Scoring Her (Billionaire Bad Boys 3.5)

“Oh, sweet Jesus.”

“I haven’t been blown like that since New Year’s Eve in 2010.”

“Who’s getting blown?” Winnie asked with a smirk as she sank into the seat on Dean’s left.

He bounced in his seat and pretended to twerk before shooting a hand in the air and dropping his head back in pretend orgasm. “Two days straight, honey.”

“Yeah, this diva,” I said and hooked a thumb in Dean’s direction, “spent the last two days on an all-gay cruise ship.”

“Well, hot damn.” Winnie grinned. “Sounds like you took full advantage of the all-you-can-eat buffet?”

“Oh, girlfriend, I was the motherfucking buffet. And those hot boys ate me up like I was their favorite meal.”

Winnie and I both laughed out loud at that line. None of it should have come as a surprise, though. Dean had this hot, boy-next-door look to him and knew how to dress—the boy had no shortage of interested male suitors. Or fuck buddies, if I was being blunt about it.

“Well, I’m glad you had fun, even though you left me to fend for myself.” I feigned disappointment.

But Dean didn’t take the bait. He merely rolled his eyes in my direction.

“Fend for yourself?” he questioned with amusement. “Pretty sure you’ve probably spent most of your time riding your fuck-hot husband,” he said and pointed a perfectly manicured index finger in my direction. “I know how you two lovebirds work. You can’t keep your hands off one another.”

“Or Georgia and Kline have spent most of their time babysitting Thatch and Cassie’s baby,” Winnie chimed in helpfully, a tilt of her head and a lift of her eyebrow the perfect picture of the stern mom face. If I was her kid and in trouble, I’d be afraid she was going to fuck me up.

I sighed. “God, they’re assholes, but I love my little baby Ace so much I can’t say no, even though I know those dicks are really just manipulating me into watching their kid.”

Winnie smirked. “Stop answering your phone.”

“Tell Thatcher to call me,” Dean suggested. “I’ll answer my phone anytime that tall drink of water wants me to be his nanny.” I laughed and raised a brow. He rolled his eyes. “Strategy. They always sleep with the nanny.”

I laughed as his eyes moved back to the stage and a slow, humor-filled smile spread across his lips. “Or the QB Pie,” he said and nodded in Quinn Bailey’s direction—well, his ass’s direction. “Tell him to call me, too. I’d answer. Anytime. Day or night. I’d even bottom for him.”

“Does Quinn know you nicknamed him QB Pie, Georgie?” Winnie asked with a grin.

I shrugged. “Doubt it.”

All three of us watched the big, burly football players attempt to prance alongside their beauty queen partners, and each of us made a valiant effort to keep our laughter under wraps. But by the time the offensive line had taken center stage with some seriously interesting dance moves, Winnie let out a boisterous cackle that broke the giggle dam.

“Please tell me someone is recording this,” Dean wheezed out between breathless laughs.

“Oh, don’t worry,” I answered and pointed up toward the rafters. “I’ve got three cameramen up there recording every single second of it.”

Winnie’s eyes went wide in shock. “Oh my God!” she shouted and bumped me with her hip. “You knew this was going to be a spectacle, and that’s exactly why you agreed to it, isn’t it?”

I couldn’t hide my secret smirk.

“You are evil!” she exclaimed on a laugh. “And a fucking genius!”

“Fingers crossed by next week our boys will have their fine, toned, graceless-as-fuck asses on several social media networks and late-night talk show interviews.”

She continued to stare at me in amazement. “Man, Georgie. You play the sweet and innocent card so well.”

Dean laughed. “Oh, homegirl is all girl next door, but I’ll tell ya, when it comes to business and marketing, she is a freak in the streets and knows how to work it on the down low.”

“Did you just compare my business tactics to a hooker?”

He nodded. “Sure did, honey.”

I laughed. “You’re such a bitch.”

“Oh, for sure, but so are you,” he tossed back. “You’re the one who has a team full of professional football players twirling like fucking ballerinas, knowing full well that a few will most likely become comedic entertainment for the country.”

I shrugged. “They’ll get over it when they see the endorsement checks roll in.”

