ROMANCE: BAD BOY ROMANCE: Basketball Daddy (BWWM Alpha Male Billionaire Pregnancy Romance) (African American Unexpected Pregnant Contemporary Romance) (155 page)

Margie spent ages getting ready the next day. She ran to her dorm room after classes and locked herself in the room for the preparation. Thankfully, Claire hadn’t appeared, so she had the room all to herself.

Her fiery red curls were shampooed, conditioned and tied into a high ponytail at the back of her head. She even found an old green silk scarf to tie around the ponytail. The color of the scarf matched her hazel eyes and the emerald green, freshly dry-cleaned sweater she had selected for the evening. For her usual pasty pale skin, she couldn’t do much: she was never good at makeup and usually never bothered with it. Her only resort was the light coral lipstick she found in Claire’s bag and she spent ages drawing it perfectly on her lips.

Her jeans were grey, and her shoes were the same canvas black ones she was wearing the previous day. She didn’t want Lance to think she had put in too much of an effort.

Just as she was about to leave, her usual denim backpack on her arm, Claire entered the room and stared at her for several seconds.

“You’re almost unrecognizable, Margie,” Claire said. The humor in her voice was distinctly missing.

“Thanks, I guess, Claire,” Margie said, pushing past her towards the door. They hadn’t spoken much since the previous night when she had stormed out of the room. She still couldn’t forgive Claire for not understanding how she felt about the whole thing.

“Best of luck anyway, I guess,” Claire said, still staring at her. She had clearly noticed the fact that Margie had borrowed her lipstick, but chose not to mention it.

“Thanks,” Margie said quickly, and shut the door behind her. She tried to maintain a steady pace as she walked down the corridors and out of the building. She didn’t want to rush, arrive too early and seem too enthusiastic.

Her heart was still racing and her palms were sweaty when she pushed open the doors of the library and went in. Mrs. Brown was in her usual position but was openly gawking at Lance, who was standing a few feet away from her, reading the titles of the books on the shelves nearby.

“Hey, you!” Lance greeted her with a wide smile, and to Margie’s horror, he approached her with open arms. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. He pulled her to him and her face was squashed against his chest. Margie shut her eyes for a second to breathe in the smell of him, a chemical mix of mint and lime.

“Hi,” he squeaked, blushing a bright red. She could sense Mrs. Brown’s eyes on her. In fact, there were several eyes on her, and especially on Lance. Nobody who was in the library at this hour, was the kind of person who knew Lance Healy personally, but everyone admired him from a distance. Margie suddenly felt like a celebrity, and she giggled.

“You made it,” she said, adjusting the strap of her bag as she led him towards an empty table. He followed her with his hands in his pockets. He was wearing a thin, black T-shirt and light, baggy jeans. His biceps were flexed, his washboard abs showed and the grin on his face was as charming as always.

“Of course I did. I know what’s good for me.” Lance laughed and pulled out a chair for her. Margie sat down and thanked him, blushing at the gesture. She couldn’t remember anybody ever pulling out a chair for her. He sat across from her, running his hands through his hair and looking directly at Margie, a laugh dancing in his eyes.

“So, where do we begin?” Margie asked, looking away from him in an effort to distract herself from his intense green eyes. She rummaged around in her bag until she found the book on basic theories that she was looking for.

“From the beginning, I suppose. You have no idea how behind I am on everything.” Lance’s expression dropped. He was serious and she could see the look of tension in his eyes.

“The thing is, my scholarship depends on it…” he started to explain, and Margie smiled.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. I understand. You need to pass this test. I can help you with that.” She could feel her heart melting. All those things that Claire said, or implied…all the judgments every nerd might pass on Lance Healy, they were unfounded, because nobody really knew him. Margie could see him for the guy he really was, a talented rising footballer who liked to live life to the fullest. But like every student, he needed to pass his test. He was exactly like the rest of them. The crestfallen look in his eyes made him more human.

“Let’s start with the basic economic theories. We can go through some of them so that I understand what your understanding of the subject is.” Margie opened the book, her eyes running over the pages to find the ones she was looking for. She sensed that Lance was looking at her, and when she looked up she found him smiling gently at her.

“You’re a very nice person. Do you know that? I don’t even know you. I’m glad I met you, though,” he said softly, leaning in towards her. Margie blushed again. She hadn’t expected that from him. He was full of compliments, he had pulled out a chair for her and he looked like a Greek God. He was the ideal man.

Margie blushed and shook her head.

