The Pickup (Imperfect Love 1)
Coach Harper adds, “You’re going to be the face of this team, the man who’s hopefully going to lead us to a championship, and you’re going to need to act like it. Nobody wants to root for a guy who’s spending his time sleeping with half of New York. Got it?”
“Got it,” I agree.
“Excellent!” Mr. Thomas clasps his hands together. “Now that we have that figured out, let’s get this contract signed.”
Four
Nick
Nine months later
“All right, guys. This is it. We’ve worked too hard not to make it to the playoffs now. Let’s finish this.” We’re huddled up on San Francisco’s twenty-yard line. There’s only twelve seconds left in our season, and we’re down by four points. As I look around at all the cheering fans in the stadium, I have a bout of déjà vu. Only this time, I’m not playing for North Carolina but instead for New York. We get this touchdown, and we make the playoffs. We don’t, and there’s a chance this is the last game I’ll ever play. I feel a twinge of pain radiate down my arm, reminding me this game has to end differently.
The guys are all pumped up and ready to win this game. I call out the play, “FB West right slot 372 Y stick on three, break!” And then we take our positions on the field. On my three-count, the center hikes the ball. Taking a three-step drop, I find Killian and see he has a step on the defender. I throw the ball to him, a bit too high—my nerves getting the best of me—to avoid the interception—and like always, he comes through in the clutch, catching the ball in the end zone for the touchdown. The rest of the team joins him as we celebrate our win and our spot in the playoffs.
Every game we win leaves me feeling exhilarated. I’ve learned over the last several months my one and only true love is football. It’s all I need. Sometimes when I wish for more, I remind myself of what more means in my life. And then I accept my life for what it is. I’m damn blessed, and it would be selfish of me to want more.
We head back to the locker room to shower—adrenaline still coursing through our veins from our win. The guys are shouting and joking. It’s the week before Christmas, and this is without a doubt the best gift I’ve ever been given.
“Reservations at El Tao,” Brian McCaldon calls out to the team.
“We fucking did it!” Killian jumps on my back. Then as he comes down, he pulls me in for a side hug.
“We still have a long way to go…but yeah, we fucking did!”
“You going to El Tao?” he asks.
“Yeah, might as well. I’m alone for the night.” I shrug. “Want to play some Madden at your place afterward?”
“Hell yeah.”
A few months ago, I moved out of Killian’s condo and into my own place. I didn’t want to, but I had to. After accepting the contract with New York, my life changed drastically, and while I know it’s what needed to be done, sometimes I wonder if I made the right decision.
“When does she—” His words are cut off when I hear a version of my name being called. The version I have only told one woman. I put my hand up to stop him from speaking and look around, wondering if I’m hearing shit. Wondering if it’s possible, after all this time, I’m imagining her calling my name.
“Cole,” I hear again, and my eyes swing over to the woman who’s calling me. And sure as shit, standing there in the locker room is her.
“Brown-Eyes.” I say the nickname I gave her. So many times I’ve tried to remember what she looks like, but my memory of her didn’t do her justice at all. Her hair is a bit longer, a little lighter. Her eyes are still a beautiful shade of brown that remind me of melted chocolate—sweet like the taste of her pussy on my tongue.
My eyes move downward, lingering on her voluptuous breasts, before I continue farther down, stopping on her…stomach. What the fuck! She’s…pregnant? “You’re pregnant?”
She follows my gaze down to her protruding belly and then gives me a duh! expression.
“What’re you doing here?” I ask a bit too coolly as I suddenly remember the note she left the morning after the night we spent together.
“Well…I saw you playing…”
Coach Harper cuts in, making his presence known. “How do you two know each other?”
Liv darts her gaze from Coach to me and then back to him. “He’s the father,” she says softly. Her eyes close slightly, and the guys gasp and curse around us.
Coach makes eye contact with me, his glare like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It’s a look that says he’s about to kill me, and it has me repeating what she said over and over again in my head, hearing the words but not comprehending them. Why the hell is she saying I’m the father? And why is she telling my coach?