Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,285

sidewalk ass first, but he didn’t have much cushion to soften the blow.

Snips, snails, puppy-dog-tails, and two-hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle—that’s what Lachlan Reed was made of.

At least his head had bounced off the sidewalk without leaving a dent.

I tumbled over him, scraping my hands and knees on pebbles and road debris. His elbow connected with my gut, and I coughed and sputtered as every bit of air fled from my lungs. We stumbled across the sidewalk and crashed hard between a puddle of something that wasn’t water and a glop of spitting tobacco.

I’d have rolled around in the muck—twice—over what was going to come next.

Three months.

It had been three months since I last saw Lachlan—naked, sleeping, sprawled in a Vegas hotel bed that probably should have been burned after what we did that weekend.

I never thought I’d see him again, let alone save his life or work for the same team that had drafted him. The humiliation was almost poetic. That weekend was the type of experience I promised I’d look back on as an experiment, something fun, something crazy, something I’d never regret months later in the shower as I revisited the memories with delighted shivers and absolute mortification at the things we said, did, touched, and…used.

Maybe once, in a moment of utter weakness, I’d considered calling Lachlan again. Fortunately, I knew better than to proposition the prince of the rookies for a second read-through of the Kama Sutra.

But I was strong. I hadn’t thought about him…outside of the bedroom. Hadn’t imagined him…without the detachable shower head in my hand.

The only force in the world capable of propelling me back into his lap was an out-of-control Hyundai Elantra.

God bless irresponsible college students.

I hoisted myself to my elbows and prepared for the worst. I couldn’t hide from him forever. He was officially a Rivet, and I’d probably have to take some pictures of him for the team. The assistant photographer job was great, but sometimes the best part of the gig turned into the worst—the players.

I pinched my eyes shut and greeted him with as much confidence as I could fake. It was time to blurt out everything, right then and there. I’d admit my indecency during the one-night stand and, like a Band-Aid covering up every licentious moment of our weekend, I’d rip off the shame in one fluid motion.

…Or fling it off like one of the many condoms we’d used.

“Lachlan, before you say anything, I know I haven’t called you back.” I didn’t look at him or give him a chance to deter me from this apology. “And that was a horrible thing to do, but it was for the best. Now that you’re drafted and signed and training camp is starting, we should talk about what happened at the scouting combine, but we should never, ever do it again.”

Lachlan didn’t say anything. Hell, he didn’t move.

Well…that was a problem.

What was worse? Our first-round draft choice getting hit by a car…or the Rivets’ soon to be offensive superstar knocked-out cold during the world’s worst rescue attempt?

“Lachlan.” I poked his chest. “Are you okay?”

Nothing.

No blood had spilled. I took that as a good sign. Still, this man was about to spend his first full-day at training camp getting rolled by hulking monsters, intimidating coaches, and hundreds of pounds of free weights. Who’d have thought the street would be more dangerous than a football field?

Now it was official. I really shouldn’t have been at the practice facility.

But I couldn’t escape now, not with Lachlan potentially hurt. This was a disaster. I’d be caught.

Peter, the head photographer, was the only other Rivets’ employee with a key to our office. He’d see that I’d tampered with the computer. He’d know the SD card was gone.

He’d fire me.

My career would be over, but God only knew what would happen to the Rivets’ reputation if the media ever found those pictures.

First I’d taken every scrap of incriminating evidence I could find. Then I rendered unconscious the one player Jack Carson specifically petitioned the coaches to draft.

Banner day for me.

I patted Lachlan’s cheek. “Charming…can you hear me?”

He grunted. Good sign. But his eyes stayed closed. Not great.

The street had emptied of cars, and no players crossed the parking lot. At least I was still technically in hiding, but I couldn’t leave Lachlan, groggily fading in and out of consciousness.

Hell, that was how I left him the last time we were together. At least then he was freshly-fucked and exhausted after our one-night