Shot Caller (A Bad Boy's Baby Novel) (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Poppy

If
the sight of the limousine threw me for a loop, then the moment that we pull up
beside an honest to god private jet sends me clear into orbit. I have to say,
this definitely beats a mani-pedi and some cucumber water.

“Is
this for real?”
I
breathe, stepping out onto the tarmac beside Maddox.

“That
it is,”
he
says, a satisfied grin playing across his firm lips. “What do you say, Poppy?
Do you trust me enough to get onboard?”

I
look up at Maddox, backlit by the setting sun. By now I know his sure, square
jaw, deep gray eyes, and confident smile by heart. I hadn’t thought about it
until this moment, but I have come to trust him over these past few weeks.
Never would I have guessed that the nineteen-year-old boy I knew once upon a
time would grow up to be someone I could rely on. But looking back over the
past month, I think it’s safe to say that stranger things have happened.

“Lead
the way,”
I
tell Maddox, lacing my fingers through his.

Grabbing
our bags, we make out way across the tarmac and hop on board the private jet.
I’ll give the guy one thing—he knows how to make the best of a day off.

“Good
lord,”
I
breathe, stepping into the cabin of the jet, “Tell me this isn’t yours.”

“Just
for the next couple days, sadly,”
Maddox laughs, running his eyes along the
chic interior of the plane. “But who knows? If I manage not to get fired by the
end of the season, maybe I’ll pick one up for myself.”

“You’re
not still worried about getting fired, are you?”
I ask, making my way along the cabin.
“Your maneuver with Tucker has pretty much made you untouchable.”

“You
never know,”
Maddox
shrugs, “I never would have expected to get booted from the Premier League
either. Life is full of surprises.”

“Don’t
I know it,”
I
mutter, remembering the little pink cross that presented itself to me this
morning.

The
pilot pokes his head back into the cabin to let us know we’re clear for
takeoff. I settle back into my chair as Maddox strides across the room to a low
wooden bar, stocked with every manner of booze you could imagine.

“Want
a little lift-off nip?”
he
asks, pouring himself a whiskey.

I’m
just about to say the words “yes please”
when I suddenly remember my new condition.
Shit
. How am I going to explain that?

“Not
right this second,”
I
tell Mad, putting the question off until later.

“Suit
yourself,”
he
says, settling into the chair next to me. I’m safe, for now. But I can’t keep
putting off telling him. How am I supposed to know when the moment is right?

The
jet taxis along the runway for just a short while before picking up steam for
lift off. Mad takes my hand as the small vessel speeds along, bearing us off
into the sunset together.

“Are
you gonna tell me where we’re headed yet?”
I ask him, giving his hand a squeeze as
the jet lifts off.

“Don’t
worry about that now,”
Mad
murmurs, stroking my cheek with his hand as we take off into the bright
daylight, “Just be here with me.”

“I’m
here with you,”
I
whisper, kissing his wide palm, “And I’m so happy that I am.”

“That
makes two of us,”
Mad
replies, pulling me into his lap.

My
body is pressed back against his as we make our ascent, the force the plane’s
takeoff pinning me to Maddox’s broad, staggering body. Not that I wouldn’t be
pressing myself to him anyway, of course. His thickly muscled arms encircle me
as we soar into the sky together, headed god knows where. But as Mad brings his
full, firm lips to mine, guiding his expert hands all over my body, I have to
admit that I don’t much care where we’re headed for the moment. They’ll be
plenty of that kind of thinking to do in the very near future. For the next
couple of days, all I want to do is be in the moment with the incredible,
delectable, only
sometimes
infuriating man.

“Is
this just one big ruse to join the mile-high club?”
I tease Maddox, slipping
my hands up under his shirt as I straddle him on the cushy chair.

“I’ve
been a member for quite some time,”
he laughs.

“Right,”
I say, rolling my eyes as
I run my fingers along his impeccable abs, “I forgot that you usually prefer to
screw super models on private jets rather than hang out with girls like me.”

A
sudden, searing look crossed Maddox’s face, knocking the sarcasm right out of
me.

