Dirty Baller: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (2 page)

Much to Alison’s disappointment, I didn’t pack any heels other than the sensible pumps that match my suit. She approved me going downstairs in my pristine white Converse sneakers saying that the bar would probably be dark and nobody would notice.

Coming from my sister, that’s practically an enthusiastic compliment.

I lean against the mirrored back wall of the elevator door. It smells like some sort of really expensive flower in here. Soft classical music floats through the speakers, and I mash my finger into the button way on the bottom that says
NIRVANA.
That, apparently, is the name of the bar.

I nervously put my hand up to my hair and pat it. I’ve pulled my long, red hair up into a high, sleek ponytail. I look nicer right now than I have in over a year, when I interviewed for this job. Who would have ever thought that I’d be
here?
In London? I pinch my forearm as the doors open.

The lights are dim and this seems like some strange bar and club hybrid. It’s pretty packed, though, and there’s only one open seat at the bar. I take it and hold onto my purse for dear life.

I’m here. I made it. But that doesn’t mean I have any idea how to handle myself right now.

CHAPTER TWO

RYAN

“Bruv, I can’t hear you!” my best friend, Devon, yells through the phone.

“Then fucking listen harder, you wanker!” I slam down a shot of tequila and motion to the bartender for another one.

“I really can’t hear you,” he yells back at me.

I cover the mouth of the phone and wink at the bartender. “Hey, beautiful. Hold my tequila for me, will you?”

She rolls her brown eyes at me. I’ve done the impossible: I’ve pissed off the bartender so much she isn’t even pretending to like me anymore, not even for a tip. I scream into the phone. “I have to piss, maybe you can hear me in there!”

I grin at a pair of women with huge tits who turn around and giggle over what I just yelled. I push through the crowd towards the bathroom. It’s empty. “Hey, can you hear me now?”

Devon and the guys – all my former teammates – yell back into the phone. “Come back, bruv!”

I sigh. “You have me on speakerphone?”

Devon laughs. “Yeah. I figured it would take the whole team to convince you. I say fuck football if you can’t play it where you want it, with the people you want.”

I unzip my pants and piss into the urinal, putting the phone on mute while Devon continues getting the team amped. They’re chanting my nickname now.

“Mac! Mac! Mac! Come back!”

I zip up my pants, wash my hands, and take the phone off of mute. “Don’t tempt me. But it’s not like I had a choice with you all being a bad influence on me every weekend.”

I’m grinning, and even though Devon can’t see me, I know he can tell.

“Bruv, you were the one ‘oo was gettin’ us all in trouble.”

I sigh and run my hands through my hair. “Coach was right. Being here there’s way less encouragement to go out and party.”

“Says the guy ‘oo is at a bar right now.”

The bathroom door opens and a businessman stumbles inside, walking into a stall and vomiting.

I lower my voice. “It’s all tight-ass old people here at this hotel. Can’t wait to find a flat and hit some real clubs.”

The phone beeps and it’s just Devon’s voice coming through clearly now. He’s taken me off of speakerphone. “Bruv, try and have some sort of fun. Find some girl with huge tits, alrigh’? Do it for me. Do it for the team.”

“Fuck off, Dev,” I reply good-naturedly. “Alright. Back to the partying.”

I wasn’t lying. This bar is supposed to be great, but it’s all filled with old hotel guests thinking that they can get shitfaced and get away with it while away from home. It’s businessmen looking to have affairs with a few hen party women. It’s sad, really.

I step back into the club and see my place at the bar has been taken by something short, curvy, and redheaded.

“I think you’re in my seat,” I say to the woman, tapping her on the shoulder.

She turns around and I realize my night just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly, and I realize that her clear, lilting vowels are decidedly American. “I didn’t realize.” She grabs her purse and stands up.

I love American women. Love them. They’re my weak spot, my Achilles heel, my fatal flaw. This one seems shy. In my experience, it’s always the shy ones who end up the feistiest in the bedroom. This looks like a challenge.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask good-naturedly.

She looks confused. “To another seat.”

I smile at her, and I can tell that my usual charms are working spectacularly, as usual. She bites her lip. “You know you didn’t actually have to get up, right? I’d actually love it if you’d stay awhile.”

