Shot Caller (A Bad Boy's Baby Novel) (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Maddox

Just
as I expected, the press goes bonkers for me and Poppy as a pair. From that
first press conference, the media shit storm only picks up steam. There are
blog posts, tabloid articles, news segments, and all manner of photo spreads
featuring me and the lovely Ms. Abrams. Honestly, I think the press likes Poppy
just as much as they like me—and that’s saying something. I’ve always been the
reigning bad boy of football, a great story in and of myself. But now that I’ve
taken up with my sexy, non-celebrity trainer? This is media gold.

For
her part, Poppy handles the first week of being in the spotlight pretty well.
Sure, she’s a little quieter at the end of the day than usual, but who wouldn’t
be? We’re both working double duty now—in our proper roles for the Empire and
as Tucker’s not-so-secret publicity weapons. Hell, I’m pretty sick of elbowing
paparazzi out of the way every time I step outdoors, but I suppose I’m used to
it. Poppy? Not so much.

Thankfully,
we have a nice mid-week break from practice, meaning I actually get a proper day
off. I assumed Poppy and I would be spending the day together, naked under the
sheets preferably. But when I ask her what her plans are for the next couple of
days, she kind of blows me off.

“I
just really need some peace and quiet,”
she tells me over the phone, “You
understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah.
Sure,”
I’d
tell her, though of course I never understand what the hell is going on in that
mind of hers.

“Unless,”
she continues as I
grabbed a beer from my hotel room fridge, “You had something…special in mind?”

Ah,
fuck. What does that mean? Am I meant to cook up some romantic gesture, now
that we’re playing lovebirds for the press? One of the best things about this
arrangement with Poppy is that she’s never seemed interested in all the
bullshit. Until now, that is.

“Right.
Tell you what,”
I
improvise, swallowing a long swig of beer, “Why don’t you come spend the day at
the Tangier? They’ve got a great spa here. You could have a day to yourself
getting all pampered up. I’ll just put it on my card.”

“Wow…Are
you serious?”
Poppy
asks, sounding surprised by my offer.

“Sure,”
I tell her, “Only the
best for my co-conspirator.”

“Is
that my official title?”
she
laughs dryly.

“If
you like,”
I
reply, “So, what do you say? Come over tomorrow and have a fancy spa day on
me?”

“Sounds…great,
Mad,”
she
says, “I’ll just plan on seeing you after, I guess.”

“Bye
then,”
I
tell her, hanging up the call and settling onto the sofa for a nice, long chill
session. There’s a Premier League game on the telly, a six pack in the beer,
and 48 hours of peace ahead of me.

Or
at least, that’s what I thought until the moment the door to my sister’s suite
swings open into mine.

“Who
was that you were just chatting to?”
Rosie asks, traipsing into my room like
she owns the place. “Your ‘secret lover’?”

“Yeah,
as a matter of fact,”
I
tell her, scowling as she helps herself to a couple tiny bottles of vodka from
my mini-fridge.

“I
can’t believe you kept her a secret from even me,”
Rosie pouts, pouring her
vodka over ice. “I could have been having such lovely girl time with her this
whole time!”

“Actually,
Poppy has this thing called a
job
,”
I inform my sister, “It takes up most of
her time. Not that you would know what that’s like.”

My
sister lifts her eyes to mine, looking genuinely hurt by my comment. Aw, shit.
I’ve never been able to stand hurting her. Even if it is true that she hasn’t
worked a day since I started making enough money for the both of us.

“What
are your plans with Poppy for the next couple days?”
Rosie asks, changing the
subject, “Got any big romantic gesture planned?”

“Not
really,”
I
shrug, “I’m sending her to the spa.”

“You’re
not even gonna take her out for a date?”
Rosie presses, sitting down next to me.

“Poppy
and I don’t really…date, Rosie,”
I explain to her.

“What’re
you talkin’
about?”
she replies, “In all the
articles and stuff it says—”

“Let’s
just say that our actual relationship is less romantic and more…you know.
Casual,”
I
tell my sister.

“Casual,”
Rosie replies, raising a
thin eyebrow, “As in casual sex?”

“Pretty
much,”
I
tell her, taking a sip of beer.

“But
you’ve taken her out on a date at least?”
Rosie presses, looking alarmed.

“Not
really,”
I
reply.

“Jesus
Christ, Mad,”
she
groans, slapping a hand to her forehead, “You are so fuckin’
dense it hurts
sometimes.”

“What?
What am I being dense about?”
I
shoot back, flipping on the TV.

Rosie
grabs the remote out of my hand and turns it right back off.

“You’ve
been seeing this woman for over a month now, yeah?”
she asks.

“Yeah,
and?”

“And
you haven’t slept with anyone else since starting things with her?”

