“Mommy? Aunt Eloise says we need to go home.”
I freeze and look at Camille in shock.
“Your kid?”
There’s a look in Camille’s eyes I can’t quite place.
“Yes. Hazel, this is Mr. Merriman. Blake, this is Hazel. My daughter.”
I start to do the math. If she’s five or six, that means she had a kid in Miami and didn’t tell me. But why would she? It was a one night stand. I feel all the hotness in the room freeze into solid blocks of ice cold air.
The little girl twirls around in her dress, laughing.
“Hi, Mr. Merriman.” She holds her hand out and I walk over and shake it.
“You’re very polite,” I say. “And outgoing.” I look at Camille. “Who’s her dad? Because she certainly doesn’t get the outgoingness from you.”
I’m laughing but Camille isn’t.
“Tell Aunt Eloise that I’ll be there in five minutes. And wash your face, baby girl. You’ve got red snow cone all over it.”
Hazel leaves and shuts the door behind her. I turn to face Camille.
“Were you planning on introducing her to me at some point?”
Camille opens her mouth and closes it several times.
“You hate kids. We’re not dating. What would be the point of my introducing you to her?”
I shrug.
“I mean, we were spilling secrets left and right in Minnesota, I just thought that maybe you would want me to meet her.“
“My daughter is not some secret, Mr. Merriman.” She looks angry now. “I think you should leave. I know I have to.” She reaches over the sofa back to grab a big leather purse.
She turns on her heels and walks out the door, leaving me alone and confused with the bluest balls I’ve ever had in my entire life to top it all off.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CAMILLE
I wait at the airport arrivals area, the smell of barbecue overtaking me entirely. My stomach rumbles and I check my watch. Their plane is running late.
I glance at my phone and see that I have ninety-seven unread emails. My stomach turns over. Being a team owner is a lot more work than I ever thought it could possibly be. I’m actually starting to feel a little empathy for my workaholic father.
“Cami!” squeals a woman from ten feet away.
I nearly drop my phone in surprise.
“Sam!” I say back to her. Amanda is close behind her.
We sweep each other up into a messy group hug.
“I’m starving,” Amanda says.
“Good,” I reply, pulling my keys out of my purse as we walk away from baggage claim thirty minutes later. “We’re going to Terry Black’s.”
“Mm, banana pudding,” Sam says. “I can’t wait.”
We step out into the gloriously sunny, sixty-eight-degree day.
“I hate you for living here,” Amanda says sarcastically, giving me a hard time. “There was nine feet of snow on the ground in upstate New York yesterday.”
“Texas is the best state in the union,” I say. “And don’t you object or someone here might shoot you.”
Sam and Amanda laugh. I pull onto the highway, both of them chattering away about work, friends, and life.
“I’m so glad you’re here for Christmas. Dad’s house is too big to just have me, Eloise, and Hazel celebrating in it, you know?”
“Oh, I feel so sorry for you in your multi-million-dollar mansion,” Amanda says.
Sam joins in on roasting me.
“Me too. Must be terrible. Only hundred dollar bills to wipe your tears.”
“Ha ha,” I say sarcastically. “I’m not complaining. I’m just saying, it’ll be great having you around for the next two weeks. That’s all. I promise.”
We pull into the asphalt-covered parking lot in front of the best barbecue joint in Texas. The line is snaking out the door. Thankfully, it’s so nice, it’s no bother having to wait outdoors.
“So, tell me about your little trip to Minnesota with the team,” Amanda says.
Sam laughs.
“Yeah, did you get cozy up there with a certain player?”
I blush immediately, giving myself away to both of them in an instant.
“Oh God, you fucked him, didn’t you?”
A family of four in front of us turns around to scowl at Sam’s foul language.
“Keep your voices down,” I say, adjusting my sunglasses and hoping I’m not too recognizable.
“You did? Didn’t you? I can see it written all over your slutty face!” Sam says jokingly. “I’m kidding. You’re not a slut. No one’s a slut. Fuck who you want. Feminism for the win.”
“Calm down,” I reply. “We sort of…had sex. Kind of. It was…well…” The blush in my face must be a violent purple by now, I just know it. I can feel it burning my cheeks and my ears. I lower my voice to a total whisper as the line inches forward. I tell them everything.
Amanda fans herself with one of her hands.
“I’m turned on just by you telling that story,” she says with a laugh. “That is the hottest thing ever.”
Sam’s mouth is twisted in skepticism.
“I don’t know. Did you tell him about Hazel?”
I pause.
“Yes. Kind of. I told him I have a daughter and I did ask him how he feels about kids. He still hates them, doesn’t ever want to be a father. I double-checked.”
“You double-checked because you’re telling him, right?” Sam asks insistently.
“He didn’t even know I had a daughter until a few weeks ago. He certainly doesn’t know that my daughter is his daughter.”
“Has he met Hazel? Are you dating?” Sam asks. “I’m trying to keep up with all of this.”
“He met Hazel at the last game of the season a few days ago. She walked in on us – well. She didn’t see anything. Thankfully I taught her how to knock a long time ago.”
