Something like lust, p.7
Something like Lust, page 7
I shift over to the couch and grab her legs, forcing them onto my lap so I can massage her feet.
Her head falls back to the pillow, and her eyes close. “Are you trying to distract my Type A brain? If so, it’s not going to work. The thoughts will just come back, but feel free to continue.” She chuckles.
“I don’t have all the answers, and there’re definitely things we need to discuss. How about we plan on having two to three nights a week together to get to know one another? We can decide what’s best for our baby. We don’t need our parents’ approval on what’s going to work for us. If we want help, which I will need when the baby is with me, we’ll hire nannies. But first things first, let’s get to know one another a little better before we go into freak-out mode, okay?”
I dig into her arches, and she sighs. “Since you’re being so kind as to massage my feet, I’m going to let the whole freak-out mode comment go for now.”
I chuckle and run my finger up her arch to see if she’s ticklish. She tries to remove her foot from my hand, and I smile because I now know one more thing about her.
“What’s your favorite food besides a Reuben?” I ask to start the ball rolling.
We spend the next two hours finding out all the stuff you usually discover on the first few dates. She finally yawns, and I say good night. I’m climbing back into my Mercedes when my phone dings. I pull it out of my pocket to see a text from Bryce.
* * *
Bryce: It wasn’t me. I swear. But it’s going live tomorrow morning, and I wanted you to know.
* * *
My stomach sinks.
The next text comes through with a few pictures of Adeline and me together. One is even from outside the school that first day. The caption reads, Say goodbye, girls, Chicago Grizzlies greatest “player” is going to be a daddy.
I turn off the ignition and knock on Adeline’s door. Guess I’m going to see if Adeline will let me sleep on the couch tonight in case the press come knocking.
Chapter 10
Adeline
It turns out there’s something worse than getting knocked up by your one-night stand who happens to be a professional football player—getting outed and having people write horrible, nasty comments about you.
There’s nothing quite like being eight months pregnant, feeling as if you weigh as much as an elephant, being swollen from fingers to toes, and having women pick out each and every flaw you’ve been self-conscious about.
“You need to stop.” Damon tries to take my phone for the millionth time, but I snatch it back. “They’re just jealous.”
“Well, how does it feel to be the prized bull every female cow wants to mate with?”
“Then I guess you should feel good because I impregnated you, not them.”
I glare at him from the corner of my eye.
He laughs. “I’m kidding. Don’t listen to these women. I’ve seen girlfriends and wives of teammates go through this a zillion times. You have to ignore it. You cannot let their perception become your reality. Bryce went through it with Miles.”
“Bryce wasn’t as big as a house. I mean, what are the chances they shoot me at my worst angle every shot?” I whine. I hold up my phone with the picture of me outside Ira’s. People have commented how big the bag is and how someone there said I ordered three sandwiches for myself.
“You’re going to make me call the cell phone company and shut down your service.”
“God, Damon.” I turn off my screen. “I didn’t really think it would be like this. I mean, I knew it would garner attention, and I figured some people would say I got pregnant on purpose, but these people are just brutal.”
He takes the opportunity to steal my phone, but we both know he’ll have to give it back at some point. “It will blow over, and they’ll be on to someone else.”
“I guess.”
The doorbell rings, and I jolt up.
Damon’s hand lands on my knee. “Relax, it’s just the groceries I ordered.”
My forehead wrinkles. “What?”
“I figured you wouldn’t want to go out.” He opens my door, and he tips the guy standing there.
His eyes slowly widen when he notices who handed him the money. “Damon Siska?”
The delivery guy pats his pockets. With a lot of effort, I stand and grab a notepad and a pen from the table near my door and hand them to Damon.
“I’m only going to sign this if you don’t tell anyone I’m here,” Damon says to the guy who incessantly nods. Damon scribbles his signature and number on the piece of paper and hands it over.
The man thanks him and walks down the steps.
I step out to grab some of the bags of groceries when I hear the flutter of a camera lens. I glance to my left and see it’s my elderly neighbor. “Mrs. Turnberry?”
“Sorry, darling, but my bridge club didn’t believe me when I messaged them last night that Damon Siska just walked into my neighbor’s house.”
“Do they have a problem with how big I am too? How about my nose? Or my lips? Or my hair? Is my forehead too small or too big? There’s a poll going on right now. Maybe they’d like to cast a vote.”
She brings her camera down with a frown. “You’re gorgeous, and they think so too. They’re just avid football fans.”
I huff out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m just on edge.”
Damon steps out and smiles at my elderly neighbor. “Are people bothering you?” he asks her.
Her mouth falls open. I guess there are times I forget how well-known he is. “Do you play bridge?”
He takes a quick, confused glance at me before he answers. “I’m sorry, I don’t. Rummy?”
“That’s for amateurs.” Mrs. Turnberry waves him off. “Well, I have to go show these off to my friends, especially Pearl. She flat-out told everyone I was lying, questioning why Damon Siska was in our small town.” She winks. “Because of our stunning Adeline Morgan, that’s why.”
