Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Irons, Aubrey

  I stare at him.

  He avoids my eyes.

  “Anything to drink Mr. Cade?”

  Holden shakes his head. “Nah, just a bottle of sparkling water if you have it.”

  I wait until Karen walks away to snort loudly across the table.

  Holden shrugs. “What?”

  “What? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  He frowns. “What, it’s healthy.”

  “You’re unbelievable.” I shake my head at him.

  “Sparkling water? You-”

  The word forms on my lips but I swallow it back.

  Holden bursts out laughing. “Were you seriously just about to call me a pussy?”

  I shrug. “Well, yeah, actually. After the shit you just gave me about salads and dressing on the side and Chardonnay? “

  “Whatever,” he says with a frown. “I’m being good. I’m supposed to be training right now.”

  I snort. “Oh, agreed, you definitely should be training after what I saw earlier.

  He arches a single eyebrow at me, looking half amused and half irked.

  I grin.

  “You know, I’ve heard stories about the famous ballbreaker LJ Jacobs.”

  Karen arrives with his Perrier and my stupidly expensive bourbon, and I raise my glass in a half-toast as I smile at him.

  “Living up to expectations?”

  “I thought you were a dude.”

  I swallow a luxurious sip of whiskey. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “Believe me, you’re not.”

  The glass freezes against my lips for a second as my eyes dart up over the rim to lock with his. He holds them like that for a moment.

  “You know what, fuck it, we’re celebrating.”

  He turns and scans the room for Karen.

  “Oh are we?”

  Holden’s face breaks into a cheeseball grin as he sees her across the room and nods, pointing to my glass and holding a finger up.

  He turns back to me. “Sure, we’re celebrating me joining your little shit team.”

  I bristle, my jaw tightening.

  “I haven’t actually offered you the job yet, you know.”

  Holden winks at me. “You will.”

  “Keep it up.”

  He chuckles. “I’m just messing with you, you know.

  Karen returns with his drink and stammers something incredibly awkward about Holden’s “excellent choice in whiskey” when I realize that somehow, my glass is empty.

  “Oh, and I’ll take a refill, Karen.”

  She’s about to scurry away again when Holden stops her with a hand on her arm that she literally might not ever wash again.

  “Better make it two,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine.

  I raise a brow, smirking as Karen leaves again.

  “Trying to play catch up?”

  Holden shrugs, grinning at me. “Depends, how far back am I?”

  This is a dangerous game.

  This is a terrible game.

  Why am I even playing this game?

  “I’ve had a few.”

  No, idiot. Shut this down.

  I remind myself for the tenth time that this is a business dinner, not a date. And going toe-to-toe on drinks with him is hardly appropriate for a business dinner.

  He laughs. “That a fact, huh? A few?”

  Karen returns with two more glasses of the Pappy Van Winkle, and Holden turns to flash her a smile.

  “You know what, Karen?” He turns back to me, holding my gaze. “Just go ahead and bring the whole bottle of whatever we’re drinking.”

  Karen’s eyes go wide.

  So do mine.

  “Mr. Cade, that’s a Pappy Van Winkle 23-year Special Reserve.”

  Holden arches a brow at me, before he turns back to Karen.

  “Yeah, better bring the whole thing then.”

  Karen nods eagerly as she runs off.

  “Nice stuff we’re drinking, sugar.”

  I shrug casually. “It’s all we drink down in Bull country.”

  He cracks up. “Yeah, the land of milk and honey is it?”

  “Yep.” I resist the urge to grin as I sip on my drink.

  “That why you keep losing?”

  I stick my tongue out at him, which is pretty much the first indication that I should put the glass down instead of taking another quick sip like I do.

  “We’re rebuilding.”

  Karen returns to the table with our two-thousand-dollar bottle of bourbon, blushing as Holden thanks her with a wink. He pours a generous refill into both our glasses before raising his up.

  “Well, here’s to building, or rebuilding, or whatever.”

  We clink glasses, and I’m bringing mine to my lips again when he knocks his back in one gulp and reaches for the bottle again. He doesn’t look phased at all as he refills his glass.

  “So how far back am I?”

  I swallow the doubt that forms in my throat. “Uh, a few.”

  “I better keep going then.”

  He downs the second one right there, not once breaking eye contact with me and grinning right through the shot.

  Shit.

  Because somehow, in an absurd and juvenile show of bravado, I’ve decided to go toe-to-toe on drinks with notorious party-boy drinker Holden Cade.

  And something tells me I just bit off more than I can chew.

  Or more than I can drink.

  8

  Holden

  Damn this girl can keep up. I mean, I can drink and this chick is right there with me.

  Not to mention, she’s about half my fucking size, which is insane.

  Tolerances aside, we’re both definitely feeling it. Both of us are getting silly - red faces, snorted jokes, loopy giggles and conversation that’s entirely too loud for a place like this.

  And I’m having a fucking blast. Hell, I’m having a better time than I have had in months, which is no small thing.

  I walked into this dinner with a chip on my shoulder. Hell, a battle plan, to wear this girl down and show her who’s really calling the shots here with this deal. After this morning’s little trained monkey show, I showed up here tonight ready to throw down.

