Running Back's Baby: A Secret Baby Romance

by Roxeanne Rolling

  The city skyline looks strangely gorgeous in the morning sun. I normally don’t think it looks like much, but I feel like Chloe and Scout have given it a new perspective for me in a way, in that I’m able to somewhat see it through their eyes.

  I arrive again before everyone. Only Coach is here.

  “Step into my office,” he says, gruffly.

  “What’s up, Coach?” I say, sitting down heavily into the rickety chair in front of his dusty desk, full of old battered trophies that for some reason look like they’ve fallen off a truck, or been run through the dryer. He’s a weird guy, Coach, and a bit of a slob, the kind of person who has a way of half-destroying everything he touches, everything in his possession.

  “This is the big one,” says Coach, following his words with a pregnant pause that seems to go on for eternity.

  “Yup,” I say, nodding my head. I don’t know where he’s going with this. So far, it just sounds like some generic movie stuff. I mean, come on, football is important to me, but really it’s a business, above all else. And Coach knows this.

  “This is a real important one for us,” says Coach.

  I nod my head, not bothering to say anything this time. How can I respond to all these clichés?

  “Look, Coach,” I say. “With all due respect, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

  “That’s some straight talk right there,” says Coach.

  I nod my head.

  “It’s just that I’m under a lot of pressure from the sponsors to win today’s game. And I know you’ve been working on your footwork and everything, I just wanted to say that I’m really… pleased with the effort you’ve been putting in, even if you did take those days off.”

  That sentence could have gone, “take those days off to care for your sick and elderly mother,” but this is probably the first compliment I’ve ever gotten from Coach, so I’m just going to let it exist as it is.

  “Thanks, Coach,” I say. “Are we done here?”

  Coach nods stiffly. Even in his compliment, he was gruff and displeased, his eyebrows perpetually thick and pointed together, painting his face into a frown.

  Conversations between me and Coach never go like they do in the movies, where the coach is either a tough guy but caring underneath. No, it’s nothing like that. He’s really just an asshole who’s taken years to recognize the hard work and effort we’re all, including me, putting into the team.

  I shake my head as I walk from the room. I didn’t even need to work on my footwork, and Coach should know that. But, hell, he might just make us win, though, with all the work he’s been putting us through. And he’s a real master of strategy, coming up with plays that no one else can, always able to surprise the other team, no matter what, no matter who we’re playing.

  I head into the locker room where I’m the only one there.

  I strip off my clothes, and stand here naked, looking down at my muscles. Being naked makes me think of Chloe, who might still be asleep right now, or she might just be waking up, thinking about the night we spent together last night.

  She was so hot, so inspiring, so naked and so raw. There’s nothing that’s ever compared to her, and that experience last night. I could spend the rest of my life with her naked in bed, my cock buried inside her.

  I look down and see my cock growing. I feel the warmth spreading up from my groin into my body as my breathing grows hotter and heavier. The images of her naked breasts flash before my eyes. The feeling of her pussy gripped around my cock, her tight warm tunnel… I can almost still feel it wrapped around my cock. My cock is rock hard now, the head massive, the sides full of veins, hard as a rock and hot to the touch.

  My fingers wrap around it almost instinctually. I wonder if I shouldn’t have woken Chloe up this morning and given her a morning fuck. That would have given me some good luck for the game.

  I know this erection isn’t going to go away, not with last night’s performance from Chloe. Not that it was a performance. It wasn’t like she was acting at all. That was the real thing, raw and passionate, unbridled and sexy as hell.

  There’s no one here, and no one’s going to be coming into the locker room for a while, so I just stand here in front of my locker, slowly moving my fist around my cock.

  I straight my legs, tightening my muscles. My abs contract as I concentrate on what she looked like last night. I imagine that she’s straddling me as I stand up here, her tight tunnel gripping down on my cock, her hands holding each other around my broad back. I imagine that she’s moaning and screaming here in the locker room, and I imagine the way she would feel, her flesh naked. For some reason, I imagine that she’s still wearing her bra, a sports bra to be exact, since I’ve always found those really hot on women, the way they make their breasts look, and the sleekness of the material, the tautness. I imagine that material, with her breasts inside them, soft and plush, pressing against my chest.

  My fist is moving fast now, almost in a blur, as I close my eyes and I star to come, thick ropes of come shooting out of my cock, flying all the way over to my locker, where it sticks.

  I breath out a big sigh of relief. But I know I won’t really be satisfied until I’m deep inside her again, inside my precious Chloe. There’s something incredibly special about her, incredibly sexy and almost impossibly hot. She can make me think thoughts and feel ways that no other woman ever could, not in a thousand years.

  I grab some toilet paper and wipe down the locker. Now I head into the shower, where I spend at least twenty minutes with the hot water hitting my back, just thinking about… well, about Chloe. I don’t “have my head in the game,” as they say. Not in the least bit. I normally like to think in a meditative way about the upcoming game, the way an ancient warrior would meditate before a battle. After all, football is the modern battlefield, and we’re almost like warriors, in a way. That’s how some people look at us. Me, I’m a little more practical. It’s just a job, really, albeit an interesting and athletic one, one that happens to require a lot of strategy and intelligence, as well as good physical conditioning.