“No,”
I admit, “No, I haven’t.”

“And
now you’ve come out as a couple to the world.”

“Under
duress!”
I
point out.

“That’s
beside the point!”
Rosie
replies, a smug smile spreading across her face, “You, my dear brother, are in
a relationship with this woman. Like it or not, you are dating her. Which means
you need to get off your arse and take her on a proper date before she dumps
your idiotic, romantically-challenged arse.”

I
stare back at my sister, weighing my options.

“Do
I
really
have to?”
I
ask through gritted teeth.

“Bloody
impossible,”
Rosie
mutters, knocking back her vodka and holding out her hand, “Give me your credit
card, dummy. I’ll plan the best first date Poppy could possibly imagine. I’ll
do all the legwork, all you have to do is show up.”

“Fine,”
I mutter, thrusting my
platinum credit card my sister’s way, “Just make it as painless as possible for
me, yeah? No carriage rides. No rose petals. Nothing that’s gonna make my balls
fall off.”

“Don’t
worry,”
Rosie
says, giving me a pat on the head, “Your fragile masculinity is safe with me,
bro.”

“I’ll
believe that when I see it,”
I
grumble, turning the game back on as Rosie goes off to plan my first date with
Poppy.

Better
her than me.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Poppy

I’m
due at Maddox’s hotel in just a couple of hours to start my solo spa day. A
nice gesture on his part, but not exactly what I was hoping for from my
maybe-baby daddy. After this insane week of paparazzi, gossip, and flashing
cameras, all I wanted was to feel as close to Mad as he pretends we are in
front of the press.

How
is it that coming out as a couple has made me feel more separated from him than
ever? Especially given that we may very well be connected in the most intimate
way possible right at this very minute. It’s been two weeks since I should have
gotten my period. I can finally put my suspicions to the test.

And
speaking of tests…

I
sit on the edge of my bathtub, eyes glued to the thin plastic stick balancing
on the edge of the counter. After performing the awkward task of peeing on the
end of said stick, I’m just now waiting the obligatory two minutes to see what
my future holds. I know it’s a clich
é
,
but these two minutes have felt longer than the entire month of my relationship
with Maddox. My mind whirls in all directions, playing out different versions
of events, trying to figure out which outcome I’m even hoping for. It’s
impossible to say.

At
long last, the timer on my cell phone chirps. It’s time. With trembling
fingers, I reach across the narrow bathroom and take the pregnancy stick in my
hand.

Whatever happens in the next three seconds,
you’ve
got this,
I coach myself, You’ve been taking care of yourself your entire
life. No one’s more capable of handling this than you.

I
take a deep breath and hold it as I bring the test up before my eyes. A little
pink plus sign stares innocuously back at me, but the meaning of those two tiny
lines sends my heart slamming against my ribcage.

“Oh
my god,”
I
whisper, “I…I’m pregnant.”

Even
though I’m sitting still, I can feel my entire world reorienting itself around
that minuscule pastel cross. It’s like my center of gravity itself has changed.
Every minute of my life suddenly feels as though it’s been leading me here, to
this moment.

The
question is, what happens next?

I
jump a foot in the air as my cell phone starts to ring. Scrambling to my feet,
I snatch up the device as I clutch the positive test in my spare hand. My
stomach somersaults as I spot Maddox Walcott’s name on the screen. Holy
crap…did he sense what just happened here from across town? Is that even a
thing? I don’t know anything about what fathers feel for their unborn children.
I barley know what I feel yet. But still, I can’t start screening his calls
now.

“Hey!”
I all but yell into the
phone, “Hi! Good morning!”

“Christ,
did you pour Red Bull over your Cheerios this morning or something?”
Mad laughs at my expense.

“Just…excited
for my spa day,”
I
tell him, pacing around the bathroom. Am I supposed to just come out and tell
him the news? What is the protocol here?

“I’m
glad to hear it,”
Mad
replies, “Hey, why don’t you just head over now?”

“Now?”
I ask weakly, staring
down at the tiny plus sign.

“Yeah,
get an early start,”
Mad
goes on. His tone is overly exuberant over the phone. What’s going on over
there?

“Um,
OK,”
I
tell him, setting down the test as softly as possible, “I’ll just get some
things together and be on my way.”

“Be
sure to pack an overnight bag,”
he
tells me, “I want you all to myself tonight.”

Well, you won’t have me
all
to yourself,
I think,
laying a hand on my abdomen, from here on out,
we’ll have a tiny little chaperone.

“Will
do,”
I
tell Maddox, trying to keep my voice calm, “See you in a bit.”