  Not to mention, there’s the fact that little miss number-cruncher seems to be hell bent on letting me know she’s immune to my charms and my celebrity status, which I honestly don’t believe for a second.

  And even if I completely agree with Randy that anything happening with Archie Jacobs’s daughter is a terrible idea, it’s the principle of her acting like she’s “above” me that has my blood going. It’s the implication that she’s “immune” to me that gets the competitive instinct in me roaring like an animal.

  Which is why I’ve walked in here tonight ready to use every single charming trick and panty-melting line in the book to let her know she is definitely not immune to me.

  Except an hour in, it’s becoming pretty clear that I’ve woefully underestimated this girl. And for the first somewhat concerning moment in a long time, part of me wonders if she actually might be immune to my bullshit.

  Or she’s just really fucking good at playing this game right back.

  The bourbon is loosening her tongue though - well, if we’re being honest, it’s loosening both our tongues - and we’re starting to move way past “professional business dinner” and into personal territory.

  But hell, I’m game, and part of me still wants to see how far things can get pushed before the whole thing blows up.

  “So, any special someone you’ll have to say goodbye to if you move to Houston?”

  I snort. “Special someone?” I grin at her. “Well gee, 1956, are you asking about my main squeeze?”

  She rolls her eyes, her cheeks flushed from the bourbon. “I mean do you have a girlfriend, ass.”

  The question does kind of catch me off-guard, but I quickly shove that aside as I take another swig of my drink and grin at her.

  “You wanna know if I’m going steady with anyone?”
<
br />   She sighs exasperatedly. “You’re impossible, you know.”

  I laugh “I try.” I raise the glass as I shrug. “Which, you know, is probably the reason the answer is no; there’s no ‘special’ someone I’ll be leaving behind.” I smirk at her. “That is, unless my contract stipulates Randy staying behind, which I could probably be persuaded on.”

  London laughs loudly, and I realize I’m grinning right along with her, my eyes just locked on those soft pink lips and the musical sound of that laughter filling the low light between us.

  The food comes, and my stomach instantly gurgles at the sight of her steak.

  “I didn't realize my personal life would be of any interest to a scout.” I wink at her, loving the way that flush on her cheeks gets a little darker when I do.

  She hides it away though as she shrugs casually. “I just need to know you won't be as distracted on my field as you were on yours."

  I snort out a laugh, shaking my head.

  Damn, this girl can give as good as she gets. I lift my glass in her direction, still chuckling.

  “Touché.”

  I’ve been pretty fucking committed to building a serious booze tolerance over the last few months, but the bourbon is going straight to my head. On top of that, I’m sorely regretting my stupid pride and my choice of trying to make a healthy statement with dinner.

  What the fuck was I thinking with steamed vegetables?

  Across from me, London is slicing off tender looking pieces of perfectly seared steak. I watch with a silent groan as she brings the fork to her mouth, her lips closing delicately around it as her eyes close in pleasure.

  Goddamn, how does this girl make eating a fucking steak look sexy.

  Problem is, now there’s two hungers growling inside of me, watching her as she chews on her dinner. I’m ignoring my own plate as I watch her stab at another bite, her soft, plump lips closing again over the fork in this tantalizingly sensual way, and right then, I’m fucking dying for a bite of steak.

  I’m dying for a bite of her too.

  What the fuck am I thinking?

  I watch her like some sort of weirdo for another two bites before she glances up and pauses, the fork halfway to her mouth. She half-grins this amused smile at me, like she’s just caught me.

  “Aww, is someone regretting their choice in dinner?”

  She wags her brows at me as I feign disinterest.

  “Nope.” I quickly grab my fork and stab at my soggy broccoli.

  It tastes about as mediocre as I knew it would.

  London giggles through another bite, shaking her head.

  “How’s that pride taste?”

  I force myself to swallow the broccoli, which only serves to make her giggle again.

  “Alright, I can’t even watch you try and shove that down. Here.”

  London stabs a thick slice of steak with her fork and holds it out towards me with a grin.

  I glare at her with a grin on my own face and shake my head.

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  She rolls her eyes, swaying the fork back and forth seductively. Tempting me.

  “Aww, c’mon…” she coos, making a pouty face as she dangles the tasty morsel of steak in front of me. “Just try it.”

  Fuck it.

  I lean forward, and I can almost taste it when she suddenly yanks the fork away and pops the bite into her own mouth.

  “You’re fucking terrible.”

  She almost chokes as she giggles, her eyebrows dancing at me as she washes the bite down with a big swig of her bourbon. I sigh as I take a mediocre bite of my fish, watching as she forks another succulent piece of steak into her mouth. She catches me staring again and closes her eyes as she starts to make these exaggeratedly drawn out “mmmm” sounds.

  Damn.

  And just like that, I’m not even thinking about fucking food anymore. Because those sounds coming from her closed lips sound a whole lot like another kind of sound that I’d fucking love to hear coming out of her mouth.

  I put my fork down, grinning as I swirl the bourbon around my glass.

