Perfect Spiral (A Playing Dirty Sports Romance Book 2)

by Lane Hart

  “I approve, Lathan,” Roxy tells him. “One day, you’re gonna make a woman fall in love with you even harder when she finds out that you waited your whole life just for her. She’ll feel cherished and special.”

  “Thank you,” Lathan says, flashing Roxy an appreciative smile.

  “Hopefully she won’t have already worked her way through an entire football team before she finds you,” Kohen responds with the more realistic scenario before Roxy elbows him in the gut making him release an “Ow.”

  “Don’t you have some baby shopping to do?” Roxy asks Kohen with raised eyebrows.

  “The sooner we get this done the sooner we go home, so I can remind you how cherished and special you are,” Kohen replies, giving Roxy a kiss that nearly goes into PG-13.

  “Don’t forget the condoms!” I remind them, effectively ending their make out session.

  “Mood killer,” Kohen says before he and Lathan finally leave.

  “I think he’s done eating,” Roxy says a few minutes after the guys take off to the store. “Now you need to burp him.”

  “He can’t burp on his own?” I ask before handing her the bottle. “And, fuck, we don’t even know if he has a name.”

  “Aww,” Roxy says with her bottom lip out. “That's so sad. We should give him one, even if it’s only temporary.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Any suggestions?”

  “Possibly your kid, so your call,” she says with a grin.

  “Right,” I reply on an exhale as I study the little guy. I sit him up to get a better look.

  “Don’t do that without –” Roxy starts right before the kid goes straight Exorcist on me. Yellowish, nasty-smelling, regurgitated formula erupts from his mouth, soaking his outfit and my shirt and jeans.

  “Dude, that wasn’t cool,” I say to the baby while gagging from the stench.

  “I was gonna say, don’t sit him up without a burp rag,” Roxy informs me as she pulls a white cloth from the baby’s black bag and brings it over to try and mop up the mess.

  “I am so out of my league here,” I tell Roxy as she takes the baby from me. “We’ve got to find his mother ASAP.”

  “I don’t think it’s gonna be that easy, Quinton,” Roxy says sadly as she spreads a blanket on the floor and lays the baby down on it. “If she dropped him off on your doorstep…no offense, but she must have been desperate to get rid of him.” Roxy starts undoing the snaps that go down the center of his outfit with practiced ease. “Come here and watch so you can do this next time,” she glances up to tell me.

  Kneeling down on the floor beside her, I watch as she pulls the kid’s arms free and then his legs before she changes his diaper.

  “Easy, right?” she asks. “Just be gentle with pulling his arms and legs through the clothes holes, and make sure you always support the back of his head whenever you pick him up.”

  “I can’t do this Roxy,” I confess, getting back up so I can pace, the stinky puke on my shirt making it impossible to think straight.

  “Sure you can. It’ll just take a little practice…”

  “No, I mean, I’m not ready to be a father,” I clarify.

  “Mr. Competitive Quarterback, are you actually backing down from a challenge?” she asks with an arched blonde eyebrow that causes my feet to stop.

  “Hell no,” is my automatic response since giving up or quitting isn’t ever an option for me. “I just mean my life is too busy and hectic for a kid, if he’s even mine.”

  “Some of the other players have kids,” Roxy points out as she finishes redressing the baby.

  “Yeah, and they also have wives or at least ex-wives who stay home to take care of them.”

  “Then I guess we just need to find you a wife,” she teases.

  “Find me the one woman in the great wide world who actually turns me down, and I’ll put a ring on it,” I joke.

  “Oh, that’s right!” Roxy exclaims. “You’re waiting for the lady who would rather slap you than kiss you to come along so you can begin the challenging process of sweeping her reluctantly off her feet.”

  “Exactly,” I tell her. “And I may be old and feeble in a nursing home before that day ever comes.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it,” she replies, followed by a laugh. “Now come practice picking him up.”

  “Why can’t you just toss him to me?” I joke.

