Double Score

“I don’t know. I wasn’t going to tell you like this. Not until after the game. But it feels like everything is so screwed up already, so why not? Right?”

God, I looked at her. Her cute nose, and those hips that had me on my knees. The woman who had taken the control from my grasp. And she was carrying my child. My baby. Our baby.

I walked toward her. “You’re so beautiful to me. Sexy and smart. And to know that we made a baby together…” I felt a lump in my chest. An overwhelming need to protect her and our new family. “You’re fucking incredible, you know that, Doc?”

“You’re not mad?”

“Mad? Hell no. You know how hot you’ll be when your tits swell up. And when your belly grows with my baby.”

“Our baby,” she corrected me.

“Right. Our baby.” I pulled her against my chest. “Everything is working out. This day started out like shit and now it’s perfect. All I need now is that Super Bowl ring, and I’ll have everything.”

She looked up at me. “How exactly are you getting out of the investigation?”

I scooped her up in my arms and carried her toward the bedroom. “Let’s talk about that over breakfast.”

“Wes, tell me.” She whacked me on the chest, but I wasn’t letting her go, and I wasn’t going to ruin the night with a bunch of legal jargon about the players’ union and lawsuits.

“I promised you one hell of a night when you got here, Doc. So shut up and let me give it to you.” I positioned her on the bed and started undressing her.

“You still want me? Like this?” she asked, with hurt in her voice.

I lowered to kiss her. “I’ve never wanted you more.” I dropped her clothes on the floor. I thought she was sexy before. But nothing was hotter than fucking the woman I had given a baby. We weren’t careful. I knew that, but it didn’t seem to matter. I wanted to be buried in her. I wanted my seed in her, and this was why. She was carrying my child now.

Her legs wrapped around me as I pushed inside her.

“Fuck me, Wes,” she moaned. “Like the first night.”

I slid into her. “Oh, this’ll be better than that.” I sucked hard on her nipple. “Because now I don’t just love fucking you. I love you.”

We both paced in front of the bathroom counter. Lennon sat on the edge of the tub and then was up again. We couldn’t be still. She walked over to the stick lying next to the sink.

“This is the longest three minutes of my life,” she sighed.

“No shit.” I was horrified and excited.

I had a messenger deliver a pregnancy test to the suite first thing this morning. Neither one of us needed the press spotting us in a drug store with one of these things.

“I think it’s time,” she announced.

I held my breath while she read the test. In an instant, I was terrified it would be negative. Getting her pregnant wasn’t the plan, but with the possibility this was a false alarm, I realized how much I wanted her to have my baby. How much I wanted this together.

I tried to read her expression. “God, you’re killing me, Doc. What does it say?”

She lowered the stick. Her blue eyes were clear and certain. “I’m pregnant.”

I grinned. “I knew it.”

She laughed. “I knew it too.”

I wrapped her in my arms and kissed her on the forehead.

She looked up at me. “Can we go back to bed now just for a little nap? It’s not even 6am.”

I nodded. “Yeah, let’s get some more sleep.”

With enough money, anyone can be bought off. I learned that when I made my first million. My agent had learned it too. Jenny Nichols took her money and changed her story before the next morning’s headlines. She reported that her source was a phony and she had x-rays to prove that Wes Blakefield’s injury had in fact been a sprain all along.