Dirty Baller: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (8 page)

“I never would have expected you to be such an experienced shopper,” I say honestly.

He laughs and pushes me into an enormous dressing room with velvet curtains lining the walls. I look at the huge mirror and suddenly feel intensely self-conscious.

Ryan hangs up the clothes and walks over to me, standing behind me. He drapes his arms over my shoulders. “You look gorgeous, Hayley. I promise you that.”

He moves his fingers underneath my shirt and pulls it up over my head. It hits the carpet with a soft
puff
. Then he undoes my pants button and zipper and I shimmy out of my clothes. Now I’m standing in my old underwear and bra.

“We’ll need to get you some underthings, too.” Ryan disappears and I’m left to try on thin tank-tops and mini skirts.

I twirl in the mirror while I’m alone and there’s no one there to see it.

He was right. All of this
does
fit me. And it suits my body really, really well. I’m not used to showing this much skin, but I kind of love it.

Ryan comes back with an armful of lacy bras. “Underwear’s already up by the register,” he says, shoving the bras at me. “I’m waiting outside for this. I don’t want my surprise to be ruined for later.” He flashes me his blinding white smile and I go weak at the knees again.

This man is a pure fantasy.

Twenty minutes later, Ryan makes me wait by the escalators while he pays for the mountain of clothes. “I don’t want you to stop me from getting you this,” he’d said to me.

I don’t even want to know how much all of those clothes cost him. It has to be a small fortune. He walks up to me holding about ten shopping bags in one strong hand. His duffel bag is hanging cross-wise on his body. He glances at my horrified expression. “I might not be able to rent that house after all.”

I gasp. “Are you serious? Why? Why would you do this for me?”

Ryan strokes my cheek. “I’m
joking,
Hayley. Now we need to go buy you some new luggage.”

I groan again. “This is too much, Ryan.”

“Well, I’m not getting on a train with Harrod’s shopping bags. Paper tissue pouring out everywhere…no way.” He takes my hand and I feel a jolt of electricity arc between us.

We ride downstairs to the luggage department. I have to pull Ryan away from the Louis Vuitton luggage. “No. Absolutely not.”

But my eyes land on a rolling suitcase and weekend bag covered in a cheery, modern floral print. Orla Kiely is the designer. I feel a surge of anticipation. Ryan sees my face.

“We’ll take these two,” he says to the shop clerk.

This is one purchase I don’t have the heart to protest. I really, really want this luggage.

Ten minutes later, Ryan has disposed of the shopping bags and filled up my suitcase. We hunkered down in a corner of the foyer while shoppers bustled past us. Ryan took great care in folding up the clothes neatly.

“Your hotel room is a lot messier than you are,” I say.

He shrugs. “I might have been a little drunk the afternoon before I met you. I made a bit of a mess, I’m afraid. Usually I’m neater than that.”

I absentmindedly run my fingers through his wavy blonde hair while he crouches on the ground. He stands up and hands me the weekend bag. I put it on my arm.

“It’s perfect for you,” he says. “Now it’s time to eat.”

We walk through the food halls, past succulent cuts of meat and through the chocolate room. We pass through the produce area that has carved fruit affixed to a muddled turquoise-colored ceiling.

“I feel like I’m in a movie right now,” I say as we walk by a brightly-colored stand filled with swirly rainbow lollipops the size of my face.

Ryan laughs. “I like seeing London through your eyes. It reminds me of being a little kid again.”

I hold my breath for a second, wondering if he’s going to freeze up after divulging that intimate bit of knowledge. But he doesn’t.

We wander over to a wood-fired pizza oven and order up a large vegetable thin crust. I sip a perfectly cold Coke out of a glass bottle and people-watch, our luggage tucked underneath our feet.

“Your mom brought you here as a kid?” I ask hesitantly. I tell myself this is a question too personal for my article. I hear Sandra barking in my head that nothing is too personal. Nothing is sacred. I wonder silently if I’m going to be able to draw that line.

