I smile innocently at the gorgeous psychopath sitting across from. “I should go.”

  He grins. “Hang on, let me explain.”

  Exactly what a psychopath who wants to murder me in his garage would say.

  My eyes dart again to the ice cream attendant about thirty feet behind him, and I’m literally about to make a break for it when he rolls his eyes.

  “Relax, I mean fake married.”

  I freeze, turning my eyes back to him and raising a brow questioningly. “What?”

  “Fake married, like an arrangement.” He shrugs. “Look, you need money, I need a fake wife. I think we can help each other out here.”

  I frown. “Why do you need-”

  “It’s a long story,” he shrugs and waves his hand. “We’ll get to that.”

  I stare at him, peering at him and trying to figure out if I’m on hidden camera, or if this is some bizarre joke I’m just not getting.

  “So, what do you think?”

  He can’t be serious.

  No way. This is insane. This is even more insane than me kissing him last night, or more insane than getting into his freaking car an hour ago when I don’t even know him.

  I take a deep breath and shake my head. “You know what, this is getting weird.” I stand. “Look, thank you for the ice cream, and for everything back at the hotel, but I need to get out of-”

  “Five-hundred thousand dollars.”

  My head jerks back to him. “What?”

  Austin looks at me evenly. “I’ll give you five-hundred thousand dollars if you fake marry me. Six-month contract, tops, and then we can go our separate ways.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Am I on camera or something?”

  He grins. “If you’re into that.”

  I roll my eyes and grab my clutch from the table. “I’m leaving.”

  “And I’m totally serious you know.” There’s something real in his voice that stops me, and I half-turn back to him.

  “Pretend to marry me, stay in my place, go out in public with me. Six months, and the money’s yours.” He shrugs. “And in the meantime, it’s a place to stay and all your expenses covered.”

  My brow furrows. “Look I’m not a hooker you know.”

  Austin laughs. “Yeah, I sort of picked up on that.”

  “And yet…”

  He snorts. “Look, princess, I don’t exactly have to pay for that. And besides, that’s not what I’m saying. Nothing sexual implied.” He grins wickedly at me in a way that has my pulse skipping a beat. “I mean, of course if you want that, I’m not gonna say no-”

  “I don’t,” I say sharply, and he winks.

  “You seriously want me to fake marry you.”

  “I seriously want you to fake marry me. You’ll live in my house, do public events and media shit.” He grins. “You’ll probably have to at least hold my hand, you know.”

  “I think I’d manage.” I raise a brow at him. “Look, don’t let this go to your head, but I have a hard time seeing why a guy like you would do this. I mean you’ve obviously got money, and it’s not like you’re unattractive.”

  “So you’re saying I’m attractive?”

  I roll my eyes. “I did just say don’t let it go to your head, didn’t I?”

  He grins that easy, cool smile at me. “My image,” he shrugs again, “my image needs a makeover.”

  “Why me?”

  “You seem classy.”

  This time, I laugh. “You don’t even know me.”

  “I know women, believe me. And you’re one of the classy ones.” He winks at me. “Plus you seem a little prudish.”

  I bristle, frowning at him. “Excuse me?”

  “No-no, that’s a good thing.” He pushes his fingers through his mop of hair, his brows knitting as if thinking through something. “Yeah, no, I think a little frigid might be good for this situation.”

  My jaw clenches, my hands go to tight fists at my sides, and the heat rises in my face. “Watch it.”

  He puts his hands up. “Hey, okay, nothing meant by that. I just mean you being professional about this and not being all over me could probably make this work better.” He smirks. “As long as we stay away from hotel bars and elevators I guess.”

  “That was…” I purse my lips together. “Believe me, that will not be happening again.”

  He grins.

  I look down at the rest of my melting ice cream turning into a pink puddle in the little paper cup. “So you want to marry me-”

  “Fake marry.”

  “Okay, fake marry me, because I ‘seem classy’ to you? After meeting me once, and drunk, in a bar?”

  “Yup.”

  “You realize how insane that sounds, right?”

  “Are you saying you’re not classy?”

  I roll my eyes. “I meant what makes you think I’m classy.”

  “Ever fucked a famous person just because they’re famous?”

  I wrinkle my brow. “Are you famous?”

  Austin grins wickedly at me. “Interested?”

  I feel my cheeks go red as I quickly frown and shake my head. “Eww, no. And certainly not.”

  “Well, there’s one.”

  “One what?”

  “Reason I think you’ve probably got some class.” His eyes drop to the front of my dress, and I can feel a warm tingle run up my back as he nods openly at my chest.