“You’ve gotta tell him,” Amanda says, agreeing with Sam. “You’re lying to him right now. It’s not right.”
“We’re not even together,” I say.
“Oh, so you stopped finger-fucking after Minnesota?” Amanda asks drily.
“Yes. Mostly. Oh, God,” I say, rubbing my face with both of my hands. “We sort of hooked up once in the field office. Yes, I know. Where anyone could have seen us. And then again after one of the games. In the supply closet. And as I mentioned, a few days ago. When Hazel almost caught us. Yeah. There was that.”
“You’re sneaking around like two dirty-minded teenagers hiding from mom and dad,” Sam says. “It’s sort of hot except for the part where he doesn’t know that Hazel is his kid.”
“You need to tell him. Assuming he actually forgives you at this point. I know that I wouldn’t forgive you.”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Amanda,” I say sarcastically.
“The longer you wait the harder it’ll be. You’ve just got to tell him. Let him react how he reacts,” Sam says kindly.
The line has finally made it to the buffet of side dishes, and I thank God for that.
Sam and Amanda are distracted by the smorgasbord of barbecue side dishes and goodies and that leaves me alone with my anxious thoughts.
I know they’re right.
I have to tell him.
Damn the consequences.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
BLAKE
“Who cares if she has a kid? It’s not like you’re marrying her,” Thomas says over the phone.
I catch my phone between my shoulder and my ear and lift up another box. It’s been five months and I still haven’t completely unpacked. My place is a disaster zone.
“It’s weird, right? The kid is like, five. I can’t believe I didn’t know about her until a few weeks ago.”
Thomas yawns.
“You’re fucking. Hooking up. Having fun. What’s the big deal?”
“Yeah but why didn’t she tell me she had a kid back during spring break?”
He sighs.
“You think too much. Maybe she’s not five. How good are you at gauging kid ages? I’m terrible at it. Maybe she didn’t have the kid until after she met you.” He pauses. “Maybe,” he says in a deeply serious voice, “she’s your kid.”
I wait a few seconds before responding and Thomas laughs uproariously.
“Fuck you, Thomas. That’s not funny.”
“I’m just jerking your chain, asshole. Whatever, man. The only thing I can’t understand is why you aren’t banging more women.”
“I’m busy with football. You know, since my team actually made it to the playoffs.”
“Fuck you,” Thomas says with a laugh. “We’ll get ‘em next year, I promise you that much.”
“Sure, whatever you say,” I reply. An idea pops into my head. “I gotta go, man. Talk to you later.” I hang up the phone and dial another number.
“Camille Sanders,” says a sexy voice.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice light. “You wanna go out to dinner tonight?”
“Is dinner a euphemism for fucking?” Camille responds. I hear her fingers clacking on a keyboard. I can’t believe she’s still working this late in the evening.
“No, I mean dinner. Like, face-to-face talking between two people.”
She sighs.
“We can’t be seen in public together, Blake. You know that.”
“Come over to my place. I’ll cook for you.” My heart is beating in my chest. “I’ll cook naked if you want me to.”
Her voice softens.
“Don’t tempt me like that.”
“So you’re coming over?”
“See you at seven.”
She hangs up the phone.
I love when she plays hard-to-get like that. I hurry around for the next hour, call Whole Foods to deliver groceries to my place, and shove the unopened moving boxes into the spare bedroom. A shower and a shave later, and I’m answering the door for the delivery guy in my towel.
“Thanks, keep the change,” I say, handing him a fifty.
He grins at me.
“You’re Blake Merriman, right?”
I nod.
“You want me to sign something for you?”
The kid nods and hands me a sharpie and his John Deere trucker hat.
“Thanks,” he says.
“My pleasure.” I shut the door and am only a few steps away when I hear a knock. I look through the peephole and see Camille standing there wearing a flowing red dress, her hair in a sleek, low ponytail. “You look fucking-“
She jumps into my arms and kisses me passionately, shoving her tongue nearly down my throat. I kick the door shut and grab her ass, walking over to the sofa where I put her down and spread her legs, instantly showering her thighs with kisses.
“I missed you,” she groans as I find my way to her slit.
“Mmhmm,” I reply, vibrating my lips against her wetness. I lick her until she’s about to come, then I drop my towel and flip her over, sliding into her while she’s on all fours.
“Pull my hair,” she moans.
I grab her ponytail and pull her head back towards me, ramming myself against her while she pants. We come at the same time. I plant a kiss on her lips and smile at her.
“Welcome to my place.”
She laughs and pulls her dress back down.
“Is there a bathroom I could freshen up in?”
I point the way and walk over to the kitchen, fastening the towel around my waist and unpacking the delivery ingredients. Within a few minutes, I have chicken breast frying in the pan, rice bubbling, and broccoli roasting in the oven.
I don’t hear Cami sneak up behind me and put her arms around my chest.
“That’s nice,” I say while I flip the chicken over in the pan.
She spins me around and pushes me up against the counter, untying my apron.
