Hearts in Overtime: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (6 page)

“Pretty much.”

I’ve stumped the poor girl. I can practically see the wheels whirling in her mind as she tries to come up with a feasible explanation for my religious education.

“Did you convert to Catholicism?”

“No.”

She sighs.

All right. Enough is enough. This is going to come out sooner or later, so I decide to go ahead and set the record straight.

“My foster parents were Catholic.”

“
Oh
, I see.”

I watch as understanding washes over her. Her features soften and her gorgeous lips form a gentle smile.

“Ryan, is that your big secret? That you grew up in the foster system?”

Yeah, right. It’s not even the tip of the iceberg. But there’s no way I’m letting on how much more there is to my story. Not yet, anyway.

“It’s part of it,” I tell her.

“What? Why? There’s nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, I’m sure people would embrace that about you. Think of all the foster kids who would see you as this amazing source of inspiration for having skyrocketed to success.”

This girl… I wish I could bottle her optimism and save it for a rainy day. It’s scary how much I like her. It isn’t like me at all to go all googly-eyed for any girl, much less a cheerful, wholesome girl like her.

Well…I guess she isn’t
that
wholesome. She did just suck me off and let me eat her pussy right here on this table.

“I know there’s nothing wrong with growing up in the system,” I tell her. “That’s not it at all. The thing is I have a long and complicated history with a lot of different people, and some of them are opportunists who’d be banging down my door in a second, asking for handouts if they put two and two together and realized they knew me.”

“I see,” she says, biting down on her bottom lip in contemplation. After a moment, she asks, “How long were you in the system?”

Shaking my head, I remind her, “That question doesn’t fall within the scope of our agreement. I said I’d talk about my high school years only, remember?”

“Touché. All right. Tell me about your foster parents. Were they nice?”

Were they nice
.

I shake my head. God, this girl is naïve. 

“Okay, well, I had two different sets when I was in high school. For freshman year and about half of my sophomore year, I lived with this couple on the north side of Pittsburgh. It was one of those ‘family’ situations. They had four…no five foster kids packed into the house and they didn’t really give a shit about any of us. I was too old to care. I loved having the freedom to hang out with my friends whenever I wanted and not have to deal with curfews and stuff. But they got busted when the state did a surprise inspection and I got sent to live with the Catholic couple.”

Charlotte has this sweet, sympathetic look on her face. She reaches out to squeeze my arm again, and I take her hand in mine, hoping to convey with the gesture that I’m not some traumatized, sniveling little basket case. For fuck’s sake. In addition to all the other reasons I want my past to stay hidden, I really, really do not need the American public to see me as some tragic little bitch.

“The Catholic couple was all right,” I tell Charlotte. “I didn’t see much of the mom. She was always at her sister’s house and she wasn’t particularly interested in my life, but the dad was another story.”

“How so?” Charlotte asks.

“He was living vicariously through me, but not in a creepy way or anything. He said he always wanted to play football when he was a kid, but he grew up on a farm and there wasn’t any time for anything but farm duties after school. He pushed me.” I smile at the memory. James was a good guy. He was solid. “He pushed me hard. I guarantee you if he hadn’t come into my life when he did there’s no way I’d be where I am today.”

“Wow.”

I shrug.

“Are you still in touch with him? With them?”

“Sort of. Not really. I send a check every year—you know, because I do appreciate how he was with me—but I’ve asked them to respect my privacy and not call me out in public or anything like that. They always send me a Christmas card, but that’s about it.”

I bring Charlotte’s hand to my lips and kiss the back of it.

“What’s your favorite memory of your foster dad?” she asks. “And what was his name?”

“His name was James.”

I lean back in my chair as I comb through my memories for a really great one I can share with Charlotte.

“Come back to the residence hall with me,” Ryan says.

A nervous little giggle escapes from between my lips. “I think I’ve just had a flashback to college.”

“I’m serious.”

He hooks a curl behind my ear and leans in to cover my neck with slow, sweet kisses. I feel the arousal stirring inside of me, but I am determined to stand my ground.

“No way,” I tell him, doing my best to ignore how incredible his firm lips and talented tongue feel on my neck. “I’m here in a professional capacity, Ryan. I’m not going to go sneaking into your dorm room like a horny little co-ed. What if somebody saw?”

He kisses his way up my neck, down my jaw line and to my lips before pulling back so he can look me in the eye.

“Nobody would give two shits if they saw you, I promise. We’re members of a pro football team, babe. We’re used to seeing girls traipse in and out of our teammates’ rooms at all hours, every day of the week.”

Well, that’s a lovely thought. How could Ryan think I’d find this to be a good thing? Like I’d really say, “Yes, please! I would so love to join the ranks of hyper-sexed groupies!”

“Also,” he continued, “my ‘dorm room’ has a separate living room with a seventy-five inch HDTV, a bar stocked with all the finest spirits, a fridge stocked with delicious gourmet food, a king-sized bed with three hundred count sheets
and
a Jacuzzi in the bathroom.”