“If
I wanted to be here with some model, I would be,”
he tells me firmly, “But I’m here
with you. I want to be here with you. At some point, you’re going to have to
trust that.”

What,
is he reading my mind or something? Figuring out just how much I can trust
Maddox Walcott is my number one priority, right now.

“I
do. I know you’re telling me truth,”
I whisper, taking his face in my hands, “Now
could we stop talking so you can initiate me into this club of yours?”

“I
thought you’d never ask,”
he
grins, scooping me up in his arms.

As
Maddox carries me into the sleeping quarters in the back of the jet, something
tells me that this ten-hour trip is going to zip right by. Time flies when
you’re having good, dirty fun.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Maddox

I
have to hand it to Rosie, she did a bloody brilliant job with this whole Epic
First Date thing. After fucking for more or less ten hours straight in the back
of our private jet, Poppy and I finally land. I’m a bit worried her head is
actually going to explode when she realizes where we’ve touched down.

“Italy?!”
she exclaims, her eyes
wide as saucers, “You brought me to
Italy
on our first official date?!”

“Go
big or go home, right?”
I
grin, grabbing our bags and headed out into the mild Italian afternoon.

Another
car takes us from the airport right into the heart of Rome. I’ve been to this
city plenty of times before, but it’s Poppy’s first time seeing it in all its
grandeur. Making our way through the winding streets, we zooming past
world-famous landmarks left and right. In no other city I’ve ever visited is it
so easy to lose track of the old and the new. Ancient structures sit side-by-side
with contemporary architecture, modern men and women walk on the very streets
where some of the brightest and darkest days of human history took place.

All
told, it’s a pretty fucking cool place to be.

The
hotel Rosie picked out for us is hardly slacking, either. It’s tucked away in a
serene courtyard a stone’s throw from the Pantheon. We make our way through the
gilded lobby and up to our expansive room. Flowing white curtains frame two
glass-paned door leading out onto the balcony. I love my ocean view back in
Atlantic City, but this view is of another order entirely. All of Rome sprawls
out before our balcony as Poppy and I step back into the warm afternoon air.
For a long moment, it’s all either of us can do to stare in wonder.

“I
can’t believe this is happening,”
Poppy whispers, placing her hand in mind.

“Which
part?”
I
laugh softly.

“All
of it,”
she
replies, glancing up at me. I’m surprised to see tears welling up in her brown
eyes.

“Ah,
shit,”
I
mutter, laying my hands on her shoulders, “What’s wrong? It’s too much, isn’t
it? Sonofa—”

“No,”
she stops me, resting her
hands on my check as her freckled nose crinkles with a wide smile, “No, it’s
not too much. I just…I can’t believe it’s all happening to
me
.”

“Well,
believe it,”
I
tell her firmly, tucking her light brown hair behind her ear, “And hold onto
your knickers, because we’re only just getting started.”

“My
‘knickers’
are
at your command,”
she
laughs, lifting her lips to mine.

I
draw her in, savoring the sigh of contentment that runs through her as I let my
tongue glide against hers. I’ve never gotten so much pleasure out of making
someone feel good as I do with Poppy Abrams. And once I reveal where we’re
headed next, she’s going to feel better than good—she’s going to be over the
bloody moon.

“Here,”
I murmur, lifting two
tickets out of my back pocket and placing them in her hands, “The next stop of
our little adventure.”

Poppy
pulls back to glance down at the tickets I’ve just thrust in her hand. I don’t
know how Rosie came by these at the last moment. They should have been
impossible to get.

“No
freakin’
way,”
Poppy breathes, looking
back up at me.

“Yes
freakin’
way,”
I grin, planting a kiss
on top of her head, “Come on. We don’t want to miss kickoff.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Poppy

I’ve
been to plenty of soccer matches in my life, including more than a few with
incredibly high stakes. But nothing I have ever experienced compares to the
scene here tonight. Thousands upon thousands of people are jam-packed into this
football stadium, itself nestled right in the very heart of Rome. And these are
no even-tempered, easy-going spectators. These are passionate, invested lovers
of the sport. Fans of Serie A, the Italian soccer league, do not mess around
when it comes to their favorite game.

