Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,171

at the reporter. Ainsley appeared quite pleased with himself. He tucked his napkin into his lap and helped himself to an appetizer. He slurped a buttery oyster out of the shell, smacking his fat lips when he was done.

Jack’s voice lowered. “What about my mother?”

“When I called her, she said she had no idea you were going to be a father.”

“You called my mom?”

“For a reaction piece,” Ainsley said. “She was just as confused as me by the whole thing, but she expressed her excitement for her grandchild.”

Oh no. I bit my lip. Jack stayed quiet. That scared me more than if he launched across the table.

“In fact…” Ainsley leaned closer. His butter-soaked finger glistened in the light as it pointed between us. He slurped a second oyster, loudly. “She said she had no idea you two had been dating for so long.” Another gulped oyster. I’d be sick. “Or at all.”

Jack darkened. “Do you tell your mother who you’re banging?”

I pinched him under the table as the other five journalists silenced their conversations. They turned their attention to us, listening for the story Jack was bound to give them in his customary rage.

“It was strange your own mother didn’t know about your lady-friend,” Ainsley said. “Or that you’re expecting.”

“Been busy.” Jack spoke through gritted teeth. “Had a lot going on.”

“And you, Miss…” Ainsley glanced to me. “How did your family take the news?”

I answered reflexively, offering a statement I prepared the day I agreed to have the baby with Jack. “We’re all very happy and blessed. A baby is a welcomed addition to our loving family.”

The comment would satisfy him. He didn’t need to know what my mother said—that her words still screamed in my mind, a variety of phrases and insults that had me crying into Jack’s shoulder for an entire night.

“May I quote you?” Ainsley asked.

What the hell was he up to? I nodded. He pulled out a notepad. “Leah Williams…is that correct?”

“Yes.”

He turned to Jack. “And, just so I can write this up, what’s her middle name?”

I sucked in a breath. Ainsley silenced me before I answered. He pointed to Jack. “Please.”

Jack tightened his jaw. “She doesn’t have one.”

Oh, we were screwed. Was he an idiot?

Ainsley tapped his notes. “It’s Ruth, actually. According to my sources.”

Jack didn’t blink. “She hates it. Prefers not to use it.”

“Of course. And being her long-term, committed boyfriend, you would know that.”

“Damn right.”

Jack’s fist tightened. I took his hand in mine and pulled it under the table. Safe, for now.

“Been in a lot of trouble lately, right, Jack?” Ainsley’s smile turned cold and unforgiving and, worst of all, smug.

“Always,” Jack said.

“Having an illegitimate, bi-racial baby is more than trouble, don’t you think?”

Hell no.

My thoughts turned molten and violent. I gripped Jack’s fingers, nearly crushing them as I struggled to maintain a shred of sanity.

He insulted me. He insulted the baby.

He was just lucky Jack was too enraged to move.

I spoke without thinking, wishing I hadn’t sharpened my voice to a dagger point. “The baby is loved, sir. Regardless of his or her circumstances.”

He had no shame. “Of course. Just the beginning of Jack’s new troublesome legacy.”

“And you would know about that trouble, Ainsley. You’ve done the most reporting on Jack’s off-the-field business.”

“You mean off-the-field indiscretions, Miss Williams. It’s my job to report the news.”

Libelous fraud. I silence myself before my temper ruined any name I’d make for my own PR firm.

Ainsley seized the opportunity. “According to my sources, Jack’s still in hot water from that latest arrest. The league isn’t happy with you, Mr. Carson.”

Jack’s voice was flat, bound in an instinct to protect me and his child. “I wasn’t charged.”

“No. But your bruise is healing nicely.”

I stomped on Jack’s foot before he cursed the reporter. “This season should be his best. The coaches say his performance at training camp is outstanding. They have high hopes for him.”

Ainsley snorted. “He had better play well. Rumors are circulating—no contract extension this year. This might be your last season with the Rivets, Jack.”

“It won’t be.” Jack’s temper frayed and tensed to snap. “And I’ll expect a full report on your show when I’ve signed the new contract. Hell, I might even give you some ratings and do a fucking interview.”

“Charming. We’ll need to change the rating on my program to M for mature.”

Jack had enough. He hauled me from the table, but the fundraiser kicked into gear. A spotlight centered on us. The man on stage called Jack’s name, and a round of