  “Those real?”

  My face burns hot as I quickly cross my arms over my breasts and scowl at him. “Of course they are.”

  Austin chuckles and shrugs again. “Well, there’s two.”

  I shake my head, turning to glare out over the Pacific.

  You’re not actually considering this, are you?

  Except, I am. And there’s no empty stomach and three drinks this time to blame my irrational behavior on. There’s no late-night bar, and handsome and mysterious strangers this time.

  This time, I just might actually be crazy.

  “This is insane.” I say it softly, almost to mys
elf, as if saying it out loud is a way of trying to rationalize this thing.

  “Life is insane, princess. This’ll help us both.”

  He brings his hand up and runs it through his hair again. “Look, seriously. Nothing implied. Like I said, I don’t pay for that. Just play the part, be the good little wife and smile for the cameras, and you walk away with half a mil in six months. Plus spending money while you’re doing it.”

  I frown. “What, like an allowance?”

  “Sure.”

  I can feel my brow furrowing as I turn away from Austin for a second to look out at the ocean. God, is this the only way? A rich guy’s trophy wife? Look pretty, smile for the public - there’s even an allowance. I groan at the idea of willingly becoming everything my mother always wanted me to become, no matter how hard I’ve tried otherwise.

  But I need money. And on the upside, Austin does seem leagues above Vince, and this isn’t even a real marriage. It’s a job, that’s it. I take a deep breath, letting the air tease over my lips. It’s a means to an end, that’s all.

  I turn back and level my eyes at Austin. “Okay, the hell with it.”

  He raises a brow. “Is that an ‘I do?’”

  “Don’t get cute.”

  He winks and I resist the urge to blush. “Okay, so how do we do this?”

  Austin shrugs. “It’s not like I’ve done this before, you know.” He grins. “I guess at some point I call my lawyers, but for now-” He holds a finger up as he jogs over to the ice cream stand window and comes back with a pen. He yanks a napkin out of the holder leans over the picnic table.

  “Here.” He grins as he holds up the napkin with “I swear to be married for six months for $500k” scrawled across it, along with what I guess is his signature beneath it.

  I make a face. “This isn’t real, you know.”

  “Humor me.”

  I pause, letting the last lingering doubts percolate in my head - letting the last little shreds of my sanity wonder what the actual hell I’m doing saying yes to this.

  But it’s a ton of money. It’s money that assures I don’t have to try and beg off my mother and all the drama that comes with that. It’s not going back to Vince Capra money.

  Besides, it’s not real.

  I’m grabbing the napkin and the pen, and scrawling my name next to his as the words whisper through my head like a mantra.

  It’s not real.

  I look up at my new fake husband, forcing the heat from my face as the realization that the man I kissed like a crazy person in the elevator last night is now technically my employer.

  “So, what happens now?”

  He flashes that wildly charming cowboy smile at me as he leans back on the bench and shrugs before lacing his hands behind his head. “Hell if I know. This is my first marriage, you know.”

  I grin.

  “But I guess we should celebrate or something.”

  I smile as I look down at the cup of melted ice-cream on the table between us. “I don’t know, think you can top ice cream on the beach?”

  “I think I can manage.” He winks. “You like casinos?”

  “Uh…”

  I raise a brow at the man across the table - the stranger with the expensive car, the chiseled, tattooed body, and the cowboy smile that keeps making me warm in places it shouldn’t.

  The stranger who’s now my official fake husband.

  “Ever been to Vegas?”

  8

  Natalie

  I just got fake married.

  At an ice cream shop.

  Oh, right, and now I’m in a car speeding through the desert to Las Vegas, with a man I don’t even really know.

  Who’s my fake husband.

  Natalie Ames, you have officially lost your damn mind.

  The argument could be made that I lost my mind a long time ago, when I let myself fall into the same trap my mother, and her mother, and her mother before fell into - even thought I’d always swore I never would. But it’s like that fate was as inevitable as there being a city made of neon at the end of this dark desert road. I lost my mind when I gave up and gave in, and said yes to a man like Vince, knowing full well what that meant.

  So, saying it again - however contrived, however phony, and however for financial reasons - to Austin should feel like giving up all over again. It should feel like I’m going down the same damn road - being the same damn piece of wall art, or arm candy.

  Except…

  I turn, peering at the bizarre and criminally attractive man behind the wheel in the low glow of the late afternoon sun. Except I might not know a thing about Austin, but I can already tell he’s nothing like Vince. Rich, and maybe the touch of arrogance that comes with that, but not scummy. Not disconnected.