Her eyes dart to the tattoos running down my arms. “I really shouldn’t.”

“You must have just gotten here. Did you fly in tonight from the States?” I wave to the bartender for two more tequila shots.

“Yeah, I did. I just wanted to get a drink to make my sister happy.”

“Do you always do what your sister says?”

Her mouth opens and closes a few times. “I just flew in,” she repeats as a non-sequitur.

“You said that already.” I let go of her and hold out my hand. “I’m Ryan. And you are-“

“Hayley,” she says.

I tilt my head to the side, my eyes running down to the tent her full breasts are making out of her shirt. I’d love to run my hands up under the fabric that’s not quite long enough to cover her stomach. “I was going to say that you were the answer to my prayers tonight, but I think Hayley is going to be a much shorter name to call you by.”

She blushes, still clutching her purse. “I should go to bed.”

“Is that an invitation?”

She actually laughs and runs the palm of her hand over her hair. “You know what? A drink would be great.” She perches herself back onto the barstool. The fat businessman sitting to her right is eyeing her.

I flex my muscles and glare at him. I’d love for this guy to try something right now. It’s been at least three days since I had the pleasure of clocking a guy in the face. He looks terrified as he sees my stance and looks away.

“You okay with tequila?” I ask her. I hand her the tiny glass and she takes it, swallowing the contents before I can even say something. “Alright, I guess you are.”

She shakes her head as the alcohol presumably burns her mouth and throat. Her lips are plump and rosy. Just like I can see an opening on the football field, I can see her on her knees later tonight, her mouth all the way open.

My dick hardens and I realize I should change my line of thinking before Hayley looks down at my rapidly tightening jeans.

“I was told to drink something called Pimm’s,” she says loudly, still holding her purse like it’s a life preserver.

I laugh, “You want some Pimm’s? I can get you some Pimm’s.” I call over the bartender, who’s probably relieved that my attention is on someone else. “Pitcher of Pimm’s. And bring it over to the table over there.”

She nods.

Hayley stands up and follows me.

“You know, you really shouldn’t ever be sitting alone at a bar in London,” I say to her, leaning close. She smells really good. Like grapefruit.

“And why is that?” She’s finally relaxing a little. I’m guessing it’s because of the tequila shot. Or maybe it’s just my wicked charm.

“Because you’re just begging for some crazy to come over and bother the piss out of you.”

She laughs. “The only person who’s approached me tonight is you. Does that make you a crazy person?”

I shrug. “You could say that. But I’m a
sexy
crazy person, which makes it better.”

Hayley blushes again. The bartender comes over with a pitcher of Pimm’s and two glasses. I pour out a tall glass and hand it to Hayley, who sips it before I’ve even poured mine.

“I thought we could salute each other,” I say. “But you’ve beaten me to it.”

She gulps down another two inches before clinking the glass with mine.

“Thirsty?”

“Nervous,” she says. “I don’t get out much.”

I laugh at that. “Yeah, I can tell.”

Hayley looks around the club. It seems like the businessman from the bathroom has recovered from being violently ill and is about to head home with a hooker.

“You think he knows he’s going to have to pay for sex with her?” I ask Hayley.

Hayley’s eyes go wide. “Really? She’s a…really?”

I lean close to her and lower my voice. “You really
don’t
get out much, do you?”

Hayley’s eyes have softened and she leans closer to me. “I like your accent.” She puts her chin in her hand. I realize she’s tipsy.

“I like yours.”

She giggles. “No, I could hear you talk all day long. I’ve got a boring accent.”

I lean in, our faces inches from each other. She’s adorable. “I’ll do your accent and you do mine.” I clear my throat. “Please hand me a bottle of water.” I draw out the vowels.

Hayley laughs. “My turn.” She repeats the same sentence in the worst British accent I’ve ever heard in my life. It only makes me want to fuck her more. “Was that good?”

I nod seriously. “Perfect. You should go audition at the Globe theater, honestly.”

Hayley sips at the Pimm’s some more. I’m already halfway done with my glass and I can feel the heady buzz.

“This is really, really good.” She giggles some more as she says it.

“Really? I can hardly tell that you’re enjoying it at all.”