The
tension in the stadium tonight is electric, and not just for the Italian fans.
After the whirlwind adventure of being whisked away to Europe on a whim by the
man whose baby I may just be having, the stakes for me and Maddox feel sky
high. We stand side-by-side in the rollicking crowd, watching the Serie A clubs
face off on the pitch below. Mad’s arm is slung over my shoulder, his face
obscured by sun glasses though the sun has already begun to set. The last thing
we need to add into the mix tonight is a flurry of press sightings.

“Do
you know any of these guys?”
I
ask Maddox, nodding toward the field.

“Just
in passing,”
Mad
replies, his eyes riveted to the game, “I’ve played a few of them here and
there.”

“You’re
not gonna go storm the field and join in are you?”
I tease him, “That
competitive streak of yours
does
run mighty deep.”

“What,
me? Competitive?”
Maddox
says with mock innocence, “That’s ridiculous.”

Our
banter cuts off sharply as the crowd begins to roar all around us. One of the attackers
is bearing down on the opposing team’s goal, streaking like lightening across
the pitch. Just before the keeper intercepts him, the attacker kicks the ball
sidelong across the box, allowing his teammate to land a header that sends the
ball careening into the net. Explosive cheers and groans alike fill the dusky
air as the stadium stretches at its seams to accommodate the emotion of its
patrons.

I
watch gleefully as the Italian player who put the goal away tears across the
field in jubilation. His teammates cheer as he grabs the ball and swiftly tucks
it under his jersey. I hear several sounds of adoration go up from the crowd as
the goal scorer sticks his thumb in his mouth, the soccer ball sticking up
under his tight jersey. I recognize the ball-under-the jersey, thumb-sucking
gesture at once—it’s what soccer players do when they’ve got a baby on the way.
It’s like a telegraph to the mother of their expectant child, a way to dedicate
the goal to her and the baby on the way.

Usually,
I don’t think much of this gesture. But tonight, it brings a tear to my eye.
God, are those pregnancy hormones kicking in already? I turn to look at Maddox,
trying to gage his reaction to the sentimental gesture. But his attention is
already back on the game at hand.

“Wasn’t
that sweet?”
I
ask him tentatively.

“Hmm?”
he murmurs, eyes on the
pitch.

“What
that player just did. The expectant father thing,”
I prompt him.

“Oh,”
Mad shrugs, “I dunno.
It’s kind of tacky, isn’t it?”

I
feel my giddy good mood deflate, just a little. So what if Mad isn’t the grand
gesture type on the pitch? Doesn’t mean he couldn’t be a good father, for god’s
sake.

“Not
quite your style, huh?”
I
go on, trying to sound causal.

“I
don’t intend to find out anytime soon,”
Maddox laughs, taking a swig of beer. “I
can’t really see myself doing the daddy thing, to be honest.”

Forget
feeling deflated, that comment knocks the wind right out of my lungs.

“You
mean…right now? At this point in your life?”
I ask, willing my voice to stay even.

“It’s
not something I’ve ever wanted for myself. Kids, I mean,”
Mad goes on, “I’d
probably be shit at it, tell you the truth. Nah, I’ll just skip right over that
whole headache.”

“Right,”
I say faintly, staring
straight ahead without seeing a thing.

I
feel a pit open deep in my core, pulsing with the preemptive, lonely ache of
going it alone. In all the thinking I’ve done about this unexpected pregnancy,
I hardly paused to consider that Maddox might not be on board to support me. Is
he going to turn his back on me the second I tell him what’s going on? Is he
really capable of being that cruel?

“I’m
going to get another beer,”
Mad
says, interrupting my thoughts, “Sure you don’t want anything?”

“No,”
I tell him, forcing
myself to smile, “No, I want to save room for gelato later.”

“Fair
enough,”
he
says, giving me a swift kiss before heading off into the stadium.

I
sink down into my seat the second he’s gone. Despite the crowd of thousands
around me, I’ve never felt so definitively alone. Thank god everyone’s
attention is focused on the game—I wouldn’t want anyone to see the devastated
tears sliding down my cheeks at the prospect of bringing my baby into the world
on my own.