  Who knows, I think to myself, turning to look out over the copper sand of the Nevada desert. Maybe a fake marriage is exactly what you needed, Natalie Ames.

  Maybe.

  The valet is all over Austin as soon as we pull up in front of the Bellagio - grinning from ear to ear, firmly shaking his hand, and just like the guy from the bar, telling him he “can’t wait for this year.”

  Whatever the hell that means.

  Austin just grins and thanks him, giving him a high five as he poses for a freaking selfie with the guy before he slips on a pair of shades and walks over to where I’m standing utterly confused by the lobby door.

  “Are you going to tell me who you are?”

  He smirks. “I’m your husband.”

  I give him a look. “Fake husband, but seriously, why does everyone know you?”

  “You don’t.”

  “Okay, everyone else in the world besides me, apparently. You’re like, famous or something, right?”

  Austin grins behind those ridiculous movie-star shades. “Maybe I’m just a really likable guy.”

  “So likable that random strangers want to take an Instagram picture with you?”

  “Stranger things have happened, princess.”

  Yeah, like me agreeing to marry a stranger for half a million dollars.

  Inside, the woman at the front desk greets us warmly, of course addressing Austin by name and blushing when he grins back at her.

  “Just checking in, Sarah,” he says in that smooth Texas twang, adding in just a touch more charm to it than I’ve heard before.

  I frown.

  “King-sized suite, please.”

  “Extra bedroom,” I add in quickly, arching my brow at him.

  “Aww, now honey, what about that magic?”

  Sarah blushes and looks down as I smile sweetly at Austin.

  “Not going to happen,” I mutter quietly.

  He grins. “You don’t want to seal the deal?” He slides closer to me and puts his arm across my shoulders. “You don’t want to consummate our marriage, dear?”

  Sarah’s head jerks up so fast her glasses almost fall off her face. “Oh my God! You got married?” She squeals, shaking her fists in the air and beaming at Austin like this is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to anyone, ever.

  “You’re so lucky,” she whispers conspiratorially at me, biting her lip and beaming at the two of us.

  “Yeah, definitely,” I say with zero emotion, arching my brow and glancing around the room.

  What the HELL is going on.

  Austin turns back to me, wagging his eyebrows. “So…king bed?”

  I’m about to open my mouth and tell him where he can shove his king-sized bed when he draws me in as if he’s kissing my cheek. I shiver before I can stop myself, feeling the heat bloom through me as I feel his lips brush against my ear.

  “Appearances, dear,” he growls in my ear, and it’s like a live wire right to my core. I blush at the feeling of forbidden heat that creeps traitorously through my body. He steps away and winks at me before turning back to Sarah.

  “We’ll take the spare room; might have some guests later in the weekend. Oh, and Sarah?”

  She looks up with this eager look on her
face that has me rolling my eyes.

  “You guys still have that in-house personal stylist, right?”

  Sarah beams. “Of course, Mr. Taylor. Will you be needing the same style suit as last time?”

  “That and something for my wife.” He grins. “What do you have in white?”

  We skip every single line at every single club and bar on the Vegas strip. Bouncers greet Austin by name, girls in line freak the hell out and snap pictures of him while shooting dagger looks my way.

  “You sure you’re not in some movie I haven’t seen?” He laughs and I arch a brow at him. “Seriously, what did I get myself in-”

  “Hey, princess.” He pulls me close and kisses my check as the crowd outside the club goes bonkers and shrieks his name.

  “You’re getting paid to hang out with me at a place like this.” He shrugs. “Try and have a little fun.”

  He nods at the bouncer and pulls me into the thumping, pounding swirling crowd of the club.

  “And smile,” he yells into my ear over the pulsing roar of the house music. “We just got married, remember?”

  I don’t even have time to roll my eyes, or give a second thought as to what madness I’ve managed to willingly get myself into, before he drags me into the throbbing mass of the crowd.

  My nights out have historically involved catered dinner parties and high brow conversations, not pulsing club music and swirling masses of sweating, undulating dancers. And I want to say this isn’t my scene, or that I’m only at a place like this because I’m being paid to be here. Except, that’s not entirely accurate.

  Because as much as I want to say this is beneath me, or stupid, or whatever, the truth of it is I haven’t stopped grinning since he took my hand and pulled me in here.

  I have officially left the old Natalie Ames behind, and whoever this new version of me is, I have to admit…

  I kind of like her.

  “Cheers.”

  Austin grins as he sets the bottle of champagne back into the ice and raises his glass towards the one he’s just poured me. We can hear each other better here, in the private room up on the second level overlooking the rest of the club.