The Pickup (Imperfect Love 1)

We order.

We drink.

We dance.

And several hours later, I do the craziest thing I’ve ever done in my twenty-four years. I invite him back to my hotel room, where we have the hottest, most passionate night of sex I’ve ever experienced. Our chemistry is undeniable and off the charts, and for a moment I think about what it would be like to be with this man again. But I quickly check that thought, remembering what this was about. My attempt at getting under someone to get over someone else.

The next morning, I wake up and leave him sleeping in my bed.

I check-out.

I have breakfast with my dad.

I board my flight.

I arrive home.

My luggage gets lost.

A week later it’s found.

Three weeks after that I find out I’m pregnant.

Giselle and I search the football roster for a Cole, hoping we might find him on there. He did mention he loves—and hates—to play football. Giselle calls Christian to see if maybe he’s heard of him. They only briefly met, but it’s worth a try. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know who he is.

I ask my dad—as nonchalantly as possible—if he knows a Cole. He says he doesn’t.

I search the headshots on the ESPN sites. What I don’t take into account is that because he’s a free agent, he hasn’t been put on the roster since the season hasn’t officially begun.

So, I do the only thing I can do. I move on with my life with my growing baby inside me. I don’t tell anyone how much it hurts every time I think about my baby never knowing his father. I keep it to myself how much my heart breaks whenever I think about being a single mom. Not because I can’t do it, but because that’s not what I want. I wanted the fairytale like my parents had. I wanted the happily-ever-after. There’s no Disney book where the mom gets knocked up from a one-night stand and raises the baby alone.

When my dad asks who the father is, I tell him the truth. It was a one-night stand. I can hear his disappointment. I was raised to believe in the power of love. He’s been with two women his entire life: my mom and my stepmom.

He asks me to come home.

I agree to come back temporarily.

Giselle graduates in December, and we pack up the flat and head to New York.

I’ve been here for three weeks, focusing on buying a place and then getting it ready for my baby.

My dad asks me to attend a game since I haven’t been to one all season.

I look out from the owner’s suite and see him.

The father of my baby.

Six

Nick

“Olivia, honey. What the hell happened?” Coach Harper asks his daughter.

“He…” She points directly at me, her perfectly manicured fingernail pressing into my chest. “He said his name was Cole! Not Nick!”

“My name is Nicholas,” I point out, “and what does it matter what I’m called?”

“It matters”—her voice raises several levels—“because I looked for you! I searched the roster for Cole! I asked my dad if he knew of a Cole!” This woman is so mad right now, I’m thankful she doesn’t have a weapon in her possession, because if she did, I would be a dead man. I can’t imagine her getting this worked up is good for her, and really…what is she so mad about? I’m the one finding out a one-night stand I had nine months ago—who I might add, left me—might’ve left me a father. Something I’ve decided this past year I’m not at all interested in becoming.

“First of all, you’re the one who walked out the door the morning after, leaving me with nothing but a ‘thanks for the fuck’ note. Second of all, I’m not sure you should be yelling and screaming and getting all worked up in your condition.”

And I don’t think that was the right thing to say because that finger that was in my chest a moment ago becomes several fingers as she pushes my chest in frustration.

“It was a one-night stand! What did you want from me? To ask you to marry me? I was leaving back to Paris! And this…” She points to her belly. “It’s not a goddamn condition! It’s called pregnancy, you moron!”

I hold my hands up in a placating manner. “Okay…but I don’t get why you’re yelling at me. You left me that morning. I woke up, and you were gone. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

She looks around the silent locker room as if just now realizing our conversation is taking place in front of the entire New York Brewers football team. Using a lower, more controlled tone, she says, “Umm…maybe because you said your name was Cole when everybody else calls you NICK! And…you’re the one who put me in this condition, as you call it.”

Oh. Hell. No. “Like fucking hell I did…we used protection. You better go figure out who else you slept with that you didn’t use protection with.” I shrug. Glad we cleared that shit up.