  Finally, I get out and towel off. And, finally, the rest of the team shows up.

  “Finally you guys are here,” I say, not bothering to cover up my naked body as I towel off. That’s typical of the football locker room. A lot of nudity, and we all make jokes about each other’s cocks and how big or small they are.

  “There he is, the running back with the monster cock,” says someone, and everyone laughs.

  “It’s what keeps us winning,” I say. “The lucky cock.”

  “They’re just scared of what you’re going to do to their girlfriends.”

  “I don’t do that anymore,” I say. Not that I fucked anyone’s girlfriend, at least not that I know of… Anyway, I’ve got Chloe now. I don’t need anyone else. I just have to tell Chloe how I feel about her… There does seem to be a bit of hesitation deep inside her, and I wonder again what that’s about, but the thought quickly fades away. After all, now that the football team is here, with everyone stripping down, joking, and shouting, and generally getting pumped up for the game, it’s easy to let football start to overtake my thoughts again. And I want it to, since I need to try to get my head in the game as much as possible, considering how much I’ve been thinking about Chloe. I hope the game goes OK without my concentration at its peak…

  “No more?” says someone.

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “I’ve got someone new,” I say. “Someone special.”

  “I heard she’s already got a kid.”

  “Damn, man, you move fast, Dan. You already got her pregnant?”

  “It’s not mine,” I say, pulling on my jock strap and doing my best to tuck my soft but big cock into place.

  “I thought you said she’s a girl from your past? You hooked up with her before right?”

  “Damn, so this is your kid from before?”

  “What?” I say. “No…”

  B
ut…

  But doesn’t the timing add up?

  I’m lost in my own thoughts for the hours leading up to the game. Could Scout be my daughter? The thought, the seed coming from a casual comment, a joke really, won’t leave me, and it hits me like a concrete mixing truck smashing a squirrel on the highway.

  Before I know it, the game is about to start. I’m lining up on the field, and we’re all in position, wearing our gear, the sun breaking through the clouds right in time for the start of the game. I’ve been lost in my own thoughts, thinking about Chloe and her daughter Scout, and the strangeness of the timing…

  I hope I can concentrate on the game enough for make it through.

  I stare at the stands somewhat absent mindedly, as if I’ll be able to pick out Chloe and Scout from the crowd, but obviously there are so many people there’s just no way. Even with good seats, you’ll never see anyone. Especially with the lights, the camera in the way, and everyone yelling at you.

  The crowds always blend into a dull roar, becoming nothing more than background to the game at hand. But this time I know that Chloe and Scout are out there, two very special people to me.

  The game seems to go by in a blur.

  “Get your head in the game, asshole,” more than one teammate yells at me.

  “Shit,” I say, muttering under my breath.

  The ball is snapped.

  The crowd is roaring. But this time I can hear them. This isn’t good. They’re supposed to be fading into the background. I’m not supposed to be aware of them at all.

  This isn’t supposed to be happening.

  I can’t remember what play we’re in.

  But all I can think about is Chloe and Scout. Is she my daughter?

  Is she my daughter?

  Is she my daughter?

  The question pierces my skull and distracts me, rips my concentration away from football.

  The quarterback hands me the ball, a clean hand off, but I’m barely paying attention. I almost fumble the ball.

  I can’t even remember what down we’re at, or what play we’re supposed to be doing, and of course I have no idea whatsoever about what the score is. This isn’t like me. Normally my head’s completely in the game and I’m strategizing and plotting routes of escape.

  But this time I almost drop the ball.

  It’s only my pro reflexes that let me hang onto the ball. It bounces messily between my hands like I’m a fool trying to handle a hot potato.

  If I could hear the crowd now, I’m sure they’d be laughing if they were rooting for the other team.

  There’s no way to go about this cleanly. I don’t have any idea who’s around me, or what the other team expects us to be doing, the way I should.

  Someone rushes at me from the left, about to tackle me, about to bash me into the ground, sending the football flying.

  It’s too late to escape.

  He makes contact, but I somehow resist, by sheer force of will, and by sending my body towards him. Instead of falling down myself, he gets knocked down, tripping. Surprisingly, it might be my footwork that saves me. Damn it, I’m never going to hear the end of this from Coach, but my footwork keeps me as stable as a rock.

  I scan the field quickly. The entire defensive line of the other team seems to be rushing at me. It’s like being in a battle in ancient Greece, and I’m just one mad man against an entire squadron that’s rushing at me. Only a fool and a madman would try to fight them, try to rush right into them, to score a touchdown. But that’s me. That’s my job. I may get a concussion rushing into this army, but that’s what I’m going to do.

  Another one is to my left. I rush over to my right, right towards the white line, and I spring along it in a straight line for a few meters, before someone’s rushing up behind me. Someone really, really fast. Even faster than me. These guys are big, and they’re fast too. They’re like human flesh tanks of solid muscle, built from hours eating cheeseburgers and hours in the gym.