“Amen, sister.”

My gaze moved out toward the auditorium, and I watched as Kline walked back into the main seating area. His eyes met mine, and as I took in his handsome face, concern took up residence in my belly. Something was off with my husband’s expression, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

I tilted my head to the side and mouthed, “Are you okay?”

He mouthed back, “Got a minute?” And his finger pointed toward the corridor behind me. He wanted to talk, right now, and I immediately had the feeling it wasn’t going to be a happy conversation. Guts have feelings; it wasn’t medical, but it was fact. And by the way mine clawed and scratched, he was about to tell me something awful.

My heart hit the floor when I realized what day it was and what phone call we were supposed to receive today. Fertility test results. And instantly, I knew; I just knew it was the reason Kline had stepped out of the auditorium. He had most likely gotten the phone call from Dr. Taunton.

I wasn’t even sure if I had responded to him or told Winnie and Dean where I was going, but somehow, my feet found the will to move. Kline wordlessly followed my lead down the quiet corridor and into a storage room for costumes.

I glanced around the small room, focusing on the minute details of color and texture and each small tear in a piece of destroyed fabric, as Kline closed the door with a quiet click. Maybe this room filled with sequins and costumes and fucking tiaras was probably not the best place to receive dismal news. Or, I hoped, maybe it would be some measure of comfort after the upset.

I didn’t have the strength to turn in Kline’s direction. Literally all I could manage was a whisper. “We can’t get pregnant.” My shoulders sagged the second the words left my lips and, suddenly, I had to fight the out-and-out emotional demand to burst into a sob.

His hands rested on my shoulders moments later, and he nuzzled his face into my neck, pressing soft and tender kisses to my skin. “No, baby. That’s not what I need to tell you.”

Confused, I turned in his direction. “So you didn’t get the phone call from Dr. Taunton yet?”

“I did.”

My eyes searched his soft blue gaze. “Well, then what did he say? Do I need to do more testing or something?”

He shook his head, a soft smile curling his lips as he kneeled at my feet unexpectedly. His hands lifted up my blouse and pulled down the waistband of my skirt a few inches so he could press his lips to my lower belly.

“Kline?” I started to shake. “What’s going on?” I asked, staring down at him with a million questions and zero answers and the scariest assumption I could ever wish to hope for swirling dangerously close to my heart.

“Our little baby is in here, Georgia,” he whispered with awe and love and pure amazement in his every syllable. “You’re pregnant, sweetheart.”

Immediately, I shook my head.

“No,” I refused, too fucking scared to get my hopes up.

His tender gaze met mine, and his fingertips dug into the flesh right at the top of my hips. “You’re pregnant, Georgia,” he repeated his words. “And our baby, our baby, is right here, inside your belly, growing and getting bigger and stronger every day.”

My nose stung and my eyes flooded, my heart rate tripling. “I’m pregnant?”

“Eleven weeks pregnant with our baby.”

“I’m pregnant?”

He nodded, a tear dripping from the corner of his eye, and the biggest, happiest smile I had ever seen kissed his mouth.

I started to cry too. It was impossible not to as so many emotions crossed through me at the same time—relief, joy, fear, love, hope, anxiety. The two words I had been so desperate to hear for so long had finally been said, and I couldn’t seem to make sense of them. I was excited. I was nervous. I was filled with more love than I thought was possible. I was scared. I was elated. I was worried.

It was too much.

Was I happy? Of course.

But was I a little scared? I was fucking terrified. Was the baby okay? Was the baby healthy? Would this pregnancy make it?

Kline stood and pulled me into his arms, instantly quieting the questions and concerns and absolute hysteria filling my head.

“We’re going to have a baby?” I whispered into his ear as our tears mixed where skin met skin.

He leaned back and gripped both of my cheeks with his hands. “We’re going to have a baby, sweetheart.”

“I love you,” I whispered past the emotion in my throat.

“I love you too, Georgie,” he said against my lips right before he pressed soft and gentle kisses to my mouth.

He wrapped his arms around my body and hugged me so tightly that my feet came off the ground. They had a long way to go if they were going to catch my heart, though.