Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Irons, Aubrey

  No problem.

  The former though is why we’re all here. Dad can’t be here day-to-day dealing with the shit that needs dealing with when it comes to running a professional league organization, not unless he wants to have another freaking heart attack. So we’re here today reading over his wishes for succession. Today’s meeting is about bringing the person he thinks the highest of and trusts the most with running his team up to speed on where we stand as an organization.

  …Yeah, guess who that might be. One guess.

  “So, London, I suppose we should move onto signing the official papers to put you in charge of this team and this board.”

  Richard starts pulling legal documents out of a briefcase. I just stare at each one in turn with a feeling of doom hanging over me.

  Me. Dad wants me to be in charge of this entire football club. Sure, I’ve worked in this place my entire life, and the ins and outs of this job are everything I know. But actually being the one in charge and the one holding the reins is a terrifying thought.

  Richard’s in the middle of passing me the first heavy packet of contracts when the door to the boardroom swings wide and none other than my stepmother comes waltzing in.

  She cat-walks across the room in what I’m sure are nothing less than a five-thousand-dollar pair of Louboutin’s and some sort of billowing white silk cloak thing trailing behind her. She’s got a pair of Louis Vuitton sunglasses in one hand and her purse of the same brand dangling from the other, and I bristle as she dramatically hugs me.

  “Oh my sweet, sweet girl,” she says with a pouting sad face, air kissing me on both cheeks before sitting back on her teetering heels.

  “I came home as soon as I heard.” She drops her purse and shades on the boardroom table, seemingly oblivious of the ten other people in the room as she clutches at her heart.

  “I came right here for you, directly from the airport.”

  Her “sentiments” piss me off for two reasons. One, because “as soon as I heard” was over forty-eight hours ago, and I know damn well it doesn’t take that long to get back to Texas from Bermuda. Especially with Archie Jacobs’s credit card.

  Secondly, her whole thing about making sure I knew she came here first, as if I’d need her to come here rather than her ailing husband’s hospital room, is obnoxious.

  “Lovely to see you, Joanne,” Tom says warmly, standing and striding over to take her hand.

  She smiles at him, thanking him with some more air kisses before almost flirtingly waving him off like he’s some sort of suitor at a cocktail party.

  Richard’s face seems to mirror my own as he coughs stiffly.

  “We were just discussing your husband’s wishes for London to step forward as head of the club in his absence, Mrs. Jacobs.”

  Her smile fades as her eyebrows shoot up.

  “Oh?”

  Her mouth goes small as Richard nods.

  “I see.” She nods quietly, as if to herself, before she clasps her hands and looks plaintively around the room. “Well, I think we all want what’s best for the team.”

  “Which is LJ,” Louis says with a grumbling huff.

  Joanne smiles like a shark at him, laughing a lilting laugh and waving her hand again.

  “Oh, London does wonderful things for this team, of course,” she says with another light cocktail party laugh.

  She’s patronizing me.

  Big time.

  And suddenly, I’m very curious why she’s here.

  “Now, I’m not saying she shouldn’t be,” Joanne says, taking what was formerly Richard’s seat at the head of the table. “Of course I’m the first to agree with dear Archie’s decisions.”

  Bullshit.

  I narrow my eyes at my stepmother.

  “All I’m saying is that we should all just sit on it for a minute or two. We’re grieving right now, so-”

  “He’s not dead, Joanne,” I say icily.

  She turns and smiles widely at me.

  “Oh of course not, sweetness.” She picks at one long red fingernail.

  “Bereaved then. Worried about him. In any case, I say we wait and take a vote later, when cool heads can prevail.”

  Louis grunts from his side of the table, his bushy silver eyebrows furrowing.

  “Cool heads say LJ.”

  “Her name is London, dear,” Joanne says dismissively.

  “You know,” Tom stands, clearing his throat and adjusting his tie. “I’d also be interested in giving it some time.” He looks right at me. “All due respect, London.”

  A cold shiver runs through me.

  Something is going on here. I tear my scowl away from Tom and center it on Joanne, who’s still sitting at the head of the table picking at something under a nail.

  What the hell is her angle here?

  “Well, you all do what you need to do, it was just a suggestion,” she says flippantly, still picking at her nails.

  Richard glares at Tom with a stern look.

  “Thomas-”

  “Hey, hey,” Tom holds his hands up, chuckling. “I’m just saying let’s give it a day or two and see what we think, aright? Maybe Joanne has a point.”

  That’s it.

  I stand abruptly, shaking my head.

  “You know what, I don’t need a day or two.”

  I turn to Richard.

  “I’ll sign. I’m ready.”

  And it doesn’t matter if I’m not, because something’s going on here that’s setting off an alarm in my head. And what I need to do right now is protect my dad’s team.

  Richard sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “I’m afraid you can’t now, London.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He fixes me with a look.

  “The board has to be unanimous for you to sign over as head of the organization, and apparently-” he shoots a look at Tom. “Apparently, we’re not.”

  There’s a cold feeling in my gut as I blink and start to process what he’s just said. I look past him, and this time, Joanne’s not looking at her nails.

