Final Play (Fake Boyfriend 6)

“Almost six months. I didn’t actually know until I was about ten weeks.”

I tilt my head to the side like a confused dog. “How could you not know?”

“Well, my periods have always been irreg—”

Matt covers his ears. “Lalalalala.”

“I tried to … you know … like”—she coughs—“uh, get rid of it? But in Tennessee you need parental consent if you’re under eighteen. Mom and Dad told me I’d made my bed and needed to lie in it. Then came the pro-life lecturing.”

“Explains why there’s six of us,” Matt mumbles. “What about the father?”

“Says he doesn’t want to be a dad and he’s too young and he has a future if we don’t have a kid.” Emotion clogs her throat. “I was okay with it. I’d kinda accepted it was my fate, you know? Like Mom, and Char. But last week, I got my early acceptance into the University of Tennessee. I sent in my application the week before I found out about …” She points to her belly. “They’re offerin’ me a softball scholarship and I’m supposed to start next fall, but this …”

Even though she spits anger, I see her hand in the rearview mirror moving over her bump lovingly.

My tongue feels thick. “NFL player, rock star, and softball player with early acceptance into college. Are all Jacksons overachievers?”

Matt ignores my attempt at deflection. “So, you’re running away? Is that your answer?”

“I-I need a lawyer and can’t afford one. Char said you could help.”

Okay, not what I was expecting. Why does she need a lawyer?

“Lawyer?” Matt asks.

I meet Fern’s eyes in the rearview mirror again. Just in time for her to say, “An adoption lawyer.”

The minute the word adoption falls from her lips, I almost crash the damn car.

“Anything you need,” Matt says, but I hear the underlying implication.

Deep breaths, Noah.

“She all settled in?” I ask later when Matt comes to bed. He’s been in her room for a long time—much longer than it’d take to set up the guest bed with fresh sheets.

We hadn’t changed them since the last time Jet’s band played in Chicago and he came for a visit.

Matt strips off his sweats and shirt, and I momentarily get distracted by the way his muscles bunch and contract.

Though I know sex is off the table when he falls into bed on his stomach and lets out a grunt that screams exhaustion.

“What are we going to do?”

Oh, God, we can’t talk about this now.

“I can think of a few things we could do.” My hand runs down his back and to his ass. It’s a long shot at a distraction, and I’m surprised when Matt spreads his legs a little wider and lifts his hips.

“Mmm, can you top and do all the work? I’ve got practice tomorrow, and I wanna be all loose.”

“If you’re not into it—” I’m not usually one to turn down sex of any kind, but I’m not going to guilt him into it.

“I am. I’m just in my head. I want you to fuck me until I can’t think about anything but passing out.”

“Oh, baby, you know I’m good at that.”

“Fucking me brainless?”

“You’re a football player. Aren’t you already brainless?” I reach over and massage his ass cheek over his boxer briefs.

Matt hums. “If you keep giving me a massage, call me whatever insult you want.”

If I didn’t know my husband inside and out, I’d feel bad as I reach for the lube because he’s so tight with tension and probably not a hundred percent into it. But I do know him, and a good fucking will help.

During football season, when we have sex, I mostly top him. During the off season, it’s the other way around. When Matt is stressed and wants out of his head, wants to forget about football and plays and the Super Bowl, he can’t get enough of my cock.

I roll on top of him, straddling his ass and blanketing his back with my body. My mouth leaves light kisses across his shoulders as my hands massage down his sides.

Matt moans, and I have to shush him.

“We have to be quiet. Don’t want to scare your innocent sister with all the loud gay sex.”

“Pfft, innocent. She’s the one who’s knocked up.”

“Pretty sure that didn’t happen by doing it the gay way.”

Matt snorts.

I shuffle down a little so I can pull his boxers over the round globes of his ass. I don’t pull them all the way down his legs, just enough to give me access.

“Mmm, I love my man’s bubble butt.”

“Hurry up and show it how much,” Matt grumbles.

“Want hard and fast?” I already know the answer, but I won’t mind tormenting him for a while. “Want me to barely prep you so that when I’m inside you, you feel like I’m tearing you in two? You want to be so full of me, you’ll never want to feel empty again?”