The Wild Card, page 28
“You’re being really alpha.” My fingers curl along the fogged glass. “That’s okay, you deserve it after all your hard work and the orgasms you’ve given me.”
“I had a great teacher.” He applies a little more pressure to my clit, and my body turns to Jell-O from the sensation of my orgasm drawing near.
He continues to fuck me and play with my clit, and I extend my foot to the shower shelf to use it as leverage and lock in our position.
“It’s happening,” I say. “I’m coming.”
“Good girl.”
I didn’t think I had a praise kink, but holy fuck, that was really hot.
I come hard, and he smashes his mouth to mine, the kiss hungry and desperate until he stills, emptying himself inside me. We remain locked together, panting with him plastering me against the shower wall.
“You know what sucks?” I say.
“That a man needs time to recover before he can do it again?”
I chuckle, but there’s a sort of sadness to it. “That I made you into a sex god for some other woman to enjoy.” As the thought comes out of my mouth, I realize that that painful truth is too raw and real, and I wish I’d kept it to myself.
He rests his forehead on mine. “What sucks for me is that the only one I want to enjoy is you.”
Oh heart, don’t soar. Don’t hope that this could be something more than what we agreed on.
We stay like that a bit, each digesting the other person’s words, until Foster gives a quick swat to my ass. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we need to get going.”
“You started this.” I slide my leg down and his dick slips out of me before he positions my feet on the floor, taking care to make sure I have my balance before he lets go. “Now I really do have to shower.”
He turns the water on us, and we both shower, washing ourselves. I admire his body when he’s turned toward the water, and I hope he’s doing the same when I wash the soap off mine.
When we step out, he wraps a towel around my shoulders before grabbing one for himself. It feels very much like a relationship, and I wonder if the blurred line between us has now been erased completely.
Foster Davis and I have entwined our lives completely, and it’s going to be a mess to try to unravel.
CHAPTER
FORTY-NINE
Callie
It’s Foster’s only day off for the next ten days, so after our escapade in the shower, we decide to use the opportunity to go out and shop for the baby and have lunch together.
The moment we step into the baby store, a woman greets us, beaming.
“Oh, we hoped you two would pick our store.” She folds her hands in front of herself.
Foster places his hand on the small of my back, his fingers flexing then relaxing.
One of the things I’ve realized about him is that he hates social media and the insight it gives people into his life. I’ve also realized that he has better restraint than I do when it comes to reading the comments.
“Really?” I ask. Clearly, she knows who we are.
“Yes, and you can rest assured. We take care of all the Grizzly and Falcon families. Even a few of the Trojans, but we’re a little far north for them.” She steps closer.
Foster’s hand does the whole flexing and unflexing thing again, as though he’s going to attack if she comes any closer. I’d never tell him, but I’ve grown to love his protective nature even if it’s only because I’m carrying his baby.
“We’re just browsing today,” I say.
She glances at my stomach. “How many weeks are you now?”
She phrases the question as if she’s been following my pregnancy. Sure, I have a social media presence and have been chronicling the pregnancy a little, but I feel a little creeped out that she phrased it the way she did.
“Eighteen weeks,” Foster answers for me.
“The bigger you get, the more uncomfortable the heat will be for you. I can give you the name of a maternity store that all the WAGs use.”
Foster growls under his breath, but I’m proud of him. At least he’s not just walking away from her.
“And are you going to find out the sex of the baby?” she asks.
Foster’s fingers dig into my side. If I don’t get him out of this situation, grumpy Foster is going to make an appearance.
“Um… we haven’t decided.” I wave my finger in the air. “We’re going to look around, then maybe we can make a date to register.” It must be what she’s looking for, to make sure all of our friends and family come here to buy stuff.
“Yes, of course. Sorry, we’re just so excited to see you.” She smiles.
I’m not sure who we are, since there doesn’t appear to be anyone else here, but I take Foster’s hand and lead him to the opposite side of the store.
“So, this is going to be our life.”
I don’t recognize a lot of the items. The more we look around, the more panicked I become.
“What is this?” I pick up an item by a crib.
“You put that around your head.” Sally, the saleswoman—whose nametag I can read now—puts the contraption on her head. A pole shoots out from the headband with something dangling off of it.
My head tilts. “It’s a wearable mobile?”
She nods, and it bounces.
“You gotta be shittin’ me,” Foster mumbles.
“This way when you’re changing the baby’s diaper, he or she has something to look at.” She demonstrates over a changing table where a plastic baby lies.
“They can’t just be happy looking at Mom or Dad?” Foster looks at the woman as though she’s an idiot.
She takes it off and puts it back on display. “You don’t want the baby to be bored.”
“Boredom never killed anyone.” To his credit, Foster’s voice isn’t the grumpiest I’ve ever heard it.
I smile at Sally. “Thanks for explaining it to us.”
Foster picks up something else and gives me a questioning look.
“It’s a nasal aspirator.” Sally takes it from Foster. “See, you put this in the baby’s nose and then you suck.”
