by Lane Hart
“Oh my God,” I mutter, rolling my eyes in exasperation. Men. “My jugs are empty. Only having a baby fills them up. Jeez.”
“Ohhh,” they all mumble like this is breaking news.
“Okay, Lathan, look through the bag and see if there are any containers that say infant formula,” I tell him, speaking slowly so that he can keep up.
“How do you know all this baby stuff?” Kohen asks.
“I babysat in the offseason around our neighborhood when I was a teenager,” I tell them, looking down at the cute little guy rooting around on my dress. “Babies were my favorite,” I say, then immediately worry that the mention of me loving children might freak Kohen out. “I mean, I don’t want one. Well, not right now or anytime soon because my kicking career would be over, but someday…”
“Yeah, me too,” Kohen says, his eyes warm with meaning behind them. Depending on how things go, he thankfully hasn’t ruled out that sort of future for us someday.
“Found it!” Lathan shouts, holding up a small canister. His loud voice makes the baby start fussing again. “Shit, sorry.”
“Okay, all we need now is water. Quinton, you got any filtered or purified water?” I ask him.
“Ah, yeah, the kitchen faucet has a purifier on it.”
“Good. Why don’t you do the honors since you’ll be here alone with him tonight?” I suggest.
“What the fuck? No, you guys can’t leave him here with me! I don’t even know how to, like, pick him up or whatever. He’ll just scream, and we’ve got our first game tomorrow! I need to be rested and ready!”
“Calm down,” I tell him. I understand that he’s nervous because he’s never done this before, and also probably freaking out about the possibility that the baby is his. But if so, then he’s gonna have to step up and figure out how to be a father. “I’ll show you how to do everything you need to know before we leave. Then we’ll come back over in the morning to check on things before we go to the stadium, okay?”
“Who’s gonna watch him during the game?” Quinton asks me.
“Guess we’ve got a few calls to make tonight,” I tell him. “First, take the bottle to the kitchen, put four ounces of water in it and then however many scoops the container says to add for four ounces. Easy, right?”
“Um, yeah,” Quinton says as he gets to his feet and takes the bottle and canister down the hall.
A few minutes later he comes back with a bottle full of water and undissolved powder.
“Great, now shake it until you can’t see the powder chunks floating around and have a seat on the sofa,” I tell him.
Like a giant robot taking orders, he does as I asked with a blank expression on his face. Once he’s settled against the armrest, I cradle the baby while pushing myself off the floor and take the bundle over to him.
“What are you doing?” Quinton asks as I start to lower the baby to his arms.
“Showing you how to hold a baby.” I tuck the little guy in the crook of his right arm and slip mine out from underneath. “There, you’re doing it.”
“Wow. He’s so…light and warm,” Quinton mutters while he looks down at the baby boy, holding what could be his son for the very first time.
“Let me see your phone,” I tell Kohen, who pulls the device out of his pocket and hands it to me, the crack still down the middle of the screen. I snap a few quick pictures before I lift Quinton’s left hand still gripping the bottle and bring it to the baby’s lips. He takes the nipple into his mouth with no hesitation and starts drinking it down.
“He was hungry. He’s a growing boy,” I say while snapping a few more photos. “Especially if he’s gonna be six feet six like his daddy.”
“He may not be mine,” Quinton argues with a frown.
“If it turns out he is yours, do you have any idea who the mother may be?” I ask, taking a seat on the sofa next to Quinton. Kohen settles down on my other side, grasping my hand in his again.
“No. No name on the note,” Quinton answers. “All it said was, I can’t do this anymore. He’s yours, I’m certain of it. You would have known about him sooner if you read your mail.”
“Wow. Okay. So first thing’s first, let me call the local hospitals and police department just to make sure we don’t have someone’s stolen baby. Then, you’ll need to go get a DNA test on Monday, probably take him to a pediatrician and get him checked out too.”
“Yeah,” Quinton says, his forehead creased in thought.