Ryan nods. “She did. We’d just wander around. We couldn’t afford anything. But one time she took me to the chocolate room and bought me a huge truffle. It was the cost of about three days’ worth of food.” He pauses. “It was fucking delicious. She wouldn’t eat any of it, saying it was my birthday treat.” He chuckles and runs his hands through his hair. “My birthday wasn’t for another six months, but I didn’t say anything. I knew she was just making sure I wasn’t going to protest the purchase.”

“My dad bought me a red bicycle for my birthday once,” I say. “It was the only thing I wanted. I told him he didn’t need to get me anything for Christmas, but he did anyway.” I hesitate, realizing that even though I didn’t grow up wealthy, we must have had a lot more money than Ryan’s mother did.

Ryan seems to have come to the same conclusion. “Your parents together your whole childhood?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Just a boring, middle class family to be honest.”

The pizza arrives and we dig in, chewing and listening to the hum of conversation all around us, our minds mercifully relieved of having to finish this intimate and slightly awkward conversation.

I find myself wondering just how bad Ryan’s childhood was. But I brush those thoughts away as best I can.

Am I wondering for myself? Or for the article?

I’m not even certain anymore which is which.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

RYAN

The cottage I rented is luxurious.

The outside is a typical stone English cottage, but the inside looks like something out of MTV
Cribs
.

“Whoa,” Hayley says as we drop our luggage in the foyer.

“Yeah,” I say. “Even I’m impressed with this.”

Hayley glances at me. “Are you sure you won’t end up having to give up your house rental?”

She laughs and I join in with her. “I promise you, I have enough money to go around.”

Hayley goes to wash up and I open the fridge. I paid someone to fully stock it with food. I pull out fresh chicken breasts, spinach, peppers, and onions and set to work.

Hayley returns wearing a tank top and skirt that I bought her.

“Twirl for me,” I say, taking a break from dicing the peppers.

She blushes. “I am
not
twirling for you.”

“Do it, or I’m coming over there and making you do an entire fashion show for me.” I make my face as serious as I can.

She sighs and spins and I get a front-row seat of her ass in tight denim.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” I say with a laugh. “You’re a natural.”

Hayley brings her purse over to the kitchen island. “I didn’t realize you cooked,” she says, sounding surprised. She slides out her laptop and the
bong
of the starting screen echoes around the kitchen.

“My mum taught me,” I say. “She said it was important for a man to know how to cook.”

“I like the sound of that,” Hayley says. Soon, she’s typing as fast as I’ve ever heard anyone type in their lives.

“You’ll break a finger going that fast,” I quip, tossing the vegetables into the pan with the chicken. They sizzle as they hit the hot oil.

“Hm?” Hayley asks absently.

“Earth to Hayley!” I say. I walk around the island and she snaps her computer shut. “Looking at porn?”

She smiles at me. “I don’t need porn with you around, do I?”

I twirl the barstool and put my hands on the sides of her back. I squeeze her and she moans. I bend down and lock her tongue with mine.

“We could try out the mattress,” I whisper.

“Your chicken’s going to burn,” she protests as she sighs against my touch. My hand is already up her skirt. Her panties are wet already.

“I don’t care,” I reply.

She giggles. “I do. I’m starving!”

I sigh and pull my hand out. “Food. Then fucking. Lots and lots of fucking.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

We eat out on the back patio, the cool summer breeze picking up as the sun sinks from the sky. “This reminds me of my childhood,” Hayley says, leaning back in her chair and wiping her mouth with a cloth napkin.

“Definitely doesn’t remind me of mine,” I say. The mood shifts imperceptibly. “I was always a city person at heart.”

Hayley looks at me intently. “I am too, I think. I like the people. The bustle of the big city. The way you can just-“

“Disappear,” I finish for her.

She smiles. “Exactly. You can just sort of float away into the crowds and not be seen if you don’t want to. Well. I mean,
you
can’t quite as easily.”

“It gets easier avoiding the press if I stay away from trendy new restaurants with a sexy woman on my arm.” I grin at her. The wind rustles her red hair and I reach out to touch it. “I like that you don’t dye your hair. I’ve always had a thing for redheads.”

Hayley waves a hand in the air. “No way. That’s not what I’ve read online.”