  “He’s not a football to be tossed. And you need to practice since he’s gonna be with you until we get DNA results or find his mother.”

  “Fine,” I grumble. “But let me change first.”

  Once I’m in a clean, laundry-scented shirt and jeans rather than vomit-covered ones, I head back into the living room. Reaching down, I start to scoop the baby up from the floor, but Roxy raises her hand to stop me. “Remember to cradle the back of his head.”

  “Got it,” I say as I wedge one of my big palms underneath his head and the other beneath his narrow backside. Since he doesn’t weigh much, he’s easy to lift. “Now what?” I ask Roxy while holding him out in front of me.

  “Bring him closer to your body so that he’s resting against your chest, feeling your warmth,” she says, demonstrating with her empty hands. It takes a few tries before I finally get him twisted around.

  “Like this?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but you can move your hand from his head since it’s propped up on the crook of your arm,” she tells me, which makes holding him easier and frees up my right hand. “Now sit down and let’s give him a name.”

  Taking my favorite seat in one of the oversized recliners, I get comfortable. With the baby in one arm and the TV remote in my other hand, I’m all set. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

  “So…any ideas for what to call him?” Roxy asks before plopping down on the sofa.

  “I dunno,” I say on a heavy exhale as I try to think.

  It’s not like I’ve ever considered the names I would give my son since I’ve never really imagined having kids. I love my life, playing football and being a rich bachelor with plenty of women to keep me busy. But I guess if I were to have a kid I would probably want to name him after a great football legend, since I would want him to follow in my footsteps and play. Actually, now I can even picture myself teaching my son how to throw a perfect spiral in the backyard after school and taking him to games on Sundays…

  “How about Emmett or Troy?” I ask Roxy. “Maybe Brady?”

  “Football players?” she asks, followed by a giggle. “Okay, fine. I guess Brady would be a pretty good name.”

  “So we’ll call him Brady, you know, until we figure everything out,” I tell her.

  “Sure, Quinton. Whatever you say,” Roxy replies with a smile.

  About an hour after Lathan and Kohen come back with the baby supplies, we finally get the baby bed thing put together while Roxy holds a sleeping Brady. Already the name is sort of growing on me like it fits him. I’m sure his mother gave him a name, and he probably has a birth certificate somewhere. Too bad I don’t even know who she is. Roxy made some calls, but no one knows anything about the baby or his mother.

  “I can’t believe someone could just leave their baby behind, especially one as adorable as he is,” Roxy says after we put the little guy down to sleep in his new bed.

  “Yeah, and I’m clearly the wrong man to pick for the job,” I reply, taking a seat on the foot of my bed. There are five other bedrooms in my enormous house, but it didn’t seem right to put the baby in one all alone tonight.

  “You’ll figure it out,” Roxy assures me with a squeeze to my shoulder. “And who knows, maybe she’ll show back up in a few days.”

  “Maybe,” I respond doubtfully.

  Tomorrow morning my parents are coming into town, so I called and asked if they would babysit for a friend during the game. They gladly agreed, so I figure I can explain in person what’s really going on when I see them. Hopefully, my mom can even stick around and help out for a few days until we get the DNA results back. Which brings
me to another problem I hadn’t really considered. What happens to Brady if I’m not his father and we can’t find his mother?

  “Well, I’m gonna head out,” Lathan tells us as he starts for the hallway. “See you all tomorrow. Good luck, Quinton.”

  “Thanks,” I reply.

  “We better get going too,” Kohen turns and says to Roxy.

  “Yeah, it’s getting late,” she replies hesitantly while still watching the sleeping baby. “But now you’ve got my number, so you can call if there’s an emergency,” Roxy tells me.

  “Okay, thanks, Roxy,” I say before getting up to give her a hug of gratitude for helping me out. “Thank you too, Kohen,” I tell him, offering a fist bump, which he hits.

  “No problem. See you in the morning,” Kohen says before he leads Roxy into the hallway with his palm on her lower back.

