Baller's Baby - A Bad Boy Romance (11 page)

Oh God, how I wish that were true.

Chapter
Twenty- Four

Kiptyn

I wake
with a pounding in my head and a sick, nauseated feeling in my stomach. I’m
barely able to peel my eyelids open, and when I do, I immediately slam them
back shut.

Fuck,
it's bright out there.

I
attempt to roll from my laid back position and then think better of it. My
shoulder is throbbing in tune with the beating of my heart until I sit up, and then
the throbbing, pulsating pain increases. How could I forget? Some ass-wipe
plowed into me last night at the beginning of the third quarter, and now,
thanks to him, I'm out for the rest of the season.

Hell, I
don’t know if I'll ever be able to play again. I'm determined, though, and with
the help of the country's finest physical therapist, I'm sure I’ll make a swift
recovery. If I don’t . . . shit. I can't even think about that. My life
revolves around the game, and without it . . . no.

I'll
recover, period. Next season, I’ll start, just like this one.

I
swallow rapidly as the tart, acidic flavor of alcohol bubbles up into my
throat. It doesn't help much. Grabbing a bottle of water from the bedside table,
I take a small sip, trying to keep from losing the contents of my stomach all
over my fresh, clean comforter and five hundred-count sheets. Skila just bought
these, and I’d hate to ruin them.

Skila.

Where is
she? Normally, when she gets up before me, she just goes to the small window
seat and gazes out into the beautiful sky while she reads, but she isn’t there
this morning.

“Skila,”
I call out.

She
doesn't answer, so I call out again as a deep, regretful worry settles deep
inside of me. I can feel it. The house seems hollow and empty. It's just an
empty shell without her here. She breathes life into this space, into me,
making everything better.

 
I don’t know when or how, but sometime over
the last two and a half months, she has become an integral part of my life.
Every day I wake, my first thought is of her and what she’s doing, how she
slept the night before, and how many times I can make her scream my name before
we both have to climb in the shower and get ready for work.

During
the day, when I’m not texting her or writing her on Messenger, we Snapchat back
and forth. If something exciting happens during my day, I can’t wait for my
chance to tell her. I miss her every second of every day, and sometimes it's a
battle with myself to not walk out of practice and rush to her side, just so I can
steal a kiss from her sweet red lips.

The
evenings are my favorite time of the day. I swing by and pick her up from work,
and on the way home, we decide on dinner. Some nights, we just pick up
something quick, but my favorite is when we come home and, after changing into
comfortable sweats and tees, we make our way to the kitchen. While cooking the
evening meal together, I tease her relentlessly with soft kisses to the back of
the neck and gentle strokes of my fingers along her arm, her jaw, and her lips.
I drive her wild with desire, and then after dinner, I take her upstairs and
show her how much she means to me.

I
haven’t told her I love her yet. I'm trying to wait for the perfect timing. The
ring I ordered and customized for her beautiful third finger came in last week.
I had Jordan go pick it up for me just in case the tabloids were buzzing
around. I don’t want them to ruin the surprise for her. God, I can't wait to
make her my wife and spend every day of the rest of my life making her the
happiest woman on earth, but first, I have to find her.

“Babe,”
I call out as I reach for my phone on the bedside table, but it isn’t there.
What the hell? I always put it on charge before going to bed at night, but it
isn’t here. I rack my mind.

Something
happened last night. The memory dances along the edge of my grasp, teasing me.
Did we fight? I look around the room, finding her bag on the floor, filled with
clothes and shoes.

Shit.

“Sky,” I
call out again, hoping against hope that she’s just downstairs and didn’t hear
me the first two times, but it soon becomes obvious that she isn’t here. I sit
on the edge of the bed and lay my head in my hands, rubbing at my temples,
trying my best to recall something . . . anything.

Flashes
dance across my mind's eye: Skila screaming at me, tears falling down her face,
her storming out of the room, a blonde stripper outside on the front landing.
The pieces fall together, and soon enough, my memory is back just in time for
me to wish it gone again. I can't believe she left.

Yes, I
can.

I can't
believe I let a fucking stripper bring me home. I should have explained it
better. I should never have gone out to begin with, but after the game and the
doctors, I just needed to let off a little steam, and having a few drinks with
Chris always seemed to do the trick. I had too much, especially on top of the
Percocet the doctor gave me, but I didn’t do anything. I know I didn’t. I
wouldn't do that to her, to us.

How
could she even think that? Is her opinion of me no higher than that I’m cheating
scum? She really believed I would bring another woman home to fuck while she
was here, pregnant with my child? What the fuck kind of person did that?
The old you would have
,
the devil on my shoulder whispered, but
I pushed him away. I’m not that person anymore.

I don’t
know what to do with all this. My heart and brain argue back and forth with
each other, each one trying and failing to prove their own worth. On one hand,
I want to rush to her and explain, and demand how she could ever think something
so horrible of me, and then my brain kicks in, and I tell myself to just let
her go.