“The chicken will burn,” I say under my breath as I close my eyes and she finds my hard cock waiting for her mouth.
“I don’t care,” she whispers back to me. She runs her tongue up and down and then in circles. I hang on to the kitchen counter so I don’t fall over. I come into a paper towel so quickly it turns out I didn’t need to worry about the chicken.
“I was wrong before. That was nice,” I say to her with a huge smile.
She wipes off the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin.
“You’re welcome.”
“So how was your day?” I ask her, checking on the temperature of the chicken.
She slides out a bar chair and sits.
“Not great. So many decisions to be made for next season.”
“It’s not even the finals yet,” I protest, taking the broccoli out of the oven.
“I know, but I’ve got a ton of pressure on me all the same. It’s amazing what an owner has to do. I almost feel like I was too hard on my dad all these years.”
I walk over to kiss the side of her neck, using the moment as a segue into an impromptu massage. I knead my hands into her shoulders and she moans with pleasure.
“You have so much stress in your shoulders. You’re holding yourself too tight.”
“I always have, even in graduate school,” she says. “My shoulders were up by my ears most hours of the day.”
“More sex is clearly the answer,” I say to her with a grin.
She turns around and looks at me.
“I’m always up for that.”
I finish cooking up dinner and plate it.
“Let’s eat on the balcony.”
We walk outside and I turn on the twinkle lights the previous tenant left, planting a kiss on Camille before handing her a plate. I catch a flash of light out of the corner of my eye but think little of it.
“Mm, this is delicious,” she says moaning once again.
“Sex, massage, and food all gets me the same response from you, doesn’t it? More moans.”
She balls up her napkin and throws it at me; I catch it mid-air.
“Stop complaining.”
I laugh.
“I’m not, I promise you.”
“This is a great view you have here,” Camille says, looking at downtown Austin.
“I’m not very many floors up but it is amazing how much I can see,” I say. “I’m happy with it.”
Camille finishes off her chicken.
“You need an interior decorator for your new place here, you know.”
“I’ll get to it after we win the Championship in a few days,” I say. “I’ve been a little preoccupied.”
“I wish my dad could have been here to see us make it to the finals,” she says wistfully.
“He’d be proud of you,” I say with soft smile. “Look how far you’ve made it.”
Her face freezes. She’s staring at me intently.
“What?” I ask her, feeling a numb panic creep up. “What is it?”
“I need to tell you something,” she says. “And I need you to not freak out.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CAMILLE
My heart is beating so quickly I can’t believe I’m still conscious. Blake looks so amazing in the glow of the twinkle lights. He finally put on a black t-shirt that sets off his tattoos so well. His muscles ripple as he moves his fork to his plate, and the dimple on his chin is cast in shadow.
But I have to do this now. It’s now or never.
“Hazel is four,” I say to him.
He laughs.
“That’s what you wanted to tell me? I’ll be sure to get her a birthday present.” He digs back into his rice and broccoli with gusto.
“Blake,” I say calmly. “Hazel’s father. I lost contact with him before I even knew I was pregnant.”
He nods his head slowly.
“Okay. Why are you telling me this?”
“Do the math.”
“What math?”
I have to say it. I can’t keep playing with him like this.
“Hazel is your daughter.”
The words tumble out of
my mouth, fall off the balcony, and bounce into the traffic in the street beneath us.
Blake smiles.
“That’s funny. Did Thomas put you up to this?”
Tears are stinging my eyes.
“Blake, I’m serious. You’re her father.”
Blake chokes, coughing and setting his plate on the brown wicker side table.
“You’re serious?”
I wait for the anger I know is coming. I hold my breath.
“How could you not have told me this sooner?” He stands up, his hands shaking. He runs his hands through his hair and it sticks up in the front. “And how could you not have told me this later? I have a game to play in a few days. Oh, Jesus. I have a daughter? And you didn’t tell me? When did you find out? Did you steal some hair from my hairbrush and run a secret DNA test?”
I swallow hard.
“I’ve known it was you since I found out I was pregnant – there was no one else, Blake. Just you. I’ve known the whole time.”
Blake’s face falls.
“How could you do this to me?”
I’m fully crying now.
“I couldn’t tell you because you hate kids. You hate them. How was I supposed to let a man know he has a child when he can’t stand the sight of them?”
“You had no right to keep this from me,” Blake says. “Get out.”
“Blake, please-“
“Get. Out!” he yells, pointing at the door.
I grab my high heels and purse, sobbing as I run out of the apartment and into the elevator. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored walls on the way down. I’m a complete mess. Would my dad really be proud of me right now? I think not.
I don’t even think to put my shoes on as I exit the building. I don’t think about how it looks, or even where I parked my car.
Flashbulbs go off in my face.
“Camille! How long has the quarterback been slipping it to you?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CAMILLE
I throw my hands in front of my face. Paparazzi are swarming me. “Get the fuck away from me!” I yell, pushing through the crowd. “Get – away – from –“
“Get the FUCK out of here before I call the fucking cops!” I hear Blake’s voice boom across the sidewalk.
DIRTY PLAYER: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 11