“This is nothing. It’s a good way for me to revise before the test,” she said, dropping her gaze back to the book again. It was too much to deal with. He was too perfect.

“You’re very kind,” he said, leaning in towards her again. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice you before.” His voice was still low and Margie looked up to meet his eyes. There was a twinkle in them, and he was grinning and looking at her the way she had always dreamed he would. She had never known that it could ever be a reality.

“It’s not that unbelievable. You’re Lance Healy. I’m sure there are other people you want to give your time to,” she said, biting down on her lip. She knew they were hidden by the bookshelves around them, but Margie wished they weren’t. She had a crazy urge for other people to witness the way he was talking to her and looking at her.

“I’ve been stupid. You’re smart, you’re beautiful and you have the kindest soul of anybody I’ve ever met.” With that, he sat back in his chair, like he had made some kind of important proclamation. Margie licked her lips, sighed deeply and looked back at the book. What was going on? Did Lance Healy seriously just call her beautiful? She wasn’t sure if this was some kind of elaborate dream.

“Thank you very much, Lance. We should start studying anyway,” she said, not able to look up and meet his eyes again. He was watching her, though.

“Yes, of course. Always on point, aren’t you?” he said with a laugh, and Margie flipped a few pages just to find something to occupy herself with. She could still smell him, he was that close.

“Before you begin, though, I was wondering what you’re doing tomorrow night.” He interrupted her just as she was about to read out something from the book. Margie jerked her head up to look at him in shock. Was he officially asking her out? This was too magical. Who knew that spending hours at the library would actually pay off!

“N…Nothing,” she mumbled, and Lance suddenly banged the table, although thankfully not too loudly.

“That’s settled then. You’re coming to my party.” He was smiling at her, watching her every move.

“Your party?” Margie squeaked. She could feel that nervous feeling rising in her stomach again.

“Yeah, it’s a frat party. I can bet you’ve never been to one before.” Lance laughed now and Margie blushed again. So he had already figured her out and labeled her as a nerd. He did think she was beautiful, though, so she had nothing to complain about.

“No, I haven’t. Okay, I’ll come,” Margie said, biting down on her lip.

Lance smiled at her and nodded.

“Of course you will. You have to. I want to get to know you better. The library is not the best atmosphere for that,” he said huskily, leaning in towards her again. Margie’s mind was racing already. What was she going to wear? What would Claire think of the latest development? How had this even happened?

She managed to chuckle, but her voice soon died down.

“Thanks again, Margie, for doing this for me. I hope you enjoy the party.” Lance winked at her again and Margie shook her head and smiled.

“Anyway, back to the book.” She smoothed the pages of the book and started reading from it. A lock of her red hair fell over her face and she tucked it behind her ear. She could sense that he was watching her as she read, and she grew even more conscious. How was she going to be able to seriously concentrate on tutoring him if he was going to stare at her that way?

His answers were short, not detailed enough and were missing large chunks of information. Margie knew they had a lot of work ahead of them, especially if she was going to be able to successfully prepare him for the test next week.

She wasn’t sure if she would manage that, but she was sure going to try. Lance Healy was trying to be a good student with her. He made notes, repeated her points verbatim and tried not to smile every time she tucked her hair behind her ears.

She knew they were flirting. He was watching her with his large green eyes and was trying to be as serious about learning for the test as he possibly could.  But Margie felt a spark and he seemed to have felt it too.

Their fingers grazed on the table as she shut the book in front of her. It was eight, they had been in the library for three hours and she had given him some material to study by himself.

“So, same time in two days?” she asked, quickly pulling her fingers away from him.

“Sounds good. I’ll hopefully be better prepared for your quizzes by then. Although I can’t promise I’ll be doing a lot of studying tomorrow night,” Lance said, standing up and stretching his arms out. Margie put the books back into her bag and stood up herself, a smile lingering on her face. She didn’t want them to part, she knew she’d miss him. She’d had the most fun three hours with him than she had with anybody else in a very long time.

“Remember the party, Margie?” he asked suddenly, interrupting her thoughts.

“Tomorrow. Yes, I’ll be there.” She smiled at him as he began to walk away.

“Sorry, I have to rush off, Margie. Tomorrow at the Frat house, at nine. See you there,” he said, walking away swiftly.

Margie waved at him and smiled. She could feel her breath catching in her throat as she watched him leave the library, Mrs. Brown’s eyes following him out as he walked past her.