I can’t fight my smile. After being pummeled like that mole game at arcades, my self-confidence has taken a beating. “Thanks. Mrs. Turnberry.”
Then she gets a fierce expression. “And I’ll take care of anyone if they come snooping around. I have no problem being the crazy old neighbor with a broomstick.” She smiles one last time and walks back into her house.
“Interesting neighbor,” Damon says, waiting for me to go inside first.
We put away the groceries together, him mostly unpacking since he doesn’t know where anything goes and me placing them in the cupboards. When I come across a lot of what must be ingredients for a dish, I pick up two bulbs of garlic and turn to him. “What are these for?”
“I’m going to make you dinner tonight.” He smiles, and it gives me this fluttery feeling in my chest.
“Damon.” I shake my head. “You don’t have to babysit me. I’m not going to harm myself over some virtual bullies.”
He hands me the yogurt I eat every morning. Someone was snooping. “I want to. I just want to make sure no one bothers you and the baby.” His eyes are imploring me to let him do this for me.
“Okay.”
He’s being a gentleman, but I’m sure it’s out of guilt. I’m not the first woman to get knocked up by a professional athlete. I doubt I’ll wake up to the paparazzi outside my house.
We spend the day watching television and playing rummy, then Damon insists I take a long bath while he makes dinner.
When I’m finished, I call down from the top of the stairs, still in my robe, “It going okay down there?”
“Perfect. I’ve done this a thousand times. Wear something comfy. Siska Bistro isn’t strict on dress code.”
I smile and head to my room, where I lotion my belly and the rest of my body to hopefully keep stretch marks at bay. I’ve already noticed a few on my stomach as it gets bigger. I put on a pair of leggings and a T-shirt that reads, “I’ll be a lot more fun when I can drink again.”
Just as I head downstairs, the doorbell rings. Damon rushes out of the kitchen with a dish towel over his shoulder, looking every bit the part of a domesticated man. It makes my insides purr.
“I’ll get it,” I say, closer to the front of the house.
I open the door, and there’s a man with two suitcases. “Evening, I’m looking for Damon Siska?”
“Thanks, Nick.” Damon comes up behind me. His hand lands on the small of my back as he slides by me, putting his hands out for the suitcases.
“No problem. If you need anything else, just let me know. But I’m leaving tomorrow with your parents.”
Damon nods, sliding the suitcases into the house. “I’m good. Sorry to bother you.”
“It’s a good thing you sent me. Peeper’s Alley was packed when I went by your place.”
“Why? What are the suitcases for?” I ask, unclear as to what’s going on and who Nick is.
“Sorry, Nick, this is Adeline. Adeline, this is my parents’ personal assistant, Nick.”
I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s mine. Congratulations,” he says with a smile. Then he nods to Damon to step outside with him.
Damon walks outside and shuts the door behind him. I look around as if I’m missing something. What has happened to the control I had over my life? I stare at the suitcases. Those can only mean one of two things: Damon has to go on a trip and he’s leaving right from here, or he’s moving in. I really hope it’s the former.
I’m in the kitchen stirring the red sauce when the front door shuts.
“Hey now, don’t mess with perfection.” Damon gently knocks his hip against mine to move me away from the stove.
“What’s going on?”
“We’ll talk while we eat. It’s time to plate. If you take the salad, I’ll prepare our pasta plates.” He hands me a bowl of salad that isn’t a bag mix, but one he’s made himself.
“You’re just full of surprises.” I sit at my small table that can fit four but really only two comfortably. It’s then I notice that all the blinds are shut.
“What do you mean?” He glances over his shoulder while spooning the sauce onto the noodles.
“I assumed you’d be the kind of person who got catering from a restaurant and pawned it off as his own cooking. I mean…” I stop myself from saying more. Damon Siska is not at all the man I thought he was. I don’t know what to do with that yet.
“What else did you think about me?”
I sigh. “Honestly?”
He places a steaming plate of spaghetti in front of me. “Yes, my ego can take the hit.”
“I thought I was going to tell you I was pregnant, and you’d disappear. I figured you’d pay child support after the paternity test, and maybe you’d try to see the baby a few times, but eventually, you’d go on with your life and we’d go on with ours.”
I feel bad after the words leave my mouth, but I think it’s best to be honest. I never would have thought he’d stay here after the news broke to make sure I was okay. He’s being protective, and it’s making me like him. Too much.
“Well, I’m glad I’m surprising you.” He smiles and nods toward the dish, not seeming to be affected by my words. “Now eat. Pretty soon, I’m going to count your calories for you.”
“Believe me, I eat.”
He shakes his head. “Not today, you haven’t.”
I hadn’t realized he’d be so observant either.
We each dig in, and it’s so good that I can’t hide my moan. “Mmm, Damon, this is amazing.”
“Keep making those noises, and I’m not going to be able to be a gentleman.”
I laugh. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It just takes me back to that night.”
Our gazes lock and hold.