If this
is how she sees me, if she has no more faith in me than this, then I don’t want
her. I know that’s not true. I'll always want her. She is mine, my beautiful Midnight
Sky. Unable to make a decision either way, I flop back against the undisturbed
pillows on her side of the bed and toss my arm over my eyelids.

Chapter
Twenty-Five

Skila

I didn’t
sleep a wink all night long. I swear, if it wasn’t for the baby growing in my
womb, I would have been plastered before midnight, but as it is, I decided to
just drown my sorrows in a tub of Chunky Monkey ice cream and
The Voice
on TV. All night long, I
replayed last night's events over and over in my mind. Did I really see what I
thought I saw?

There
was no doubt that Kiptyn had shown up drunk off his ass with a blonde bimbo in
tow, but something about the whole situation seemed off. First, why was she
standing on the front porch if he brought her home with the intent to sleep
with her, and was what he was trying to tell me when I stormed out of the house
true? Was it as innocent as a ride home?

I admit
I don’t know Kip that well. I only met him a little over two months ago, but in
that amount of time, I have lived with him for a month. We spent every day
together. He has never given me any reason to believe he could be the type of
cold, heartless man it would take to do something like I accused him of last
night. In my heart, I know the truth.

I had
flown off the handle. I was already upset and worried about him when he didn’t
come straight home after the doctor. I knew I should have stayed there with
him, but he urged me to go home. He didn’t want me to worry, I could tell, and
whether he liked it or not, I was worried, not because I cared whether he
played professional ball or not, or whether he was loaded. I was worried
because I knew what the game meant to him. It had pulled him out of a dark
place several years ago and given him something to put his energy into. He
needed it.

I went
home when he asked me to and re-dusted the entire downstairs. I put a load of
laundry in the wash and took one out of the dryer. After folding it, I took it
upstairs to put it away, which is where I was when he pulled up, or rather when
she
pulled up. It struck me then how
strange it was for someone to be driving him home. How did she know where he
lived? Had she been there before? Was she a regular?

No. Kip
never dated, and from I learned about him, he didn’t usually bring the same
girl home twice. So how did she know where he lived? There was only one
conclusion. He must have told her, but if he was able to do that, then why
didn’t he drive himself, or better yet, call a cab?

I think
back over the inebriated state he was in, staggering up the stairs and leaning
against walls. His voice was slurred and his eyes were bright. That explains
him not driving.

My
hormones have been all over the place. Some days I’m up, floating so high on
life that I get on my own damn nerves, and then other days I’m low, not wanting
to get out of bed at all. Of course, it’s not always the days that rotate my
moods in and out. Sometimes, it can be something as small as a commercial on TV
that sets the tears off, so it's possible that I let my hormones get in the way
last night and dictate the way I handled the situation.

One
thing is for certain. I’m not the type to just run away and cower. I'll be
going back to Kiptyn’s today, and he will give me the answers I want.
Afterward, we will see where we both stand. It’s time to put everything out
there. There’s no doubt in my mind that I'm head over heels in love with him.
He entered my life at a time when the last thing I wanted was a relationship,
and he had not taken
no
for an
answer. I had been swept off my feet.

Now I feel
more betrayed than ever. I was fine before he came along. I would have made it
without him. Even once I found out about the baby, everything would have been
great. Of course, it’s even better having him there at every appointment. He
even went and bought two baby books, one for Mommy to fill in and one for Daddy.
He claimed we had different views on every memory of our journey, and he wanted
to be able to document his own.

I hate to
admit it, but his is already more full than mine. There are so many things that
I would never write that seem like the biggest deal to him, like the first time
I asked for hot sauce on my eggs, or the first time I woke up craving Sonic's
chili cheese dogs. He writes everything down, like it's his own personal
journal of our pregnancy.

Our pregnancy.

The more
I think about it, the more certain I am that he didn’t bring her home last
night to sleep with her. I’m not saying what he did was okay by any means, but
in my heart, I know he was telling me the truth. I can feel it in the depths of
my soul.

“Hey,
lazy bones,” Lisa calls out to me, entering the front door carrying—God bless
her soul—Starbucks. I sit up immediately.

“Gimme,
gimme, gimme,” I say as I make a grab for the cup in her hand and she shimmies
out of the way, laughing.

“What?
You thought one of these was for you? Nah, boo.” She tries to hide the smile on
her face, but I see it sneaking through.

“Oh, ok.
Well, in that case, I guess Suzan will make a good godmother.” She knows I’m
joking. I would never trust something as serious as that to someone I didn’t
trust implicitly. Her hand flies to her heart.

“You
don’t mean it? Really?” she asks, setting the coffee down on the end table and
pulling me into a tight hug. She smells of honeysuckle, and it reminds me of
our summers in Georgia.

“No, I
don’t if you don’t,” I say as I pull back. She shakes her head up and down and
then pulls me back in for another quick hug before grabbing the coffee and
passing it to me.

“I love
ya, girl. You know that, right?” Uh oh, I feel a talk coming on. I take a sip
of the hot, creamy ecstasy before nodding for her to continue. “What the hell
are you gonna do about that man? You know you can stay here as long as you
want. I’ve never cared. Hell, we can move up to a three-bedroom if ya want so
the baby has a room too.”

