Stallion: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (13 page)

O
ne month later
…

“Real nice, Hutchinson,” Peter says, coming out of his office, a printed copy of my recent story in his hands. “Depressing. But not enough to make me jump out the window.”

“Forced labor is an important issue,” Peter. “Kids here need to understand who’s making the products they love and use.”

“Yeah,” he replies with a patronizing smile. “And here I was thinking they needed sex and alcohol.”

He tosses the printout onto my desk, his notes scribbled on in red pen. Peter was old school and refused to do things the digital way. He still uses a typewriter because it “forces him to slow down,” which he says leads to better writing.

“By tomorrow,” he says, heading back to his office.

“I’ll have it done by tonight.”

“You take life too seriously, Hutchinson,” Peter grins. “How about a followup story on the Stallion?”

“Not on your life,” I say as he vanishes into his office.

The Stallion
, I scoff. Of course he’d want a followup. Everyone wants a followup. But I’m done with Walker. I’ve stuck to my guns for the last thirty-three days and broken off all contact. I wish I could say it’s been easy, but either way, I did it.

Walker Johnson is out of my life!

My phone vibrates on the desk beside me and I pick it up: Ronald cell. I ignore it. I told him to stop calling, but he hasn’t gotten the message yet. What is it about men that they can’t realize what they have until they don’t have it anymore?

Ronald had a good thing with me, and he blew it. I’m just glad he blew it now instead of later so I didn’t waste any more of my time with him. Now I won’t make the same mistake with Walker.

Walker Johnson
, I think angrily. I regret even taking Peter’s first assignment on him. All the crap I put myself through with him. Ever since I met him, my whole life has been a storm that’s just now beginning to quiet down. I wonder if it can ever really be over before I graduate.

The school is so saturated with him. It’s like a sponge just soaking him up, and everywhere I turn someone is talking about him. Even if I’m not doing any more stories on him, the sports section of the Tribune is always publishing something with his name included. He’s just
such a big star!

Pushing the egomaniac out of my mind, I pull up the draft on my computer and start going through Peter’s notes.
Followup on the Stallion?!
I feel my stomach turn. Peter got his story on Walker. Not just one either. I gave him the gossip piece,
and
the expose on Walker and his humble beginnings. The school loved that one. It “humanized” one of their biggest stars.

Pssht. Humanized!

It sickens me to speculate on just how many more girls were throwing themselves at Walker because of my article. How could he live such a shallow life after what he’d showed me at his home in the country? I really thought there was more to him than the guy I met at the nude cannonball contest at football house. Not that I care.

I am
so
over Walker Johnson it’s not even funny!

Two people like us were never meant to be together. He’s work-hard-play-hard and I’m all-work-no-play. We are complete opposites, but not the complementary opposites like Abbey and me.

It’s too bad I don’t like girls. We’d be a good match!

Besides, a guy like Walker would never settle down, even if – and that’s a big if – we ever managed to get along outside of the bedroom. I will give him credit for that night we spent together, but that’s it. Just thinking about the way he treated me afterwards makes my blood boil. I’m feeling flushed.

“Is it hot in here, Peter?” I shout across the office, noticing that I’ve started to sweat. He must be on the phone, because he doesn’t answer. My stomach turns again. I’ve been feeling a little under the weather for the past few days…almost a week now. I thought it was just a bug going around, but I don’t know who I would have caught it from.

Abbey isn’t sick. No one at the Tribune is sick, and the only sick kids in my class sit on the opposite side of the lecture hall. Maybe I’ll go to the clinic and see if they have any anti-nausea meds.

It only takes a few minutes to implement Peter’s revisions and send it to his e-mail. At least he still
accepts
electronic copies. But when I stand up, a wave of nausea and dizziness sweeps over me that forces me to sit back down.

What the Hell is this?

I wipe my forehead and realize I’m really sweating now. I’m wearing a thin blouse and the office is well air conditioned, but it feels like it’s a hundred degrees in here. Is this just memories of Walker getting me all fired up? No. This is more than that.