Must be nice. I shake my head, unable to keep from cracking a smile.

“Tell me what’s your motel room like?” he asks with an evil grin.

“All right!” I give him a playful slap on the chest. “It certainly doesn’t have all the perks that your place has, but for a mere mortal such as myself, it’s perfectly adequate.”

His grin widens and doesn’t look so evil anymore.

“But I mean what I’m saying,” I continue, sliding my arms up his chest and wrapping them around his neck. “A lot’s happened today and I need some time to process it. You know?”

“I know.” He leans down to give me a tender kiss on the lips. “I get it. Do what you gotta do.”

This is a relief. I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be able to hold out. Spending the night with him is really, really,
really
tempting, but in my heart, I know I shouldn’t be jumping into things.

Um… Let me rephrase that. I know I shouldn’t be jumping any further than I already have. I still can’t believe we went down on each other! How did that even happen?

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he says.

“Tomorrow it is.”

We exchange a smile, and then he leans in to give me a deep, delicious kiss. I feel my resolve start to weaken. If he asks me again to go home with him, will I find the strength to say no? I’m not so sure that I will.

But he doesn’t ask. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

“Why don’t you go on ahead?” I suggest.

Last night Ryan left the meeting room ahead of me. Grumpy, uncooperative old sourpuss that he was, he was hardly going to be a gentleman and wait for me to gather my things together so we could exit the building together. Seeing as I’d rather not make it known that something’s going on between us, I see no reason to stray from the routine. Thankfully, Ryan seems to agree.

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, Charlotte. Sweet dreams.”

He gives me one last lingering kiss, and then, with the most gorgeous smile on his lips, he slips out the door.

I walk over to the other side of the table and switch off my phone’s recording device. I start packing things up, but before I can zip up my bag, I have to sit down for a second to let the events of the evening sink in. Ryan Blake. And me. It doesn’t seem real.

* * * *

If I ever needed to turn to a girlfriend for advice, now is the time. I’m tempted to call Gina. She already knows that I have the hots for Ryan, and she knows the importance of nailing this job—writing the biography, I mean, not bedding Ryan down! She’s the one person who would probably understand my dilemma better than anyone else.

Sadly, I really can’t talk to her about this. While I definitely consider her a good friend, she is still my agent and I can’t let her know what happened today. My professional behavior reflects on her.

Oh my god. She would kill me if she knew what went on between Ryan and me…

I know. I’ll call Tracy.

I dig my phone out my bag and stretch out on my stomach on the firm motel bed before dialing her number. She answers after a couple of rings.

“Hey, lady. Are you calling to speak to Bertie?”

I can’t help but laugh. I do miss Mr. Furry Pants, as a matter of fact.

“Is he in a talkative mood?” I ask.

“Oh, definitely. Hang on a sec.” I hear some movement and then a noise like she’s dragging her phone across a sofa cushion. And then I hear the very faint sound of my cat purring into the phone.

“Awww,” I coo. “Bertie, baby. I miss you.”

As I close my eyes, the sound of his purring seems to grow just the tiniest bit louder. I really wish he could be here with me right now.

After a moment or two, Tracy reclaims the phone. “You good?”

“I’m great.”

“Glad to hear it,” she says. “Now…tell me all about Ryan Blake. Is he as hot as he is in photos?”

I smile. “He’s even hotter, but how do you know what he looks like? I thought you never heard of him.”

“Googled him after you told me about the job. I have to say I envy you, lady. That man is really, really, ridiculously good looking.”

“Believe me, I know. As a matter of fact…”

I take a deep breath and then I spill my guts, filling Tracy in on every last detail from the first moment we met to the last kiss goodbye. I stumble a bit when I tell her about me sucking him off in the office and him going down on me, but I manage to power through. This is no time to be shy. I’m in desperate need of some advice here.

“No way,” she murmurs once I’ve finished telling her.

I’m not sure what to make of her hushed tones. Is she scandalized or what?

“Um…yes way.”

“No way!” she shouts this time. “Charlotte Leigh Marshall, you are
such
a rock star! You go with your bad self, fooling around with the hottest superstar in the freakin’ NFL. Man, I had no idea you were such a badass! Usually you’re the one who’s pouring
me
into a cab after a night of drunken debauchery.”

I can’t help but smile. Maybe I really am somewhat of a badass…

“Who would ever have thought?” she goes on to say. “Wholesome, corn-fed Charlotte from Wis-caaan-sin getting busy with a world famous football star on a table in an office building no less. And the way you called his bluff when you said you’d go down on him? Priceless!”

Tracy continues to congratulate me on my bad self (and I can think of absolutely no reason to stop her) but once she’s run out of things to say, I rein the conversation in a bit because I need help figuring out what to do going forward.

“Wait. I don’t get it. Why would you even consider calling things off?” she asks. “Why not have a hot, steamy fling with a hot sexy guy? How long’s it been for you, anyway?”