I cut
her off before she continues. “I’m going there today. I . . . I think I may
have overreacted last night. I mean . . . well. I’m going to go there today and
put it all out there and see what he says. I appreciate the offer, Lisa, and
who knows? I might be taking you up on it, but I’m gonna try to talk to him
first.”

“Ok,
babe. Just know the offer stands.”

Chapter
Twenty-Six

Kiptyn

She
slides her warm, firm ass along the length of my cock. He jumps to attention,
ready for action. Her back arches, pushing her beautiful ass up higher, and
then she grinds down, wiggling firmly against me. I can feel the wetness
between her thighs. My hand reaches out to grasp her hip, but she pulls away.

“Don’t
touch,” she whispers, easing back against me.

It
drives me wild, this game she’s playing. I want to grab ahold of her and plunge
deep within, making her cry out in pleasure, but she wants control, so she will
get it. Her back arches again, pushing her swollen stomach forward. Her hair
falls down my chest between us as she grinds up and down along the hard length
of my cock. I bury my head in it and inhale. She smells of coconut and
something else, something exotic. It’s intoxicating.

I want
to get lost in it.

The
crease of her ass is so warm, and the friction from her continued thrusting
only makes it hotter. She reaches one hand around, bringing it to rest between
her legs. I feel the breathy moan that escapes her when she slides a finger
inside, followed by another. She grinds faster and harder against me as she
fingers deep inside of herself. Her movements are wild and chaotic.

I’m
going crazy with the need to be inside of her, but she still won't let me touch
her. She’s jerking my cock off with her ass cheeks, squeezing them tight as she
grinds down and then loosening when she rises, only to repeat the process over
and over again. I’m so close to losing it. My cock jumps against her ass and I
groan.

“I’m
about to cum.”

She
flips me over and straddles me. Her stomach stretches out in front of her, and
I have never seen anything more beautiful in my life. I want to run my hands
along it to her magnificent swollen breasts, but when I reach forward, she
slaps my hand away.

“Don’t
touch,” she says again. I slump back against the bed and let her have her way
with me.

I can
feel her juices pooling in between her thighs. She’s more than ready for me,
but she doesn’t give either of us what we want. Grabbing my cock, she slides
her fingers around the base of it before stroking up and down its length. I’m
so fucking close to coming. It’s taking everything I have in me to hold back
and let her have her fun with me.

I refuse
to finish before making sure she gets hers. Holding the head of my dick in her
hand, she slides her wet pussy along the entire length of me, coating me in her
slick juices. Fuck, she is so damn wet. She moans, or I moan—I don’t know. She
raises herself back up and rubs the head against her clit, flicking it back and
forth, over and over.

Her legs
twitch.

Leaning
forward, she positions me at her entrance, and I brace myself, because I know
after the seductive fucking foreplay, this is going to phenomenal if I can keep
from exploding on the spot. She lowers herself, inch by glorious inch.

I’m in
heaven. There is no other explanation. Nothing on earth could ever feel this
good. I must have died and gone to heaven. I place my hands on her hips, and
this time she lets me. Fuck, this woman is gorgeous. I push my hips upward,
burying myself the rest of the way inside of her, and we both cry out at the
same time as the insane waves of pleasure pulse through us. It's like we’re
connected. Everything I feel flows straight through me and into her.

Ding.
Ding. Ding.

What the
hell? I look around, trying to figure out where the noise is coming from, and
then I realize it's the doorbell. Fuck it. Let them ring it. I don’t care.

Knock.
Knock. Knock.

Seriously,
who the hell is at the door, and why can’t they take a clue? I’m trying to make
love to my girl. I look over, and for a minute, I lie there in shock. My bed is
empty. I’m all alone.

Ding.
Ding. Knock. Knock. Knock.

It was
just a dream? How is that possible? I’ve never dreamed something so real. Is
that even possible? Yeah, I guess so.

“Shit.”
I jump from the bed and toss on a pair of sweats, running down the stairs.

Skila
left last night in a hurry and left all her stuff here, including her keys and
phone. Now, I felt really bad for leaving her at the door this whole time while
I was curled in the bed. I slide to a stop in front of the door and run a hand
through my hair.

“Good
morning, baby. I missed you.” I say, swinging open the door, and then I choke
on the words. My heart stops right there on the spot, and I know I'm two point
five seconds away from an ambulance ride to the hospital. I must have taken too
much pain medication. Add in the alcohol I drank last night, and that could
explain my vivid dreams and hallucinations.

In all
my wildest dreams, I never thought I'd see this. Excitement, pain, heartbreak,
joy, elation, bewilderment, every emotion you can think of crash through me in
that moment as I stand there with one hand still on the door handle and the
other laying limp at my side. My eyes are no doubt the size of saucers and my
jaw is lying on the floor beside my cold, dead heart.

“I’m not
your baby, but yeah, I missed you too.”