“I what?” Foster palms the back of his neck.
She smiles at him. “You suck, and the boogers come out.”
He looks at me, and I think he might be starting to panic.
“It’s one of our most popular sellers,” Sally assures us.
I pick up a spatula-looking thing. “And this?”
“To spread the diaper cream so you don’t get it on your hands.” She again demonstrates on the doll as if we can’t put two and two together.
“What haven’t they invented?” Foster continues to pick up items and put them down, each one seeming to make him more baffled.
“Thanks, Sally. This is all a lot for first-time parents, but you’ve been more than helpful.” I give her what I hope looks like a sincere smile.
“Of course, I’ll leave you two to it, but just grab me if you need me.” She looks at Foster, and her gaze feels a little covetous to me.
I’m about to growl and show my teeth.
What the hell was that?
Foster is oblivious, hitting a mobile with his finger. “Hey.” He turns to me after Sally leaves us alone. “I don’t want anything baseball.”
I stop, but he continues checking things out, so I follow him. “What?”
“I don’t want any baseball things for the crib or on the walls. Nothing baseball, okay?”
He tries to walk away, so I take his wrist and tug him back to me. “Why?”
He glances toward Sally. Thankfully, the phone rings, and she walks away to answer it. At this point, I don’t even care that she’s probably telling whoever is on the phone that we’re here.
“Because I’m not going to shove anything down my kid’s throat.”
I frown. “But you love baseball, no?”
I don’t have any specific plans on what I want for the baby’s room, but I’m thrown that a major league pitcher doesn’t want anything baseball in his child’s room.
“I do love it, but I didn’t always. And I don’t want him or her to feel like they have to like something just because I do.”
It sounds as though this really matters to Foster, and I figure this is a fight I have no say in, so I nod. “Okay, no baseball. But just so you know, lots of people are probably going to give us baseball-themed gifts.”
He shrugs. “That’s fine. But we won’t buy any.”
This isn’t the place for me to push him to talk about it more, so I let it go. The last thing we need is Sally gossiping to her friends about us any more than she already will.
“What should we buy today? The stroller? Crib? I suppose we’ll need two of everything, but I was thinking—do you think you should stay for a while after the baby is born? I’ll be in the off season, so we can tackle it together.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into him. “Plus, I might need more lessons.”
I draw back and look up at him. “First of all, I think your lesson days are drawing to a close. And you do know that after this baby comes out, I can’t have sex for at least six weeks, right?”
He looks down between us. “Really? I guess that makes sense. You’re pushing a baby out.”
I shudder. “Don’t remind me.”
I ignore the tug at the back of my mind that says that’s all he really wants from me.
We both look around the store and at one another. “Lunch?” we say at the same time.
Are we ignoring our future, the inevitable? Yeah. We tend to ignore a lot of things that are coming our way. There will be a day I’ll have no choice but to face it, but today isn’t that day.
CHAPTER
FIFTY
Foster
It’s as though my mind can’t filter my thoughts before they come out of my mouth when I’m around Callie.
Telling her that I don’t want any baseball stuff is just waving another red flag in front of her. She didn’t push me this time though. She let it go, but I need to be prepared that she’ll ask me again.
We ate at a small Mexican restaurant that makes their own tortillas. I’ll definitely be back. The place was phenomenal.
Now we’re walking back to the condo, but she stops outside a white building that has big green letters saying The Last Chapter Book Shop.
“Want to do the very cliché thing of buying baby name books so we can each highlight our favorites and compare?” The way her entire face lights up, there’s no chance I can say no.
“Only for you.”
Her smile grows, and she preens before moving toward the door. I reach around her, opening the door for her to walk in.
“It’s adorable.” She moves to a display table, perusing the books there.
I’ve never been much of a reader. It wasn’t like my dad ever pushed me to be. Not even an inspirational athlete’s story. Academics were always secondary to baseball. Hell, everything was secondary to baseball.
“Hi, welcome to The Last Chapter.” An olive skinned woman with long dark hair and glasses greets us from where she’s shelving some books.
“Hi.” I follow Callie around as she says, “We’re looking for baby name books.” She runs her hands over her baby bump as though the woman wouldn’t have noticed that she’s pregnant.
“Oh, I’m sorry, this is a romance-only bookstore.”
“Romance only?” Callie asks and glances at me. “I didn’t realize there was even such a thing. Thanks, we’ll look around.”
“If you have any questions or want any suggestions, my name is Amanda.” She turns to me. “Sports romance is over there.” She points.
Callie turns toward the wall, where what looks like all the categories of romance are highlighted. She looks as though she’s trying to decide where to start. “Thanks. This is so fun.”
I decide to head to the sports section, figuring I’ll buy myself some time until she’s done.
“Don’t go falling for some fictional man when you have me at home,” I say to her.
She waves me off and ventures down the row.
The door to the store opens. I turn to look and am shocked to see Conor Nilsen with his wife, Eloise, walking through the door.
Shit, I thought Callie’s stomach was growing. Eloise looks ready to pop.