  The anxiety of knowing I’m about to be alone with a baby for the first time has my chest constricting and my palms sweating again. Of course I get nervous before a game, but this is different. It’s an actual life that depends on me to not fuck up.

  I’m about to freak out and chase down Roxy and Kohen before I hear Kohen’s voice call out from down the hallway.

  “Changed our minds! We’re staying, Quinton,” he shouts.

  “Thank God,” I mutter in relief.

  Now that the current crisis has been averted for the moment, I flop down on the bed and pull out my cell phone to call up Nixon. I want to see what he remembers about the night we lost the playoff game.

  “Yo, man, this better be important,” Nix says when he answers.

  “You busy?” I ask.

  “Ah, yeah. My head’s between the legs of a beautiful woman, so what the fuck do you want?” he barks.

  Surprised, I say, “What about your whole no sex before a game rule?”

  “My dick is staying in my pants until tomorrow night after we win and she can return the favor.”

  “Right,” I say with an eye roll.

  “So what’s up, QB?”

  “Someone left a baby on my porch tonight,” I tell him.

  “Nice! Lathan pranking you?” he asks.

  “Ah, no. There was a note that said he’s mine. And since he’s been here for hours, I’m starting to think it’s legit.”

  “No shit?” he mutters. “Who did you knock up?”

  “No clue; that’s why I’m calling you.”

  “Sorry, man, but I don’t keep a running tally of all your bedroom TDs.”

  “I know,” I tell him. “It’s just that, do you remember the night when we got shitfaced after losing the playoff game?”

  “Fuck, man. You’re killing my mojo. Don’t remind me of those three drops, two of which were in the end zone, or I’ll have to get shitfaced again tonight to forget.”

  “I know, it was one clusterfuck after another. But if this kid is mine, and that’s a big if, then that’s the only night I think it could’ve gone down.”

  “Oh, shit,” he mutters. “You forgot to wrap it up?”

  “Dude, I forgot everything other than drinking with you and Cameron and then waking up in the back of a police car. Do you remember any women I may have hooked up with?” I ask.

  “Hmm, most of the night was a blur to me too, man,” he replies. “But didn’t you go off with some tatted up chick when we were at Limelight?”

  “I left with a woman with tattoos?” I ask.

  “I think you disappeared for a little while with her. Before that, you kept slipping Benjamins down the front of her skirt and asking for a private lap dance.”

  “Limelight is just a nightclub, not a strip club, right?” I ask in confusion.

  Nixon chuckles. “Yeah, that’s why it was so hilarious! She was our waitress, serving us those lime green Jell-O shooters, but I’m betting she ended up giving you more than a lap dance.”

  “Fuck,” I groan softly while eying the bed with the sleeping baby.

  “Guess now you’re wishing you would’ve gotten a blowjob instead,” Nixon remarks.

  “Do you remember her name or anything else about her?” I ask. “I’ve got to find her to figure out whether or not this kid is mine.”

  “Nah, man. No clue. It was loud as shit in there, and I was drunk off my ass.”

  “Yeah, okay. Well, thanks for the info. I’ll call Cameron and see if he remembers anything else and let you get back to your pussy,” I tell him.

  “Thanks, she’s getting all impatient wanting more than my fingers inside her,” he replies.

  “I didn’t need to know that, dude,” I say before hanging up.

  Finding Cameron’s number in my phone, I call him up next.

  “What the hell, Quinn? I was sleeping. Why aren’t you?” the other starting wide receiver for the Wildcats asks when he answers.

  “Sorry to wake you, but it’s sort of important,” I start and then tell him the quick version about the kid getting left with me. “Nix said he thought I may have hooked up with a waitress, one with tattoos. Do you remember her?” I ask.

  “I remember that God-awful playoff game,” he grumbles. “And yeah, I think I remember a waitress sitting on your lap. She had these blue streaks in her raven hair, Japanese tattoos of, like, koi fish and water or some shit on her arms. Wasn’t that at Limelight when we started throwing back all those Jell-O shots?”