Rolling onto my back, I release a groan.

“Too long. I haven’t been with anyone since Tim.”

“Tim?!” Tracy shrieks. “Charlotte, that was over two years ago. Didn’t you even have rebound sex with anyone?”

“Nope.”

“Well, that’s all the more reason to go for it with Ryan Blake.”

She’s got a point. But I’m still not sure.

“If I’d met him in a bar or at a party or something, I wouldn’t hesitate to go with the flow, but this is different. We’re working together in a professional capacity and what happened today is so not professional.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it,” she says. “I think it’s safe to assume that the world of professional sports isn’t like the real world. Players probably have more sex in one season than most people have in their entire lives, what with fans and groupies all lining up to drop their panties. Normal rules don’t apply. I would hazard a guess that sex is not as big a deal to them as it is to most people. You know what I mean?”

“Sort of, I guess. But it’s not like I’m just some random groupie. I’m his biographer. I’m getting paid to work with him.”

“Yeah, but I’ll bet you anything that these star athletes have bedded down plenty of women who were getting paid to work with them—journalists, trainers, party planners, masseuses, personal shoppers, assistants, whatever. Probably even lawyers and accountants. Maybe even doctors.”

“Doctors? I doubt that,” I interject.

“Yeah, probably not doctors. The code of ethics is pretty clear about that sort of thing. Anyway, the point is, it’s really not that big of a deal. I wouldn’t broadcast the fact that you’re getting it on, but if one of Ryan’s teammates should happen to catch you guys making out or something, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

Tracy makes a good point. I feel so much better about the idea of taking things further with him, and it hits me that I really just needed her blessing—or anybody’s blessing, really—in order to go forward with this. I am so relaxed now. Only now, that my body is free of tension does it hit me how much tension it was holding, especially in my shoulders.

“Thanks for everything, Tracy. I really needed to talk this through, and I feel a hundred percent better now.”

“My pleasure. Thank
you
for sharing all the deets with me. Ryan Blake, huh? Who’d have thought?”

“I know, right?”

Closing my eyes, I replay some of the highlights of the day: the tender look on Ryan’s face as he told me about his foster dad’s encouragement and support, they playful look on his face when he asked me to spend the night with him. Of course the image that really stands out—the one that I know I’ll be revisiting again and again—is the look in his eyes as he gazed up at me from between my thighs.

Wow.

“It’s still so hard to believe what happened,” I muse. “You know, I never would have dreamed that Ryan would want to reciprocate after I sucked him off. Seems there’s a lot more to him than I’d originally thought.”

Tracy doesn’t answer right away. Just when the silence is starting to seem a bit awkward, she speaks up.

“You’re not thinking of…” Her voice trails off. “What I mean to say is…”

“What, Tracy? Just say it.”

“Okay.” She sighs. “I’m a little concerned that you might be in danger of getting hurt here. I’m not sure if I would have told you to go for it if I’d known you were starting to develop real, romantic feelings for him.”

“What?”

I am absolutely stumped. What is she talking about?

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not developing ‘real, romantic’ feelings for Ryan Blake. I have no idea where you might have gotten that impression from.”

“Oh, come on. You should have heard yourself when you said there’s more to him than you thought there was in this dreamy, sappy little voice.”

I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“I was simply telling you that he’s not as much of an asshole as I’d originally thought,” I point out to my friend. “It’s not like I was saying he was the love of my life or anything. I’m not an idiot.”

“I know you’re not an idiot,” she says in a voice so calm and compassionate that I feel a twinge of guilt for having snapped at her. “Just…promise me you’ll keep reminding yourself that this is going to be a temporary thing, yeah?”

“Well, of
course
it’s going to be temporary. What, do you think I’m busy naming our future children or something? That I’m writing Mrs. Charlotte Blake all over my notebook? Come on.”

“I’m just saying. I know how you are, Charlotte. You’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Oh, shut up.” I punctuate this with a little laugh to take the sting out of my words.

Ignoring me, she goes on to say, “You know I love you and I think you’re incredibly beautiful and witty and smart, but the women Ryan Blake usually dates…”

Yeah, there is that.

Ryan hasn’t had very many long-term relationships (big surprise there) but the ones that have lasted long enough for the press to find out about have been with Victoria’s Secret models and Hollywood actresses.

I’d have to be crazy to think that a guy who dates models and movie stars would ever want to settle for a normal girl like me—a bookworm and a homebody who could stand to lose a few pounds.

“I know, Tracy. Believe me, I know. You don’t have to worry about me falling for Ryan Blake. Honest.”

“Well…okay. Just promise me you’ll keep this in mind if you find yourself getting caught up in the moment and envisioning a future with him.”

“I will.”

“And call me if you need to talk about anything, whether you feel like you’re falling for him or if you just want to share the steamy details of your sexy escapades!” she says with a laugh.