  She’s looking at me.

  And she’s smiling.

  I can feel the anger rushing through me as I start to stand abruptly, ready to give Joanne a piece of my mind. But Richard’s hand is there on my shoulder, calming me down a notch.

  “Why don’t we adjourn for now, and we’ll revisit this once all voting board members-” he looks sharply at Joanne, “Have had time to see clearly.” He directs the last part of his statement at Tom, his eyes narrowed at the younger man.

  Richard officially adjourns the meeting. Everyone starts to stand and collect their things, but Joanne just stays right in her seat at the head of the table, tapping through her phone.

  Smiling.

  * * *

  I’m out of that boardroom in a flash, my mind still trying to put together what the hell just happened, when there’s a hand on my arm. I whirl, jerking my arm back on instinct and narrow my eyes at Tom.

  “Look, London-”

  “What the hell was that in there, Tom?”

  I set my jaw, glaring at the man with the slicked-back hair and expensive suit.

  He’s smiling - just like Joanne was.

  “Listen, I just wanted to explain it all to you.”

  “Please do,” I mutter, folding my arms across my chest and scowling.

  “I think you should be in charge of this organization.”

  I bark out a thin laugh.

  “Great, we’re in agreement.”

  Tom nods slowly.

  “They’re a tricky bunch, that board. Old boys, you know?” He makes a clicking sound with his teeth. “I mean, a girl in charge?” He shrugs. “Hey, you know I’m down with that feminism stuff, but they might not be.”

  I stare at Tom.

  “Feminism stuff?” I roll my eyes. “Tom, we’re talking about me temporarily running my dad’s team, not campaigning for suffrage or the right to wear pants in the office.”

  He chuckles
as he shrugs again.

  “Hey, I’m just saying they might not be into the idea of you being in charge.”

  “They sure seemed into it.”

  “They might be persuaded otherwise.”

  A shiver runs down my spine as I narrow my eyes at the little shit in front of me.

  “Excuse me?”

  Tom laughs again, shaking his head.

  “C’mon London, let me take you out again. You know there’s chemistry here,” he says, wagging a finger between the two of us.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  I slowly shake my head at him, my jaw dropping as the pieces click together.

  “Are you seriously holding the board vote over my head so I’ll go out with you?” I can feel the heat rising inside as I glare daggers at Tom. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  He laughs, loudly, holding his hands up in front of him as he shakes his head.

  “Whoa! Whoa! That’s not what I said, baby.”

  “Don’t call me baby,” I hiss. “And you know damn well it’s what you’re implying.”

  “Well, I guess it’s one way of looking at things, isn’t it?”

  “Fuck you, Tom,” I spit out. “Who the hell do you think I am?”

  “Hey! I’m not implying anything.” He grins at me as he leans against the wall next to us, as if he actually thinks he’s smooth talking me here somehow.

  “Just a date. It’s just dinner, London. I’m not one of these Neanderthal football guys you work around. I’m not looking for a notch or whatever, just dinner.”

  “It’s not happening, Tom,” I say icily. “And if you try and hold up something like this in the boardroom because your lame attempt at blackmailing me into a date didn’t work, I’ll make sure they all know why, you little weasel.”

  The smirking grin drops from Tom’s face as his look sours.

  “You-” He narrows his eyes at me and he stops himself, his lips going tight like he’s holding something back. “One date, babe,” he finally says. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

  “Get fucked, Tom.”

  And then I’m whirling and stomping away, throwing up a middle finger on my way around the corner.

  * * *

  The bravado lasts all of thirty seconds until I get around the corner, and then I’m running into the lady’s room. I barely make it to the stall before the remains of my lunch come back up in a horrible wave of nausea. I wince as I kneel by the toilet, tears stinging my eyes as my stomach heaves twice more. Finally, I sit back with a shaky breath.

  Shit, what am I doing?

  Even without Tom’s bullshit and whatever Joanne is up to, I’m not qualified for this. Well, maybe I am, but I don’t know if I’m ready for it. This is huge. This isn’t LJ Jacobs: shrewd scout and tough negotiator. This is LJ Jacobs: head owner and board member of a professional league football team.

  And suddenly, I’m not so sure I’m actually up to that.

  Well, my stomach isn’t, that’s for sure.

  I finally stand on shaky legs and make my way to the sink to clean up. I splash cool water against my neck before digging though my purse for the spare toothbrush Serena always makes fun of me for carrying around.

  “Yeah, like you’re the type of girl who might need an overnight toothbrush handy in her purse.”

  I make a face at her. “You never know.”

  Serena laughs. “Oh, girl, believe me, I do know. And you are NOT the random sleepover kind of girl.”

  I frown. “Says who?”

  “Says the fact that you’re so tied up with analyzing every situation like it’s a trade deal or a passing record that you’re incapable of just going and getting laid.”

  I finish rinsing out my mouth before I glance back into the bathroom mirror and make a face at my hair. I pull the tie out from the messy, half undone bun, letting my auburn tangles cascade down my shoulders.

  I dig into my purse again, coming out this time with some eyeliner to re-apply and a touch of gloss for my lips.