  “Yeah, that’s what Nixon said too,” I reply, excited to maybe have a lead. “Do you remember her name by chance?”

  “Nope, but by the end of that night I didn’t remember my own name,” he answers.

  “Well, thanks for the info. Get some z's, and I’ll see you on the field in the morning.”

  “All right. Sorry about the kid, Quinton. Later,” Cameron says before hanging up.

  So it looks like I can add a visit to Limelight to my list of things to do after tomorrow’s game. With nothing else to be done tonight, I change into a pair of sleep pants and turn off the light before crawling under the covers to try to get a few hours of sleep.

  When the baby wakes up crying just two hours later, I start to get the feeling that it’s gonna be a lonnnng night.

  Chapter Two

  Callie Clarke

  I startle awake to the sounds of a crying baby, which is rather concerning since I’m absolutely certain that I didn’t have any kids in the house hours ago when I fell asleep.

  Sitting up in the middle of the bed, I push my sweaty blonde locks out of my eyes as I try to catch my breath and get my bearings. That’s when I realize that it was all just a dream. My house is empty. No babies crying. No husband. Just me and my tiger-striped cat Felix, who is not in his usual spot, curled up asleep at the foot of the bed.

  Now that I’m feeling wide awake thanks to the urgency in the dream, I decide to get up and grab a glass of water to soothe my dry mouth before trying to lay down and get comfortable again.

  Even with only the faintest bit of light shining in the windows from the street lamps, I’m easily able to find my way around the bed in the familiar room. Only when I’m less than a foot away from my reading chair, do I see the shape of a man sitting in it.

  A scream is reflexively pulled from my throat without a thought before common sense returns. The next second I’m running around the side of the bed where there’s a landline phone.

  “Callie, it’s just me,” the man quickly says, and I recognize the voice of my husband, or soon to be ex-husband, after I've picked up the receiver. Not reassured in the least by that information, I keep hold of the phone, my finger poised over the backlit number nine, ready to punch in the three digits that will bring police assistance.

  “What the hell are you doing here, lurking around in the shadows while I sleep?” I yell at John, squinting when he suddenly flips on the blinding overhead lights.

  “I just miss you,” he says sadly. And when I’m able to blink my eyes fully open, I see that his words match the fallen expression on his slender face. Tonight he’s dressed in dark sweatpants and a bag
gy sweatshirt, so it’s hard to tell if he’s healthy and clean or using the excess material to hide his emaciated body that’s been sacrificed thanks to his very nasty drug habit.

  “Get the fuck out of my house!” I yell at him, pointing the way to the front door in case he forgot between now and when he snuck in.

  “It used to be my house too,” he says.

  “That was before I found out you were giving my sister drugs in exchange for sex!” I shout, tears prickling my eyes and burning my throat at the reminder of waking up in the middle of the night to find him in the guest bed with my sister. The sounds of their naked bodies slapping against each other, the grunts and groans of their betrayal was the biggest wake-up call of my life.

  “One time!” John exclaims in response as if a single occurrence rather than multiple ones makes it any better. “That only happened one time, and I told you I was sorry. I just needed…”

  “Save the bullshit!” I warn him, already knowing what he’s gonna say from hearing it so many times before --- that him having an affair with my sister was all my fault because I was pressuring him to get me pregnant. And that after failing to get the job done in seven years, sex with me was nothing but a chore; that I blamed him for our infertility and didn’t act like I loved him or wanted him anymore, blah, blah, blah. “And if you think I’ll ever believe it was only one single time you fucked her and got her pregnant after years of not having any luck with me, then you’re a bigger fucking idiot than I already thought you were!”

  “I swear I didn’t knock her up,” he says. “She seduced me that night! You know damn well that the whore will fuck anyone to score a hit!”

  Without even thinking about it, I toss the phone down and storm over to slap the shit out of his face.

  “Bianca is no saint, I know that,” I snarl at him, my palm still stinging by my side. “But she’s a desperate addict that needed help, and all you and those other bastards do is just take advantage of her!”