  My legs are pounding. I can’t hear anything but my own breathing. My helmet feels like it’s part of me, and my pads too. My cleats feel like extensions of my body.

  Somehow the thoughts of Chloe and Scout are gone… And I’m aware of it.

  I’m entering that coveted “zone” that athletes describe, where everything seems to slow down. Time is slower, people are moving in slow motion. I can make decisions faster, as if I don’t need to think about them. My body simply responds. My body responds on its own, working away, my muscles all perfectly coordinated, all functioning to the absolute peak of their performance.

  But, still, I know I can’t outrun him.

  I can’t outrun my troubles.

  I pivot, stopping completely, jamming my feet into the turf. I spin as he rushes at me. His huge body glances off me, but I use his momentum to spin myself, propelling myself in the opposite direction.

  I’m off, springing away, thrusting against the thrust with all my force, all my power.

  I can see the line. I can see where I’m going to throw the ball down to the ground in triumph, another touchdown scored.

  But there’s another opponent rushing up from behind me, past this fallen comrade, coming at me from the left. I’m back over on the white line, almost out of bounds, a dangerous game, the ball tucked in my arm, using the classic grip.

  I’m going to outrun him. He’s too big, and I can’t withstand a tackle from him, not after all I’ve been through. All I’ve got to do is run. Run, like I’ve never run before. My cleats are banging the turf. I can hear them, and my own breathing.

  An image of Chloe’s naked, delicious tits rushes into my field of vision. Am I going delirious with physical exertion? Whatever, I can’t deal with that now. I just run, run and run.

  Suddenly, it’s all over.

  I’m across the line.

  I throw the ball down, and just stand here, my hands resting on my knees, partially bent over. I’ve never been one for touchdown celebrations, or dances, nothing like that. Call me old fashioned, or whatever you want.

  The sound of the crowd suddenly comes roaring back. Everyone’s cheering. I look up at the scoreboard and it’s flashing.

  The game is over.

  I’ve won the game, the last touchdown. The clock is down, ground down to 00:00, and I didn’t even realize it.

  Up in the crowd, I suddenly see Chloe looking down at me, looking sexy as hell, her hair framing her beaming face.

  Scout is next to her.

  Is she my daughter?

  Chloe

  “Wasn’t that great, Scout?” I say. “The way Dan won the game?”

  “Yeah!” says Scout, her eyes wide. “He ran past all those guys!”

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” I say. I’m not sure how to say it, so I just decide to blurt it out. It’s a strange feeling, not knowing how to approach a subject with my own daughter.

  “What is it?” says Scout, a hot dog in her hand and a soda between her knees. She’s excited about the game, excited about being around all these people. They’re the types of people that she’s never met before, strange Philly characters in her eyes.

  “Dan is your dad,” I say, just spilling the beans once and for all. Whatever her reaction, at least I’ve said it. I can’t carry this guilt around any longer. One down, two to go. What a horrible thought, but it’s true. The two people I care most about in the world. All I have left to do is tell Dan. Right after the game. Right after the game, I promise myself.

  The moment seems frozen. Time seems to be moving slowly. I don’t know how my own daughter will react.

  “Really?” she says, still smiling.

  I nod my head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” I say.

  “Wow! He’s my dad!”

  She’s so excited that she doesn’t even ask me why or how this happened. She’s just peppering me with questions about when she can see him, and what he thinks about it.

  “He doesn’t know yet,” I say.

&nbs
p; “Are you going to tell him? When are you going to tell him?” Her eyes are shining with excitement.

  “Right now,” I say. “Right after the game.”

  He’s probably busy with the reporters who want to ask him a thousand dumb questions about how the game went and why he played the way he did.

  I take Scout by the hand and we fight our way through the crowds. Dan’s surrounded by his teammates, his coach. I wave at him and he blows me a kiss, and he waves at Scout.

  “Hi Dad,” yells Scout.

  That really makes his eye pop. He gives us a very, very surprised look, like he doesn’t know what the hell’s going on, or he’s just seen a ghost.

  Shit, this isn’t exactly the way I wanted it to go down.

  But it seems like he’s not completely sure what happened, since there’s a ton of noise. Or maybe he thinks that Scout just yelled something to be funny, the way little kids sometimes do.

  Dan starts pushing his way through his teammates, through the reporters, coming to see us.

  His helmet is off, held in the crook of his arm. Sweat is pouring down his face, and he wipes it away.

  “Hey there,” he says, smiling down at Scout. “Did you like the game?”

  “Yes!” says Scout, practically bouncing out of her skin with excitement. At least for now she’s refraining from calling him “dad” again.

  “You too?” he says, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

  “You were great,” I say. “Dan, there’s something I need to tell you. I’m really not good with this, so I’m just going to blurt it out. Here it goes…” I pause, a big heavy pregnant pause. “Scout is your daughter.”

  I suddenly realize I shouldn’t have done this with Scout present. This could create an awkward situation, to say the least.

  His face is expressionless.

  “That’s nice to know,” he finally says, but he doesn’t look at me. “What do you think about that, Scout, being my daughter?”