She couldn’t believe any of this had happened. Most of all, she couldn’t believe that she was so at ease with him now. Tomorrow night, she would be able to witness Lance Healy in his natural habitat.

The music was too loud. That was amongst the first things that Margie noticed and she knew it was going to be a problem for her. She’d borrowed a black chiffon cocktail dress from Claire and let her hair hang loose. The same coral lipstick as the previous day was all the makeup she was wearing. The heels she had borrowed from Claire were already proving to be difficult to walk in.

The frat house was pumping with music, nearly shaking with reverberation under her shoes as she pushed her way through the crowd. She had never been in the house before, never even been close to it. The lights were low, the music was loud and everybody was drinking. She had started to feel claustrophobic from the moment she walked into the house and, in the midst of the crowd, she now felt lost and lonely. Lance was nowhere in sight and she didn’t know any of the other people around her.

Someone shoved a plastic cup of beer towards her and she took it from them, in a daze. Margie hated beer and most other alcoholic drinks. It one of the many reasons she didn’t think there was any reason for her to go to parties.

“Excuse me!” She tapped a guy on the shoulder. He was swaying to the music with his eyes closed. She screamed at him again until he opened his eyes and smiled.

“Have you seen Lance Healy around?” she asked at the top of her lungs, and the guy, who looked slightly familiar to her, smiled.

“Of course I have. He organized this. Who are you?” he asked, grabbing her free hand and twirling her around. Margie forced herself to smile, although she could feel herself beginning to panic. It felt like she was in a small, closed space and she needed to get out.

“I’m Margie. He invited me. I was wondering where he is,” she leaned in to say in his ear. The guy laughed. His hand had crept up to her waist.

“You could check the pool. But who knows where Lance ever is?” he said wistfully, and let her go. The guy was swaying again and Margie pushed past him. She couldn’t understand what the appeal was in coming to these parties, if everyone was drunk all the time and it was impossible to have a productive conversation with anybody.

She continued making her way towards the back of the house instead. The pool sounded like a good idea. It would give her a chance to catch a breath, as well.

When she saw the glass sliding doors, a wave of relief washed over her. Finally, an opportunity to make it out and away from all the noise and the people crashing into her.

She grabbed the knob and started to gently slide the door aside, and when she looked up, she saw him.

Lance Healy was standing at the edge of the pool in a pair of cotton trunks. His bare chest and thick sculpted legs were all exposed to the world. Margie felt her breath catch in her throat. He had a half-empty bottle of beer in his hand and he was looking down, talking to two girls in the pool, their swimsuits barely visible in the water.

Margie slid the door aside and stepped out, but remained where she was. That nervous feeling crept up again at the thought of having to talk to him. He had presented her with another impediment on her path to self-confidence - his gorgeous, naked body. She could see the drops of water glistening and sliding off the muscles of his smooth back and arms. Clearly he had just stepped out of the water. His poker-straight brown hair was damp and matted at the back, swept away from his face.

As she stood staring at him, he turned and caught her eyes. With one hand he wiped his face, and with the other he waved at her.

She had no choice, he had seen her. She would have to do something.

Margie waved slowly and took a few steps in his direction.

“You made it!” he said, as she approached him.

“Of course I did. I know what is good for me,” she said with a laugh, barely able to make the words form in her mouth. Lance bent down to grab a discarded towel on the grass.

“You quote me like I’m a celebrity,” he said, throwing the towel around his shoulders. His muscles flexed, clenched and moved and Margie could feel her eyes following their every action. Lance Healy was like a work of art.

“You are one,” she managed to say, and he laughed again.

“You flatter me, Margie.” He threw his arms open to her again, and this time, she tried to hug him more confidently, instead of allowing her body to cave in and lie flat against his chest.

“You smell beautiful. What is that?” he asked, as he pulled away from her.

“Just some rose water.” Margie blushed. “My mother forced me to use it as a child, and now I can’t give it up,” she added, as Lance watched her intently.

“That’s lovely. Come, sit down with me.” He turned on his heel and led her towards the deck chairs.

She felt self-conscious, even though he was polite and attentive. Margie knew that all eyes were on her. Everybody was wondering who she was, and why Lance was even talking to her. The two girls in the pool who he was speaking to earlier were staring directly at her as she walked. She tried not to look at anyone.

“So Margie, what do you think?” he asked as they sat down on two of the chairs. He had started dabbing the towel on his hair and the back of his neck. He was so confident naked, he was showing off, in fact. Nobody had seen Margie naked. She didn’t know how she would ever deal with it.