“I can’t be the only one who makes all those noises in bed with you.” Best to remind my libido that I’m nothing special. I stab my fork in the salad and bring it to my lips. The tangy homemade dressing over the crisp lettuce is to die for.
“You were different. I knew it as soon as you left.”
I feel my cheeks heat. I need to change the subject before this goes too far. I’m so horny lately, and my nipples are so sensitive. It would take nothing for him to get me off at this point, and that kind of thinking can only lead to trouble—and confusion.
“So, Nick?” I try to change the subject.
He clearly knows what I’m doing because he laughs before leaning back and sipping his water. I wonder if he’s not drinking because I can’t, or if he just doesn’t drink as much as I assumed he did. “I needed my things, and I knew the bar downstairs would be crowded with people trying to take a picture of me or us together. I called in a favor.”
“What was it like growing up like that?”
He stares at his plate for a second, moving his pasta around. “I can’t complain. To have what you want all the time isn’t a bad way of life. I was privileged, to be sure. When my grandfather died at the same time colleges started paying attention to my football skills, it worked in my favor. I’d been my dad’s entire focus up until that point—sending me to camps and lining me up with professional instructors. After my grandfather died, my dad had to take the reins of the family, so he didn’t have a lot of time for me. I think that benefited me a lot.”
“Why? Sounds like he was trying to give you every advantage.” I fork some more pasta into my mouth and suppress the urge to moan at the taste.
He nods, and his gaze meets mine. “Yeah, but your teammates don’t respect the kids who get on teams because of their parents. No one likes the coach’s kid who gets to play a position because his dad is the coach, especially when they suck at it. Him being distracted allowed me to follow the same path as everyone else. I got into Michigan because they sought me out, not the other way around. I feel like I made it myself, you know? I didn’t get there on Daddy’s money.”
“Money doesn’t make someone talented.”
He chuckles. “I suppose not, but it can buy off a lot of people. If I was a shit player, I wouldn’t have made it to the pros, or if I did, I would’ve ridden the bench. It’s the one thing I can really pride myself on because to get where I did is hard as hell. That’s why I couldn’t give two shits what people say about my game.”
“Like the fans?”
“Yeah, I mean, it’s like all that shit those women are saying about you. We have to deal with the Monday morning quarterbacks who talk shit with their friends and comment on social media threads as if they could do it better. They didn’t have what it takes, or they’d be where I am, so I don’t really give a shit what they say.”
I think about it for a moment, and his words ring true. Those women just wish they were sitting across from Damon right now. That they were the ones carrying his baby.
“I don’t want to hide out,” I say, feeling some of my confidence return.
A slow smile spreads on his face, and it makes me wish he was mine to kiss because it’s so damn sexy. “You don’t have to.”
I raise my chin a bit. “I don’t care what they say about me. I know myself and…” I run my hands over my belly. “They just want what I have. Let them be jealous.”
He slowly claps his hands. “That’s my girl.”
God, those words and his smile, like he’s proud of me, make me want to melt into a puddle. He puts his large hand over my smaller one, and I ignore the way I seem to light up at the small show of affection.
“Damon?” I just have one last question for him regarding today’s events.
“Yeah?”
“What are the suitcases for?”
His smile grows wicked. It’s the same one he gave me during our night together after he gave me my first orgasm with his mouth between my legs. “I want to move in.”
My fork slips from my hand and falls to the plate.
Chapter 11
Damon
I’ve been staying at Adeline’s for two weeks, and the due date keeps creeping closer. I hired a trainer out here, and other than once a week when Cooper makes me go into the city to train with him on plays and passes, I’m here. The media attention has died down somewhat, although every time a picture is snapped of us, there are more nasty comments made about Adeline. I wish I could shield her from all this bullshit.
“You have to stop driving me to work,” Adeline says as I pull up along the curb of the school. She had a doctor’s appointment this morning, and I was filled with relief when the doctor said everything was going well.
“Nope, not gonna happen,” I say.
She undoes her seat belt and turns a little in her seat to face me. “Damon, you can go home now.”
I shake my head. “I figure I might as well wait it out until the baby arrives.”
She sighs. “Why would that be?”
“Are you trying to kick me out? Am I that much of a nuisance?”
“No, but you have your own life. And I feel like you’ve been neglecting your friends and stuff.”
What started out as me wanting to protect her turned into me moving in to do just that, but once I got there, I realized that I’ve already missed so much of this pregnancy, and I don’t want to miss any more. I never would’ve guessed that domestic life was kinda cool. Maybe it’s Adeline who makes it that way.
Every night she has me watching some dramatic reality TV show where we make predictions about how things will go. I either make dinner or we order in. I don’t have a lot of cooking skills—I sort of used up my best the first night I cooked for her. But as much as I’m not Bobby Flay, she isn’t Julia Child.
“I’m not neglecting anything.” Honestly, Miles and Bryce are probably all over one another since they got engaged on their trip away for her parents’ wedding, and Cooper spends every available minute with Ellery. If I were being my usual self, I’d be going out to clubs and bars or sporting events, probably getting myself into trouble. “As long as I get my workouts in, I’m good.”