  “That good, huh?”

  She close-mouthed smiles at me, nodding before looking back to her plate.

  “You make those kind of noises for anything else?”

  She swallows as she looks up, frowning and shrugging. “Only when I’ve got a delicious piece of meat in my mouth.”

  I grin broadly and wickedly, watching her stop suddenly as the innuendo just hangs in the air.

  And I’m waiting for her to clam up or turn that adorable shade of pink again, but suddenly she starts laughing.

  A loud, snorting, uncontrollable case of the giggles, and it’s fucking contagious.

  She throws her head back, bringing a hand up to wipe the corners of her mouth as she shakes her head. “Oh God, sorry, I'm apparently in middle school."

  I just shake my head, still laughing.

  “Okay, sorry, here.” She forks another bite and holds it out to me again.

  I give her a look.

  “Seriously, I won’t pull it away this time, I promise.”

  “I’m walking away from this deal if you do.”

  She grins. “Heard loud and clear.”

  I lean in and take the bite, watching as she almost subconsciously gently opens and closes her mouth as she feeds it to me. And I’m still watching those lips as I pull way.

  The moment hangs in the air, before I close my eyes and chew.

  “Want another?" she asks playfully, quieter this time.

  I moan around the bite before I just shove my own plate away from me.

  “Hell yes.”

  She giggles as she holds another bite out for me, only this time slowly drawing it back away from me until I’m leaning halfway across the damn table. It’s only when I’m up with my palms on the table and my mouth inches from hers that she swallows quickly and lets me take the bite.

  Yeah, this is decidedly no longer anything resembling any business dinner I’ve ever heard of.

  I sit back, my eyes locked on hers as I chew. My head’s spinning from the booze, and the room feels warmer as the blood roars through my ears.

  I swallow, and we sit like that in silence, letting the moment throb in the air between us before it lifts like a veil.

  London swallows quickly and looks down into her glass.

  “Think we’re tied yet?”

  She grins as she looks back up, tucking a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear, her cheeks flushed.

  “I lost track.”

  “I’ll cheers to that.”

  She snorts a laugh as we raise and clink our glasses, and I watch almost dumbfounded as she tosses back the contents like water.

  Where the hell does a girl like this come from and how have I never met one before?

  I splash more whiskey into both our glasses, feeling decidedly drunk and heading quickly down the road to “wasted.”

  Dessert comes at some point that I don’t quite remember even ordering. Because somehow, I’m having the best fucking dinner I’ve had in fucking years.

  I frown across the table.

  “Did you not get anything?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m good.”

  I shrug. “Suit yourself.”

  Time to turn the tables.

  I take an exaggerated bite, making wildly inappropriate and loud “mmmm” sounds like she did.

  London rolls her eyes and grins as she gives me the middle finger.

  I almost choke as I laugh around my bite of chocolate cake.

  “Here.”

  I hold out a bite on my fork, grinning wolfishly at her.

  London shakes her head again.

  “Seriously, I’m okay.”

  “You’re drooling for it.”

  She holds my eyes a second too long, the unspoken double meaning lingering like a blush before she quickly looks away.

  My cock fucking throbs in my pants.

  This is not good.


  There are a thousand other girls in this city I could go get hard over - girls I could actually do something about it with.

  London fucking Jacobs is not one of those girls. In fact, she’s the very last goddamn name on that list. This isn’t just some girl I’m out to dinner with. This is a scout; someone who’s got the power to get me a deal to get me out of this place. On top of that, I’m pretty sure with her stake in the Bulls team itself, she’ll basically be my boss if and when I do take this deal.

  Like I said, terrible idea. Now, if only my fucking dick would get on board with that sentiment, we’d be good.

  I’m still holding the bite of chocolate cake out to her, watching her as she quickly darts her tongue out to wet her lips in this unintentional but very much sensual way.

  “Okay, one bite.”

  She leans forward, and I pull the fork away.

  I start laughing.

  “God you’re the worst!”

  But she’s laughing right along with me; biting her lip, her eyes dancing across my face, and setting off every single warning bell inside my head.

  Bad idea. Fucking horrible idea. Walk away.

  Except I don’t.

  “Here, I’ll be good this time.”

  I hold the fork out again.

  But this time, when she leans in, somehow the fork falls out of the way, and without even really knowing how I got there, my lips are right against hers.

  Kissing her.

  Oh, shit.

  9

  Holden

  Fuck, I’m kissing London Jacobs. I’m leaning across a fucking restaurant table like a chump, kissing a girl.

  A girl who happens to be my possible new boss’s daughter. Hell, a girl who happens to also be my possible new boss.

  There are a thousand different ways why this is a shit idea, and yet here I am, still lip to lip, my hand still reaching up on autopilot to cup her jaw as I start to open my mouth for hers.

  Because fuck it if she ain’t kissing me right back. Kissing me, not slapping me across the face. Her tongue darts past her parted lips, teasing against mine; the world’s softest moan falling from her lips.

  This is a mistake. This is a train-wreck in slow motion - a hot, sexy, sinful fucking train-wreck.

  And I can’t stop it from happening.