Slowly, I get to my feet, but as I do, the nausea returns and I find myself lunging towards the trash can. I lift it to my chin just in time, as my chicken salad sandwich from lunch comes up.

“Oh, God,” I mutter, spitting, tasting the disgusting taste of throw-up in my mouth. I
hate
puking!

I’d rather just lie in bed nauseous for two hours than spend ten seconds bent over a trash can with Abbey holding my hair back.

I reach for my water and rinse out my mouth, feeling slightly better. It’s definitely time for a clinic visit. Peter sounds like he’s still on a call as I get to my feet and grab my bag. It seems like I’ll be able to move now without another episode.

It’s humid outside, and the walk across campus is tolerable, but just barely. It’s a hot day already and whatever bug I’ve managed to pick up is not helping at all. I’m chugging water the whole way there. Finally, I’m crossing the parking lot to the door. The cool flood of central air is like heaven as I shoulder open the door to the clinic.

Thank God,
I think, relieved at the empty waiting room. The only other time I was here, the place was jam packed, mostly with kids probably there for STD checks. I quickly head to the desk and explain my symptoms to the receptionist.

“Just have a seat and someone will be with you shortly,” she tells me curtly.

“Thank you.”

Just as I slump down into a very comfortable chair, a doctor appears. “Emmy Hutchinson?” He asks.

“That’s me,” I smile.

“Come on back,” he tells me. I push myself out of the chair and follow him into the back, passing several empty exam rooms on our way down a very lengthy corridor.

What’s wrong with one of those rooms?!
I can’t help thinking. But finally we reach the exam room and step inside.

“So what seems to be the problem?” The doctor says, glancing at my chart. You always have to repeat yourselves at the clinic, but I tell him the same thing I told the lady out front. He nods slowly and closes my file.

“Okay,” he says. “Well, I’m just gonna take some blood. It’s probably a bug, but we’ve had a real nasty virus going around, so I’d just like to be safe.”

Ugh.
I’m not a huge fan of needles, but my veins are really easy to find, so the whole process is over quickly. The slight pain actually takes my mind off my stomach, which is back to tossing and turning like the Atlantic Ocean.

As the doctor leaves, my mind keeps drifting back to Walker. He’s been invading my mind a lot lately, and I don’t know why. The last four weeks I’ve been pretty good at focusing on other things, but the last few days have been strange. It’s like my mind is a football field and my defense line is struggling to keep him out of my end zone. And everyone knows – no one stops the Stallion.

Even though I’m alone, I groan out loud. “
The Stallion!
”

And how annoying is it that the best sexual experience of my life, my go-to thought for when I need a little “me time,” is with a guy I’m desperately trying to keep out of my mind?

The way he just manhandled me like that, giving me exactly what I needed without me even knowing myself. Walker was a sexual God. There’s no way around it. No matter how I feel about him, I have to admit that. And keeping those thoughts buried deep down is growing more and more impossible.

I’ve laid down the law with Abbey: no bringing up Walker Johnson. As far as we’re concerned, the whole thing never happened. It’s the same thing with Ronald. I don’t want to think about either of them. I don’t want to be reminded of them, I don’t want to relive it or hear about it from anybody.

The only two men from my college experiences were huge mistakes, and I’m more than willing to wipe the memories of them from my mind.

The doctor returns, snapping me out of my stupor, and I realize I’ve been daydreaming for more than ten minutes. The cool air has helped me to stop sweating, but my stomach’s still not too happy.
God, I better not have a virus.
But the doctor is smiling, so it must be good news.

“No virus!” he says.

“Thank God,” I say, relieved. “So what is it? Just a bug?”

“Well, it’s a little more than that,” he says with a soft smile. “You’re pregnant!”

The whole world seems to go into slow motion when I hear his words. If this was a movie, some sort of low swirling bass sound would be rising up as the camera pushed in on my shocked face. My eyes go wide and I swear I feel my heart skip a beat. My chest feels like I’ve been stabbed with an icicle.

“Wait—” I stammer, wondering if this is some sort of joke. “Wait what!?”