“You’ve been studying up on me. I like that,” I say with a smile. “Tell me what you know.”

“I know that the last three women you’ve been linked to have all been stick-thin supermodels with blonde hair. I know that you’ve been arrested on what us Americans call a DUI. I know that you like to punch people when you get angry instead of talking through your feelings.” She pauses, chewing the inside of her lip. “What I don’t know is why.”

“Why what?” I stir the leftover ice cubes in my water glass with a straw. I think I know where this is going.

“Why do you get angry and physical instead of opening up. I don’t know why you’re closed off all the time, even to me.”

It’s my turn to chew the inside of my mouth. I jiggle my foot out of nervousness. “This all stays off the record.”

A look of something indistinguishable flashes across her face. I can’t read it. Is it guilt? It’s gone before I can examine it any further.”

“Of course,” Hayley says. “My story isn’t about you.”

A butterfly lands on the rim of the candle holder before disappearing. I take a deep breath. “My biological father, and I call him that because he was nothing more than a sperm donor, was an asshole. He used to hit my mom. He’d hit me if I cried. That, of course, usually made me cry harder. So he’d hit me again.” I sigh. “I guess I’ve internalized more of that than I ever wanted to.”

“Which is why you don’t want to have kids,” Hayley says. It’s half a statement and half a question.

“I don’t ever want to end up like him.” I jiggle my leg faster. Hayley reaches out to squeeze my thigh. I stop. “I guess I already am. You know, punching people. Getting drunk and getting behind the wheel.” I look at Hayley, wondering what she’s making of all of this.

“But you’re changing. I can see it.”

I clap my hands together. “Enough about me. You got your questions in. Now it’s my turn.”

“Shoot,” Hayley says, seemingly happy for the subject change.

“Why don’t you quit your job and write your science fiction?”

She laughs. “You’re funny.”

“No, I’m being serious. What’s there to lose? We only get one shot at this life. This could be your big thing. You’ll never, ever know unless you try, right?”

Hayley exhales slowly. “I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Of disappointing my dad. Alison – she’s the older sister I told you about – was always in the spotlight. I almost never was. But what I
was
good at was making my father happy. I followed in his footsteps.”

“And he’s proud of you,” I say. It’s a statement. Not a question.

“I think he is. He doesn’t share his emotions very often.” Hayley glances at me. “Sort of like you.” She pauses. “I guess I’m doing that thing that people say not to do.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you fall for someone who has the same flaws as one of your parents.”

I lean closer to her and put my hand on her face. “You’re falling for me?”

Hayley closes her eyes and relaxes into my hand. “I guess I am.”

I kiss her mouth softly. She breathes out a sigh as light as the wind around us. The summer breeze absorbs her breath instantly. “I think the feeling is mutual.”

Hayley smiles. “You’re falling for
me
?”

I kiss her again. “How could I
not
fall for you, Hayley Childs?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

HAYLEY

Ryan carries me into the bedroom from the outdoor patio. My clothes practically fall off of my body at his touch. He strokes my skin, gently finding his way south. He takes me into his mouth with a swirl of gentle kisses and tongue strokes.

I push against him, eager for the climax.

He lifts his head. “Relax, Hayley. I’m getting there. I want to take my time with you tonight.”

The crisp linen duvet warms underneath my body. He does take his time teasing me. He massages the bottoms of my feet while he goes down on me. The combination of those two things nearly does me in completely.

He stands up and slips on a condom, slipping himself into me with a gentleness I didn’t know he could possess.

He leans his hands on either side of my head, staring into my eyes. We’re not fucking. We’re making love.

Ryan leans down and whispers in my ear after we both climax together. “You know something?”

“What?” I whisper back.

“I think I might be in love with you.”

Then he kisses me again and we fall together in a tangle of linen and skin.

***

The next week is a blur. We head back into the city and our sleepless, sex-filled nights together melt into bleary-eyed days. We order room service and avoid being seen in public together.

I don’t care what Sandra says. I still think it’ll be bad news for my job prospects if I’m actively seen fucking Ryan. I probably won’t always work for Sandra.

And I know how this goes.

The man comes off scot-free.