Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,123

were a literal score.

And I wanted more than a kiss.

His tongue swirled over mine.

His hands grasped my hips.

And a hardness pressed into my leg—raging, fierce, and demanding.

He didn’t get to take those girls home last night, and every ounce of his sexual frustration pent up inside him. It turned him into a wicked beast. I was glad he didn’t have his fun with them.

Not because I worried about his reputation.

Not because of the impending disaster from his accident and the league.

Because that meant he kissed me instead.

This was bad. I meant to pull away, but my fingers only grasped his tighter.

I was good at my job, but I didn’t have the talent to lie and pretend like I hadn’t felt that chemistry he demanded.

Our kiss broke as my breath escaped in a timid gasp. Jack teased with a knowing, terrible glance.

Jack pulled away, trading a kiss for his smile. “Go out with me tomorrow night.”

“Out?”

“Easiest way to prove we’re a couple is if we are seen together.” He retreated, tensed and loaded, as though he faced an entire charging defensive line instead of wild-eyed me. “You and me. Out on the town. I’ll take you to a club.”

“I—” I didn’t dance. I couldn’t talk now either, which meant I couldn’t call him back as he returned to the field. “We can’t just do your normal hangout. You have to prove you’ve changed.”

He hesitated, thinking it over, his eyes brightening as he accepted the challenge.

“Okay. Then tomorrow, you’re gonna have the night of your life. Fancy food. Music. Fun.” He met my gaze, and I wished I had the ability to catch my breath after his kiss. “Be ready. You’ll love the Jack Carson experience.”

Yeah. I probably would.

And that was exactly what I feared.

4

Jack

I didn’t think a fake relationship would be hard. Pick Leah up at seven. Let the media see me playing the gentleman. Make sure she didn’t storm out on me during dinner.

Except I forgot the most important thing.

Jesus fuck, this woman was absolutely gorgeous.

Leah had hips that shimmied, curves that bumped, tits that plumped, and eyes that would scold a man for ogling the most beautiful creature in the world.

She gave me the address to her apartment, and I offered to pick her up. Originally, I meant to take her out and let the public know I was spoken for. After I took her home, I’d planned to meet up with Bryon and the guys. They had a bead on a new bar stocked with craft beers and co-eds.

Not anymore. Bryon and his sluts be damned. One look at Leah and the only thing I wanted was her.

With me at dinner.

Coming home with me.

Sleeping in my bed.

Waking inside of her.

Worst part was, I knew it’d never fucking happen.

I thought I’d be cute and buy her a single red rose. The flower crushed in my fist when she opened the door, and I was just lucky my jaw hadn’t unhinged like some teenage idiot.

“Jack.” She clutched a little purse, matching the black dress clinging to her perfectly mocha skin. A crimson sash draped over her arms, a shimmering silk that hugged where I longed to touch. “You’re late.”

And we’d be late for dinner too if my cock didn’t settle the fuck down. I hardened immediately, studying her curves. Everything—her exotic complexion, her delicate ebony curls, the tips of her French tipped toenails—was meant to turn my cock into cement. Great. Even my most faithful partner-in-crime was punishing me for agreeing to this fake relationship.

I just wanted to use her as a momentary distraction to the league. Leah thought otherwise. I had nearly split when she dropped the ground rules. No partying. No girls. Nothing fun. I would have taken my chances with the league had it not been for her kiss.

A kiss that nearly had me come right there in the tunnel.

Hell if I could focus on the rest of practice. And I was pretty sure I’d fucked up the speech Leah forwarded to me, some sort of remark on how sorry I was for my behavior and the car crash or something. It was all bullshit anyway. What happened off the field should have been my business. And yet, here I was. Spending thousands of dollars on a publicist to make me appear like a man who wouldn’t rip off her crimson sash, lift that little black dress, and plow my way to a better reputation.

“Ready to go?” I found my tongue somewhere in my dried mouth. Apparently