“In the meantime, try to think of who you may have slept with around nine months ago, so the end of December? If he was born a few weeks early, maybe the first of January?” I offer.
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Lathan says when he slumps down into a brown leather recliner. “January second we lost big time in the first round of the playoffs.”
“Aw, fuck,” Quinton mutters, leaning his head back against the sofa. “That was a bad night. I got shitfaced doing a bar crawl with Cameron and Nixon. I made them both drink a shot for every dropped pass of mine, and I had to do a shot for every interception I threw. For the entire season. We all lost count around the tenth or eleventh one. I woke up the next morning naked except for my shoes in the back of a cop car with three different club wristbands on.”
“Shit, dude. I didn’t know that. Did you get arrested?” Lathan asks him.
“No, but only because the cops were apparently big fans. They said they picked me up on an indecent exposure call when I was wandering around Nixon’s neighborhood. Since they recognized me, they drove me around until I woke up and gave them my address. When I got home, I signed some jerseys and shit to thank them for not throwing my sorry ass in jail or selling me out to the paparazzi.”
“So you think the mother is someone you hooked up with that night?” I ask him.
“Maybe. That’s the only night of my life that I don’t remember all the shit I did.”
“And since you didn’t keep it in your pants, now you’ve got a baby on your doorstep,” Lathan says.
“We still don’t know for sure that he’s mine,” Quinton replies.
“In the meantime, though, he’s your responsibility,” I tell Quinton. “Once he finishes eating, I’ll show you how to change him. Kohen, can you and Lathan go to Target and buy some newborn diapers and a pack and play?”
“A pack and what?” Kohen asks.
“I’ll send you a text with pictures,” I tell him with a kiss on his cheek.
“Okay, but when I get back, you and I are going home,” he says when he stands up. “Sorry, Quinton.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make Lathan stay to help out,” the quarterback says.
“No way, bro,” Lathan argues. “At least one of us needs to be fresh and ready tomorrow; and since my dick is free and clear in this situation, it’s gonna be me.”
Quinton snorts. “I’ll take a crying baby any day over your long, miserable years of suffering with your virginity.”
I gasp in shock at that surprising revelation the same time Kohen speaks up and says, “Amen.”
“While I would rather you keep your big mouths shut about my personal shit, I’m not ashamed,” Lathan says, his cheeks reddening despite his words. “If this baby is yours, you’ll have to spend the rest of your life taking care of him,” he tells Quinton, who blanches at the thought. “And, Kohen, you nearly lost your million-dollar career because of your dick. So, tell me again what I’m missing out on by not sleeping around?”
The guys remain silent.
“I approve, Lathan,” I tell 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 to me with a small smile.
“Hopefully she won’t have already worked her way through an entire football team before she finds you,” Kohen responds pessimistically, so I elbow him in the gut. “Ow.”
“Don’t you have some baby shopping to do?”
I ask Kohen.
“The sooner we get this done the sooner we go home, so I can remind you how cherished and special you are,” he says with a quick kiss that deepens.
“Don’t forget the condoms,” Quinton interrupts.
“Mood killer,” Kohen says when he gives me a final kiss before leaving.
Kohen
Lathan and I get back to Quinton’s house with the baby supplies. And while the three of us try to follow the directions for setting up the portable bed thing, Roxy holds the sleeping baby. I was amazed by how much she knew about taking care of kids and pretty damn impressed. One day she’ll make a great mother, and I really hope it’ll be with our babies.
“I can’t believe someone could just leave their baby behind, especially one as adorable as he is,” Roxy says after we set up the baby bed in Quinton’s room and lay the little guy down to sleep.
“Yeah, and I’m clearly the wrong man to pick for the job,” Quinton says, taking a seat on the foot of his king bed.
Roxy made a few calls, but no one has reported a missing baby. Thankfully Quinton’s parents are coming to the game tomorrow and agreed to babysit their potential grandson. After that, who knows…
“You’ll figure it out,” Roxy assures him with a squeeze to his shoulder. “And who knows, maybe she’ll show back up in a few days.”