“Eloise!” Amanda walks over, and the two of them hug as best as they’re able to with her stomach.
Conor stares after his wife but catches me watching and laughs. “Shit, what are the chances?” He comes over and puts out his hand.
“Enjoying off season?” I ask as we shake hands.
“Getting some reading material since Eloise just got put on bedrest until the baby comes. This is her happy place, so here we are before we head back home.” He pats me on the back and glances at the sports romance shelf I was looking at. “Didn’t figure you for a romance reader.”
“No. My…” I have no label for Callie. Baby momma makes me want to throw up. Friend isn’t nearly accurate enough.
Conor must realize my hesitation because he laughs again. “Carlisle’s sister, right?”
I nod, thankful for the out. “She’s back there somewhere.” I thumb in the direction Callie disappeared.
“Piece of advice? Don’t get all jealous of her falling for some book boyfriend. If the book is good enough, you’ll reap the benefits.” He winks, and I huff out a laugh.
Conor and all the Falcons are cool. Sometimes at Peeper’s, we all end up in the backroom together, and it’s usually a lot of fun. From what Hayes told me, Hayes, Decker, and Easton came into the building after Conor, Tweetie, and Rowan moved out. All three of the hockey players bought houses on the same street as Henry Hensley, and the four of them are raising their families together as neighbors. I can’t even imagine being that close with my teammates.
“I hope you’re not thinking you’ll find a baseball book up here.” He points toward the wall.
I turn to inspect all the covers, realizing quickly that the majority of them have hockey players on them. One after the other—hockey, hockey, hockey. Puck this and puck that.
“What the hell?” I raise my hand. “Hey Amanda, can you come here for a second?”
Conor laughs and crosses his arms, settling in. Amanda walks over, and Eloise follows. Conor gives a brief introduction between his wife and me.
“You here by yourself or with someone?” Eloise looks around, and her eyes light up when she sees Callie walking around the end of the row. “Callie!”
Guess they’ve met before.
Then she’s gone.
Amanda looks at Conor first. “Hey, Conor. Sorry, no book has been fan-fictioned off of you yet that I know of.”
“I heard Piper Rayne might be writing one.” He shrugs.
“I’ll keep my eyes out.” She shakes her head, and I get the feeling this is a conversation they’ve had before.
“Look for Mr. Swoony. I think the title fits me. Right, Lulu? Me as Mr. Swoony?” Conor calls to Eloise, and she smiles, but it’s appeasing.
“Amanda, are you hiding the baseball books in the back or something?” I scour the covers, and hockey outnumbers baseball twenty to one. There are even more football books than baseball ones.
She cringes. “I’m sorry, hockey is really big in sports romance.”
“Why?”
Conor’s eyebrows rise. “Do you really have to ask? We have to chase a little black puck around with a stick while we’re on skates and our opponents try to slam us into the boards. What’s the most you guys get—a pinkie sprain or a calf pull?”
I tilt my head. “First of all, look at me. I look a helluva lot tougher than you.”
“Why, because you have neck tattoos?”
I purposely position my head so I’m staring down at him. “I’ve got you by a few inches.”
“I don’t think this is a competition,” Amanda says. “If they write ’em and they sell, I’ll stock ’em.”
“You can’t blame her because the romance girlies don’t want to read about your lame-ass baseball players,” Conor says.
“Sure, they’d rather read about a bunch of goons throwing punches on the ice.” I roll my eyes.
“What’s going on over here?” Callie comes over with Eloise, and both have a stack of books in their hands.
Conor and I reach to take the books from them and are met with a scowl and a look that says I am perfectly capable of holding a few books.
Callie looks between the three of us. “Are you guys bothering poor Amanda?”
Eloise looks at Amanda, “Sorry if their egos get out of hand.”
“Look at the wall and tell me what’s wrong with this picture?” I say to Callie, motioning with my hand up and down the wall.
Callie slides between us and inspects it, picking up a hockey romance called Faking it with #41. “Oh, this looks—”
I swipe it out of her hands and put it back on the shelf.
Conor cracks up laughing.
“I can’t read that one?” Callie arches an eyebrow.
“You should let her, then she can be thinking about a hockey player when—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” I point at Conor.
He just laughs harder. “You are too easy to rile up.”
“Leave him alone.” Eloise shakes her head at her husband. “If it helps, his ego soared to new heights the first time I took him to a bookstore, and he realized that hockey heroes are a big thing in romance. I’m really the one to blame.”
“I’m going home to email every romance author I can find online and ask them to write a baseball hero.” I frown.
“Oh, here’s one!” Callie picks a book up off the shelf. “The Hotshot. Can I buy this one?”
Conor’s eyebrows rise, and I groan.
“Buy whatever you want,” I grumble.
Callie reads the back of the book and puts it back. “Never mind, it sounds too much like Hayes and Leighton’s story. I’m gonna stick to these Eloise recommended.”
Both women accompany Amanda to the checkout while Conor and I hang back.
“Holding up okay? How far along are you guys?” he asks.