I
hang up the phone and set it down on the counter, right next to my positive
test. Planting my hands on the counter, I stare into my own reflected eyes in
the mirror. It’s not even that I’m surprised by the news that I’m pregnant.
Some little part of me knew that I was, long before I took that test. If
anything, I’m a little relieved to have some answers. But I can feel a huge
wave of uncertainty swelling up to wash that relief away.

Maddox
and I have never once talked about the future beyond what we want for dinner on
any given day. Until he hatched this plan with Tucker, we never even talked
about ourselves as a couple. He was just a fling. A sexy fuck buddy for the
time being. Maddox was never supposed to be a part of my life for the long run,
let alone my child’s life.

“My
child,”
I
breathe, testing out the words, “My child…”

I
need time to think this whole thing through before I tell Maddox what’s going
on. With all the media craziness that’s going on, I can’t trust anyone with
this information—not even this baby’s father. I owe it to the little life
blooming inside of me to make an objective, thought-out decision. After all,
It’s not just my future that hangs in the balance anymore.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Maddox

“That’s
your idea for a first date?”
I
ask incredulously.

“What’s
the problem?”
Rosie
shrugs, shaking out her long blonde curls, “Poppy’s going to love this.”

“It’s
a little extreme, don’t you think?”
I shoot back, grimacing at the stretch
limo that’s idling on the curb outside the Tangier.

“Not
after what you’ve put her though with this press tour,”
Rosie points out,
planting her hands on her hips, “After the week she’s had, you owe Poppy the
time of her life.”

Before
I can reply, Rosie starts waving like a mad woman, grinning happily at someone
over my shoulder. I turn to see Poppy herself, waking toward us from the
parking lot. She’s smiling too, but there’s something forced about it. Maybe
this week has been harder on her than I thought. Damn Rosie for being right as
ever.

“Hello,
there!”
Rosie
sings, wrapping her skinny arms around Poppy’s shoulders, “It’s so nice to see
you again, love!”

“Hey
Rose,”
Poppy
replies, shooting me a bewildered look as she hugs my sister back, “I guess
you’re not too angry at me and Mad from bending the truth about our
relationship, huh?”

“Are
you kidding?”
Rosie
laughs, “I’m just so glad Mad is dating an upstanding, kickarse lady for once
instead of the slags he usually brings around.”

“Uh.
Thank you?”
Poppy
replies, looking slightly horrified.

“Excuse
my charming little sister,”
I
say to Poppy, adjusting my bag on my shoulder, “She wasn’t socialized properly
as a child.”

“Eh.
Who among us was?”
Poppy
shrugs, as good a sport as ever. “Hey, why do you have a bag, too?”

“Tell
her, Mad!”
Rosie
squeaks, bouncing up and down with excitement.

“Well,”
I begin, laying a hand on
the small of Poppy’s back, “I may have bent the truth myself, about my plans
for you today.”

“Oh?”
Poppy replies.

“I
know I promised you a day at the spa, but I think I can do you one better,”
I go on, nodding at the
limo.

Poppy’s
eyes grow wider as she spots the luxurious ride. “Is that for us?!”
she exclaims.

“Yep,”
I nod

“But…Why?”
Poppy sputters, as I lead
her toward the limo, “Where—?”

“Don’t
ask too many questions,”
Rosie
grins, “Just have a wonderful couple of days! You deserve it, Poppy.”

I
have to agree with my sister. My girl
does
deserve this.

“Bon
voyage!”
Rosie
calls, waving as Poppy and I slide into the limo.

“Bon
voyage?”
Poppy
says, looking around the decked out ride, “Don’t you only say that to people
who are traveling somewhere?”

“Which
terminal are you flying out of?”
the limo driver asks me from the front
seat. Poppy whips around to face me on the leather seat, her jaw hanging open
in surprise.

“What
are you, kidnapping me or something?!”
she exclaims.

“Not
quite,”
I
tell her, having a laugh at her dumbfounded expression, “I just thought it was
time for us to go on an actual date.”

“Air
travel has never been part of any date I’ve been on…”
she says, smiling
excitedly despite her shock.

“You’ve
never dated a star footballer, have you?”
I shoot back, slipping my arm around her
waist.

“I
wasn’t sure that I was dating one now…”
she says softly, looking up at me with her
big brown eyes. “We’ve been keeping this thing so casual between us. I guess…
I guess I wasn’t really
sure where we stood. I mean, I know we’re playing at being a couple for the
press, but—”

“Hey,
hey…”
I
murmur, pulling her close, “There’s no need to panic, babe.”

“There
isn’t?”
she
laughs ironically.

“No,”
I assure her, “We still
don’t need to rush into labels and titles and all that bullshit. I just want
you to know that I see us as being together. Whatever we want that to mean.”

“Together…”
she says, resting her
head on my shoulder. “I like the sound of that.”

And
the crazy thing is, I like the sound of it too.