“Congratulations—” He starts to say, but stops when he sees my face. “Or maybe not…”

I’m pregnant?
I’m going to be a mother?
How did this happen?

I’m pregnant, and there’s only one man it could belong to.

It can’t be. This must be a mistake.

“Are you… sure?” I ask sheepishly.

“Uh, yep,” the doctor replies, obviously a little uncomfortable. Here he was thinking he was bringing me good news.

My mind drifts back to that night.
Did we use a condom?
We must have!

But I don’t remember him putting one on. I remember his face between my legs, his hands spreading my legs and the sweet ecstasy from his tongue caressing me with expertise.

And then he was inside me.

He came inside me
, I remember. How could I have forgotten? The feeling of him filling me up was incomparable.
Why am I pretending I didn’t know?

The truth is, I was caught up in the moment. I needed it. I was powerless to say no, and Walker needed it too. It was completely reckless and irresponsible, but it was so good. I don’t know why I never thought about the risks, but after it happened, I had so many other things on my mind with Walker that our lack of protection never entered into it.

“So…that’s why I’ve been feeling sick?” I say slowly.

“That’s right,” the doctor replies quietly. “We can give you something for the nausea, but it should pass soon.”

The rest of our conversation is a dull hum, and I find myself following him up the hall and back to reception where he hands he a prescription and tells me I can fill it at the campus pharmacy.

I walk wide-eyed like a zombie across campus, pick up my meds and head back to my dorm. I’ve been lying in my bed for an hour, staring at the ceiling, before I manage to fully process my current situation.

I’m pregnant with Walker Johnson’s baby!

Of all the impossible circumstances a girl could find herself in. I’ve spent the last month trying to forget him. I’ve been fighting tooth and nail to put him out of my mind and move on. I even let myself wonder, in a moment of weakness, if I could give Ronald another chance.

And now this.

What will Abbey say? What will my
parents
say!? I haven’t spoken to them since I called to tell mom about Ronald. I’m pretty bad at calling to check in, and now I’m going to call with this news?

“Yeah…hey, mom. I’m pregnant with Walker Johnson’s baby. Yes,
the
Walker Johnson.”

To be honest, my mom will probably be thrilled. She’s been itching to be a grandma since I hit eighteen and was devastated when I told her about Ronald. She was really hoping I’d settle down with him and start pumping out the kids. My dad on the other hand…

I don’t know if he’ll even believe me. He knows my taste, and if anything won’t make sense to him, it will be Walker and me.

But that’s all for later. The real question for right now is:
what do I tell Walker!?

I mean…I have to tell him. Right?

For a lot of girls this would be an instant meal ticket. Outrageous child support for the rest of their lives. But that’s not me. I’d never do that to a man, even someone like Walker, who’s probably going to be filthy rich for the rest of his life.

A child is a child, not a bargaining chip. And if I’m going to be a mother, I’m going to take it seriously, and the father has a right to know.

How is Walker going to raise a child? Will he even want to? How is a professional football player going to find time to be involved on any level? Walker is playing or partying. Responsibilities are as foreign to him as another language.

But he has a right to know.

The nausea meds are starting to work. I check the time. Almost seven. I’ve been sitting here thinking for longer than I thought.

I’m going to have to see him tonight
, I realize.
Maybe he’s changed
, I think hopefully.

Now I’m entering fantasyland. Every girl thinks her man will change. They never do. People don’t change. But if there’s any hope for this working, I have to hold out hope. Walker has already surprised me once. Maybe he can do it again.

I get myself together and get ready head out. There’s no point in dolling myself up tonight. He’s already seen me naked. I’m carrying his child. What’s the point in any more pretense?

But I can’t move. I can’t leave. This is a monumental momen tin my life and I just can’t take that first step towards it.

A half an hour later, still having not budged an inch, Abbey comes home.

“Hey, Emmy,” she says, setting her bag down and hanging up her cardigan.

“Hey…” I say robotically.

“Uh, oh,” she says, a concerned look coming over her face. “What happened?”

“I can’t even…”

“Is it Ronald? Did he come by? Do I have to cut his nuts off—?”