“Maybe,” he says sadly.
“Well, I’m gonna head out,” Lathan tells us. “See you all tomorrow. Good luck, Quinton.”
“Thanks,” Quinton replies.
“We better get going too,” I tell Roxy.
“Yeah, it’s getting late,” she replies reluctantly, her green eyes locked on the sleeping baby. “But now you’ve got my number, so you can call if there’s an emergency,” she says to Quinton.
“Okay, thanks, Roxy,” Quinton tells her before the two embrace. And, yeah, a few weeks ago I would’ve lost my shit in a jealous rage, but I trust Roxy and know her and Quinton are nothing more than friends.
“Thank you too, Kohen,” Quinton then says to me, offering a fist bump, which I hit.
“No problem. See you in the morning,” I tell him before leading Roxy into the hallway with a hand on her lower back.
“You’re really good at this baby thing,” I tell Roxy, who stops and turns around to flash me a smile.
“You think so?” she asks.
“Definitely. But how’s your mood now? Still slaughtered thanks to the crying baby?” I ask her, sweeping a strand of her long, blonde hair behind her ear.
“I’m pretty sure you can revive it,” she answers, reaching up to drape her arms around my neck.
“How about I start with mouth-to-mouth?” I ask, brushing my lips over hers several times in a row while flattening her against the wall with my body.
“Oh yeah, that’s doing the trick,” she whispers.
“Here?” I ask her against her lips, knowing she’ll understand exactly what I’m asking.
“Here,” she quickly agrees.
“Changed our minds. We’re staying, Quinton,” I yell out.
“Thank God,” he replies in relief before I pull Roxy into one of the guest bedrooms and lock the door.
Yanking her emerald dress over her head, I tell her she can keep her matching heels on for now.
“I think it’s time for the field goal fantasy,” I tell her as she slips her lime green thong off and crawls up on the bed.
“Field goal fantasy?” she asks while I finish undressing. She stretches out on her side with her head propped up on her elbow to watch me. “Does this fantasy happen to involve my legs raised in the air while your balls slam into my…end zone?”
“Oh my God, yes,” I groan when she nails it. “That’s exactly the one.”
Finally naked, I stroll to the end of the bed and pull Roxy by her foot until her ass is on the edge of the mattress. Lifting her high heels, I rest them both on my shoulders. My palms glide up and down her long, gorgeous limbs before I drag one finger through the center of her uprights, parting her wet folds.
“Important to…stretch and warm up first,” I tell her, easing one finger in and out of her tight pussy before adding another finger to get her good and ready for me.
“Mmm, yeah,” she moans, closing her eyes and biting down on her bottom lip. Her fists tightly clutch handfuls of the bedding on either side of her body.
“Fuck,” I groan, withdrawing my fingers. “Time’s running out. You’re too fucking sexy for me to wait any longer,” I tell her as I reach down and start to line my cock up.
“Don’t miss,” Roxy teases with a smile, still playing along with my fantasy.
“Never,” I assure her as I press forward, filling her, stretching her to take all of me inside of her. When I can’t possibly go any further, I wrap my fingers around her thighs, gripping them so I can pull out to slam home again until I’m balls deep.
“Ohmygod, yes!” she shouts, her back arching off the mattress.
“Is it good?” I ask when I pick up the pace and start pumping into her over and over again.
“Yes! It’s good. Sooo good!” she moans. “Harder! Ugh! Right there!”
“God, I love makeup sex,” I tell her, watching her tits bounce with each and every one of my powerful thrusts. She’s so beautiful laid out before me, giving herself to me in every single way. Nothing has ever felt as perfect as being with Roxy, and to think that I almost fucked up and lost her for good is terrifying. “I’m so sorry I was a dick to you, baby.”
“Don’t stop! I’m…this close…to forgiving you,” she gasps, holding up her finger and thumb to indicate an inch.