She rolls her eyes and uncrosses her legs. She nearly falls off the end of the booth and I have to grab her arm. I pull her glass away from her. “Let me keep an eye on this for you.”

She pouts. “You’re no fun.”

“Oh, trust me. I’m fun. The best fun you’ll ever have in your life.” I give her a significant look. “But I want you to
enjoy
that fun; I’d like you to be sober.”

“Why is that?”

I lean into her ear, breathing against her pale skin that’s covered in delectable peach fuzz. “Because when I fuck you, I want you to remember every second of me all over your body.”

“I need…to pee,” she says unceremoniously, standing up. “But don’t go. Don’t leave. Not yet.”

I drum my fingers on the tabletop and watch her walk away from me. I weigh my odds. I think they’re pretty damn good. I slam down the rest of my glass of Pimm’s and just wait. I can hold my liquor.

I wave over a server to bring two huge glasses of water.

I have a feeling I’ll need some extra hydration tonight.

CHAPTER THREE

HAYLEY

I’m really drunk.

Well, really drunk for me, which is most people’s tipsy, I would guess. I pull my phone out of my purse in the bathroom and dial. It slips out of my fingers and lands on the grubby floor. Ew. I try to bend down but my head starts spinning.

“Let me get that for you, dear,” says a kindly old woman. Her hair is in a grey bouffant and her orangey coral lipstick is bleeding into the wrinkled lines around her lips.

“Thank you,” I say. “I’m a little dizzy.”

“Hello? Hayley? Are you dead?” Alison’s voice rings out across the bathroom. I hold the phone to my ear.

“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry,” I slur.

“You’re drunk! Hooray!” My sister whoops and hollers again and I narrowly miss the deafening sound as I pull my phone away to a safe distance.

“I have a question,” I say. I’m not sure how loudly I’m talking but I can tell the old woman is listening while she reapplies her lipstick. “There’s a guy here and-“

“Do it! Have sex with him! Wild, rowdy, London sex!” Alison yells.

“Would you stop yelling?” I hiss. “I’m right here.”

“Sorry,” she says. “It’s just that I’m having a hard time really, truly believing that my baby sister is actually drunk and about to fuck a hot Englishman.”

“I didn’t say he was English,” I point out. “But yeah, he is.” My voice gets a little giggly again.

“Ooh, he must be smoking hot if you’re giggling. You always giggle when they’re hot.”

“So that’s a yes, then? I should do it?”

I can hear Alison’s eye roll through the phone. “Like that’s even a question, Hayley. Of
course
you should fuck him. You’re basically panting right now.” She pauses. “Sober up first, though. Though you’re probably just tipsy anyway. Drink water for ten minutes and it’ll pass, you lightweight.”

“Alright,” I say, feeling a surge of happiness. “I’m nervous.”

“Put the damn phone down and go get some ass,” she says. “And take a photo of him. Preferably from the waist down.”

“Alison!”

“What? I’m sort of in a dry spell right now.”

I ring off and roll my eyes. A dry spell for Alison is like twenty-four hours with no sex. She’s being overly dramatic. I walk to the sink and see that the old woman keeps looking over at me.

“So he’s hot?” the old woman asks.

I accidentally spray myself with water I’m so shocked. I actually laugh. “I guess you heard my entire phone call?”

She dries her hands on a paper towel and hands me a clean one. “Let me see him.”

I walk out of the bathroom with her and we stand in the archway. I crane my neck and point at Ryan, who is sitting with his arms behind his head, totally relaxed. His tattoos are rippling and he’s even hotter when his face is relaxed. I have no idea who this guy is, but I can tell already that he seems to have one type of expression for when people are looking at him and one for when he’s all alone. It’s like a mask he takes on and off.

“He’s quite fit. I’d have a go at him and risk the hip replacement,” the old lady says enthusiastically.

I guffaw. “You think he’s hot?”

“Love, you better get over there before he changes his mind and
I
take him for a ride.”

And with that, she walks away from me. I take a few deep breaths and walk back over to Ryan, who’s pulling cash out of his pocket and throwing it on the table.

“I thought you’d changed your mind,” he says with a cocky smile.

“Sorry I took so long,” I say apologetically.