vomit right there on the training field.
Fans screamed behind us as one of Nixon’s teammates jogged over to sign autographs—“Hollywood” Hendrix, the man with looks fit for the big screen. Couldn’t deny his appeal, but I was much more prone to the dark and broody man before me.
“Again,” I said, finally locating my voice somewhere in the swell of emotions overriding my system. “I don’t want anything from you.”
Okay, so maybe tracking him down at training camp hadn’t been the best idea I’d ever had, but it wasn’t like I had his phone number.
I’d tried the head of the charity auction—Persephone VanDoren—and she’d been like a ferocious little guard dog when I’d asked for Nixon’s information. Admirable, really. If I was a celebrity athlete, I wouldn’t want anyone handing out my information without my permission either, but he deserved to know.
So here I was.
At the Raleigh Raptor training camp, amid hundreds of avid fans, braving the southern summer and making a complete fool of myself.
I absentmindedly smoothed a hand over my stomach, not yet able to physically feel that life inside me, but there was something more there. A spiritual connection I couldn’t begin to explain, especially not to Nixon, who looked like he might vomit. And his super stoic bodyguard tried his best to keep his eyes off of mine, but I could see the pity flashing there.
Damn, had this happened before? Often?
The stone silence radiated from Nixon so much it could’ve had its own pulse. God, maybe this had been a huge mistake.
He deserved to know.
Right. That’s all it came down to.
“I don’t want your status or your money,” I elaborated since he continued to stare at me like I’d suddenly slipped on rival colors. “My mother was a missionary,” I continued. “I was raised all over the world. We traveled with only the clothes on our back and what we could fit into a pack. I don’t need or want your money.” I emphasized the last sentence, hoping it would sink in.
The sun reflected the bits of gold in his deep brown eyes, and a muscle in his jaw ticked. I swallowed hard and tossed my ponytail over my shoulder. I hadn’t anticipated anger—shock, sure. Hesitation, absolutely. But anger? Who the hell could be mad at this? Somehow, above the odds—i.e., a condom—a life had managed to create itself using pieces of both of us. And it wasn’t like I was begging him to marry me or give me a check every month. God, I just wanted him to know the truth.
“Here,” I said, shoving my card into his hand. “That’s where I work. If you need to find me, that’s where I’ll be tonight.”
I spun on my heels, excusing myself through the crowd of fans who had been waiting impatiently for their chance at an autograph or selfie with the Nixon Noble.
Well, they could have him.
I’d done what I’d come to do. He knew the truth, and now it would be up to him if he wanted a role in this baby’s life or not.
“Great job advancing to crow pose!” I high-fived one of my regular students as he walked out of the studio, the last lingerer of the night.
I blew out a breath, adjusting the straps of my sports bra, my fingers slick with sweat. I’d had three classes tonight, and I couldn’t wait to get home for a cool shower and a nice binge-watch session on Netflix.
After a quick cleaning, I flicked off the studio lights, grabbed my bag, and headed for the front door. Stepping into the cool night air rose chills on my skin, and I hurried to lock the doors.
“Hey,” a male voice said behind me.
I whirled with my keys clenched between my fingers, only to drop my fist when I set eyes on said male.
Nixon Noble, to be precise.
“God,” I groaned, my hand splayed over the center of my chest. “Lurk much?”
Nixon’s brow furrowed, the motion causing those sexy little grooves to form between his eyebrows.
No. Not sexy. Angry, remember?
Angry at me for simply telling him the truth.
I popped my hip out and crossed my arms over my chest as I glared up at him.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his palms raised. He wore a simple white T-shirt that did nothing to hide his array of carved muscles. The form-fitting jeans didn’t help him look less perfect either. His dark brown eyes trailed the length of my body, pausing on my bare stomach as if he could