Reaching down, I work my thumb over her clit until she cries out with her release, her body bucking against mine as I finish inside of her.
Kissing one of her ankles that’s still next to my face and then the other with the ladybug charms, I let her legs go so Roxy can lower them. She squirms back further up the bed, and I climb over beside her, holding her while we catch our breath.
“Forgiven,” she says with a sweet kiss to my nose.
“Not yet,” I say. “But I’ll keep trying to make it up to you.”
“Tell me what the rest of your balls say,” she demands with a grin, and so I spend the next half hour telling her about all the messages written just for her.
Roxy is an amazing woman, and I don’t deserve her. Even after I was such an asshole to her, she’s given me another chance. And I know that this time I won’t let her down.
Epilogue
Roxy
Today’s the last game of the season, which is sort of sad. The Wildcats didn’t make it to the playoffs this year, but there’s always next year. Our star quarterback and tight end have both had a few life-changing distractions this season, but we also had a tough schedule.
Over the next few months of the offseason, I’ll be organizing a new all-girl football camp sponsored by the Wildcats, which is so exciting, and Kohen also got his wish. Not only did he just sign a two-year contract extension, but he also has permission from the team to play soccer during the spring.
“I think you should kick this last one,” Kohen says to me after Quinton throws a ten-yard pass for a touchdown with the game clock winding down.
“What?” I ask Kohen over the cheers since we’re playing our last game at home. “Your knee hasn’t bothered you in weeks, and this is a gimme kick.”
Since the fourth game of the season, Kohen has been the team’s starting placekicker, back to his normal ass-kicking self, and I’ve been punting, which is great because sometimes I even get a chance to tackle the returner. Kohen has made every kick this season except for a fifty-five yarder in a windy New England stadium, so I have no clue why he wants me kicking this extra point.
“Come on,” he says, slapping my shoulder pads. “You started this season, so I think you should end it.”
“You know I haven’t kicked for a score in weeks,” I remind him, poking with my finger in the center of the yellow six on his je
rsey.
“Like you said, it’s a gimme. No point in arguing, I make the calls, remember? Let’s go, and I’ll hold for you,” he says, grabbing me by the arm to pull me onto the field.
Fine, if he wants me to kick the last one, I’ll kick the last one. We’re up by thirteen with only a minute to go in the fourth quarter. Still, if I miss, though, I’m gonna kick his ass.
Pulling my helmet on, I line up and quickly count my steps backward and to the left. Kohen’s kneeling in position, waiting for my signal, which I give him with a nod. The ball’s snapped, and just as I start to take my steps, I see two words written in silver ink and realize Kohen’s not holding the tip of the football with his index finger but some sort of tiny square box. Too late to stop my forward momentum, I haul back and kick the ball anyway, watching as it sails right through the middle of the goal posts. Fuck yes!
When I turn back around to Kohen, he’s still kneeling, holding a ring box in his palm.
“Oh my God,” I gasp as he opens the box, revealing a diamond ring. The entire stadium has gone silent, or maybe I’ve blocked the crowd out, focusing on one gorgeous man before me, on his knee…
“Roxanne Benson, I started falling in love with you the first moment I ever saw you. Literally,” Kohen says with a wink and flashes me a smile. “Now, after how amazing the last few months have been, I can’t imagine my life without you. You’re sweet, driven, funny, and gorgeous. I know you can’t cook worth a shit or operate kitchen appliances very well, but none of that matters to me. I love every single second I have with you. So, will you do me the honor of wearing my name on the back of your jersey? Will you marry me?”
Kohen
Forget days, hours, or even minutes. The defining moments of my life have always been measured in seconds. To most people, seconds are inconsequential, too small and insignificant to count. Yet, if you string a few together, it could be the difference in winning or losing, being the hero or a chump, starting a new life with someone or getting kicked in the nuts by the ballbusting woman you love.
Football stadiums aren’t the only place where everything can change in a matter of seconds, but that’s exactly where I was when my life was forever altered in one second with the uttering of one single word.