Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,221

I can either.”

“I’m sorry. Mr. Haw—Cole…I can’t get involved.”

“Who said anything about getting involved?” I clutched myself, breathing deep as the agony dissipated and my balls bounced back. This woman was a walking advertisement for security systems and high-performance cups. “We were just fooling around.”

“I can’t just fool around. I have to go.”

“Go?” I groaned. “Where?”

“Home.”

“Why? I have a really nice home. You haven’t even seen the bed yet.”

“And I won’t. Ever.” She grabbed all the clothes she could find…including mine. “I’m…I’m gonna change and get out of here. Please forget this ever happened.”

“It’s a little hard to forget a beautiful woman coming on my hand.”

“Well try.” She tripped backwards. “I don’t even know what time it is. I’m late. This is really bad.”

My cock punished me for letting her leave. It also ached for letting her foot get so close. I didn’t try to stand yet. “What’s wrong?”

“I stayed too long. Way too long.”

I laughed. “Why? Who’s waiting on you?”

“My babysitter.”

The words sucker-punched me.

She bolted through the house, clattering the screen door off the track behind her. The screen crashed against the frame and slowly teetered. I didn’t flinch as it clattered onto the cement with a bang.

I fell back against the hot tub in shock.

Her babysitter?

Piper had a kid?

7

Piper

“Get your ass to the training facility—we’ve got a problem.”

Dad’s voice mail was as chipper as always. Unfortunately, he was about to get a lot angrier.

I didn’t have a babysitter.

Hell, I hardly had a baby. My little ray of sunshine was one tummy rumble away from shape-shifting into a demon. She hadn’t eaten yet, didn’t want to take a nap, and her only goal in life was to plop down on the floor and use her blocks to put dents in my walls.

What was worse? Missing an emergency meeting at the Monarch offices…or attending the meeting while towing a cranky baby on my hip?

Neither option was pretty, but I had to meet them at the facility. The team scheduled a call with league president Frank Bennett about the wide receiver Cole had injured during the opening game. If I wasn’t there, it’d be a disaster for Cole.

But things were already disastrous between us. I had no business representing Cole, not when I had no defense against him. I couldn’t excuse myself for my behavior in the hot tub. I trapped myself in his arms, his kiss, his touch…

And I spent the last day trying to forget about the greatest orgasm of my life. Easier said than done.

So I cleaned up Rose and prepared to take her to work with me. If nothing else, she let me put the little pink bows in her twin puffball pigtails—and I packed an extra three in her diaper bag for the moment she’d inevitably try to eat the ribbons. I fed her an apple for a snack, changed her, and snuggled Mr. Bunny Bumpybottom in the stroller with her.

She wore a smile when we left the apartment. It lasted for one block before she was out cold in her car seat. As with any silence and toddler, this wasn’t a good quiet. She slept like her momma—dead to the world and then committed to its destruction when woken up before completely rested.

I parked at the facility twenty minutes later. Rose grumbled and rubbed her face with her chubby little fists. She then swung them at me when I dared to remove her from the car seat.

Point taken.

I sang her a lullaby and raced into the team offices. Late. Dad and the Monarchs’ management were already in the conference room. I flashed my pass to the guard and stole one of the lollypops he kept in a dish by his station.

Jackpot. Thank God for processed sugar. I shushed Rose’s excited squeals with the offered lollypop.

“Mamamama.” She fussed as I refused to let her hold the stick, but the strawberry flavor appeased her. She blew a raspberry and immediately coated her lips and chin with sticky spit. At least the pink matched her bows.

I knocked before entering and braced for Dad’s temper. Fortunately, the Monarch staff was already in a conference call. They only stared in confusion as my toddler waved hello.

Four coaches and the Monarchs’ general manager huddled around a phone speaker in the middle of the conference table. None of them looked very happy. They visibly wrinkled and grayed as the caller spat, swore, and railed each of them out.

Frank Bennett practically shouted through the phone. “—He’s a menace! He’ll kill someone before the