“The music is too loud,” she said, and Lance broke into another laugh.

“I had a feeling you would say that. My ever-responsible tutor.” Lance’s focus was on her, she was the center of his attention and she could barely believe this was all happening.

“Did you get yourself a drink?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Yeah, someone handed me a cup of beer. I don’t know where I left it, though,” she said, and bit her lip.

“We’ll arrange for another one, don’t worry,” Lance said, and before she could stop him, he was waving at somebody at the other end of the backyard.

“Will you get us two beers, Jim?” Lance yelled across and the guy nodded and disappeared into the house. Margie blushed. This was not the kind of atmosphere she was used to. Lance Healy was the king of his castle, other people his groupies.

“I could have gone and gotten myself one, he didn’t have to do that,” Margie said, and Lance placed a hand on her bare knee. She felt an electrical surge run down her spine.

“Jim is responsible for the alcohol. It’s kinda like his job.” Lance laughed and withdrew his hand from her knee. Margie wasn’t sure how to react to that. Was she supposed to feel elated that Lance had that kind of a relationship with his friends? She was growing increasingly uncomfortable. Lance Healy in his natural habitat was a surprise, a mixture of all the things that she had not expected him to be. Arrogant, carefree, polite and sincere all at once.

“So this is what frat parties look like?” Margie said, looking around her just as somebody flew into the pool with a splash. Lance laughed and nodded.

“Yes, exactly. Sometimes even more fun,” he said, pointing and laughing at the guy who had jumped into the pool, crashing into the two girls.

“So this is usually how you spend your Friday evenings?” Margie turned to ask him again. Lance was not looking at her anymore. He was yelling out friendly insults to his friends in the pool, and Margie tried to smile.

Did he want to talk to her anymore?

“So, I was asking…is this how you spend your Friday evenings usually?” She smiled sweetly at him, but he still hadn’t turned back to her.

“Hey, Margie. Excuse me for a second there. I’ll be right back.” Lance suddenly stood up and ran over to the pool, stretching out his arm to one of the girls who was struggling to climb out.

Margie watched as the girl grabbed on to his arm and Lance pulled. She fell on top of him, with Lance lying on the grass on his back. They were both laughing, and the girl was leaning over him, whispering into his ear.

Margie had had enough. She didn’t know what Lance wanted from her, why he had suddenly started ignoring her, or why he was flirting with other women right in front of her.

“Here’s your beer, princess.” She heard a voice and, when she looked up, Jim, Lance’s friend with the alcohol, had turned up with two bottles.

“I don’t want it, thanks,” she said, with her brows crossed, and stood up from the chair. Jim shrugged and turned away from her.

Lance was still on the grass, his hands on the bare waist of the girl on top of him. She was wearing a skimpy pink two-piece and was straddling Lance as she sat over him.

Margie turned on her heel and began to walk away, towards the house again. This was a bad idea. She should not have wanted to see Lance in his usual surroundings. This was who he was in reality, the rest of it was just a fantasy. What was she even thinking? She could feel the rage rising up in her throat. In just in a matter of minutes, everything had changed for her.

“Hey! Margie! Where are you going?” She heard Lance’s voice and she turned around to look at him. Her face was a bright red, she knew that already, but she made an effort to smile anyway.

“Sorry, I have to go,” she said, and waved at him. Lance pushed the girl from on top of him onto the grass and started to straighten himself up. Margie turned away and slid the glass doors open. She didn’t want to have to explain to him that she was jealous. That she thought he was interested in her, and it made her blood boil to watch him flirting with somebody else. What would he think of her if she told him that? Maybe the look on her face had already given her away.

Margie was pushing through the stream of the crowd again, the claustrophobia rising in her. She couldn’t believe she had been so stupid. Claire was right all along, Lance was nothing more than someone taking advantage of her naivety.

She felt an arm around her waist and, when she turned around, it was the same drunk guy who had directed her to the pool. He grabbed her and pressed her close to him.

“Where are you going? Come dance with me,” he said, close to her face. His breath stank of beer and Margie moved her face away.

“I don’t want to dance with you. Let me go.” She pushed against him, but his grip was strong. She didn’t know how she was going to escape him. She could feel his hands all over her and she felt like she was going to be sick.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Bryan? Let her go!” Lance’s voice thundered behind her and she felt the guy’s grip instantly loosen from around her.

“Hey, you okay?” Lance touched her shoulder and Margie lunged at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. That was her first instinct, to not let go of the man she was falling in love with.