  I straighten up, pulling my shoulders back before reaching up and undoing an extra button from my blouse.

  I bite my lip.

  Because Serena was right. I was incapable of just going out and getting laid.

  Was.

  I feel the throb of something hungry deep inside of me as I step from the women’s room and make my way to the parking garage.

  I don’t need to think about this. I don’t need to analyze what it means, or what it says about either of us, or what it might mean for the future.

  All I need to know is that I want him, and he wants me, and right now, that’s all I need.

  I need to lose myself in something, and losing myself in him and all the wicked things I know he can do to me sounds perfect right now.

  28

  Holden

  I stare at the papers on my kitchen counter that Randy’s just dropped off.

  Shit, barely a week here and I’m already looking to bail.

  I re-read the title of the first pack of papers: “Dissolution of Contract and Forfeiture of Dues and Earnings”.

  I mean, fuck. Talk about heavy language.

  The wording on the second one isn’t as scary, but it’s the prospect behind it that’s worse: a contract for re-signing with the Rattlesnakes - at a fairly considerable pay drop, of course.

  I don’t actually know how the fuck Randy pulled it off after I left like that, but there it is. My old team would take me back. It might be a little less money, but hell, it’s my old life back. It’s the fame and groupies and being the king of it all that I was back in Denver. So they want to ding my paycheck as penance for running off like an asshole?

  Fine.

  I groan and wonder for the millionth time why I made this move to begin with. A pay dip, a losing team, a new city that doesn’t worship me like Denver did. I mean what the fuck was I thinking?

  Sure, Randy might be right about the renegotiations I was going to have to go through after last season, but still.

  What it comes down to is, I’m starting to think I made the wrong move. Which is why he and I pulled the trigger on looking at what it would take to leave Houston and head back home, as shitty a person as that might make me.

  Why the hell did I come here?

  Except, deep down - or really, not all that deep down if I’m being honest with myself - I know part of the reason I came here.

  Even if I don’t want to admit it myself.

  The short, opinionated, auburn-haired, sassy little spitfire of a talent scout. The girl that served me my bullshit right back to me. The one that wouldn’t back down, or worship me like every other girl I’ve ever met since becoming famous.

  The girl that stood out, and the one that got in deep.

  I roll my eyes at myself and how fucking stupid that sounds.

  Me, the guy who gets laid at the drop of a hat. Me, the guy who goes through women like days of the week.

  Right, like a guy like me would move from the place I had it so good just for a fucking girl. Sure, I needed the break. I needed to step back from Denver and the ghosts that haunted me there. Moving let me try something new, breathe some new air, and get away from the mistakes and regrets that hounded me.

  All that and London. Moving got me London again.

  You sound like a pussy.

  I frown as I stare at the bottle of whiskey on my kitchen counter - a housewarming present from the Bulls management team for my new condo here.

  I crack the top off and sniff.

  Damn that’s good.

  I glance at the label and age and raise a brow.

  Shit, that’s real good. I grab a glass and pour a splash in.

  This bottle is a release from the demons circling through may head. This drink is medicine for the aching regret from that night.

  The night I let Brandon walk out of that party and get into his damn car.

  I wasn’t his designated driver - I mean shit, we were both blasted. But best frien
ds watch each other’s backs. Best friends don’t ignore their buddy when he drunkenly mentions he’s taking off, just because you’re too busy getting into the panties of the two cute little co-eds who’ve been dropping hints all night.

  The whiskey is sweet and smoky, and goes down way too fast.

  I pour another splash into the glass, turning it slowly on the butcher block counter and eyeing the amber liquid.

  This is release.

  Release from all of that still floating through my head. Release from the mountain of guilt still tied like a stone to my neck. The guilt that’s been there ever since I woke up in that strange bed to the last phone call I’d ever want anyone to get.

  I’m about to pour a third splash into the glass when reason finally sinks in.

  Because the whole point of this move - looking past London - was a change. This was to make me better and make me whole. This was to get me away from the shit that made my last season so terrible and my offseason a train-wreck.

  I stare at the glass in my hands.

  And if I start right into my old ways here, what was the point?

  Don’t say her name, I growl to myself inside my head.

  Don’t you say her fucking name, you big pussy.

  London.

  Shit, I almost do take another drink at that.

  I came here to change and get a fresh start, not just to get a piece of tail. I didn’t move my entire life and identity across the country just to get laid.

  But damn.

  I push my hands over my face, raking my fingers over the scruff of my chin and pushing them through my hair as I exhale slowly.

  I can’t figure out how and why this girl’s gotten in so deep with me, despite both of us being so fucking adamant about it being this whatever casual thing.

  Yeah, best laid plans.

  And it’s not just the sex, or the way she gets me harder and more roaring to go than any girl ever has, as weird as that is. It’s the way she makes me want her. She makes me want to work for it.

  Except I need to get over that.

  It’s just the emotions of having left Denver, and the newness of this all. I’ve had my vacation from my life, and now it’s time to go home. It’s time to go home and bury Brandon’s ghost alongside my own demons.