"Nah. He was better than me. Did things when he was a kid I couldn't do. If he hadn't gotten sick, he could have done anything. Football, soccer, baseball. The f.u.c.king Olympics."

"It sounds like you really loved him."

Jack swallowed. "Yeah. He idolized me for some stupid reason. He loved going to my high school games. He cheered for me louder than my mom." He paused, and I realized it was probably the first time he was telling anyone about this. "When he got too sick to come to the games, I brought in the recording, and we watched it together. The last time he smiled was while we watched a recording of the semi-finals. I forgot the snap count and ate a sack on the goal line. He rewound that play so many d.a.m.n times I got p.i.s.sed and broke the DVD. He thought it was hilarious."

"What was his name?"

"Sam."

Jack paced the kitchen. I hated how painful it was for him, but he was telling me anyway. That was a gift, a revelation I doubted he trusted many to know.

"Sam deserved a better life than that. I watched this little kid just...waste away." He paused, a long moment while he remembered more than I felt right asking to hear. "The doctors did good though. They tried everything, and he was always taken care of. So I, uh..." He shrugged. "I figure I can give something back to the wing in his memory."

Was it okay to hug him? I pulled him close, tugging his hand, returning him to my side. "I didn't know you had a little brother."

"I don't tell many people."

"We could share the story. Let them see you donate. It'd help your-"

"I don't care about my image. That's personal. He was my little brother. I'm not exploiting his memory."

I squeezed his hand. "It's not exploiting. You're in the spotlight, Jack. It comes with the territory. People need to see that other side of you."

"Why?"

"Just the way it is. You're a public figure."

"I never asked to be a role-model."

I arched an eyebrow. "And if this works? If we have a baby?"

Jack stilled. He studied my body. "It will work."

"You'll have to be a role-model for your son."

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because he'll be my son."

I didn't expect such conviction. Jack held my gaze, edging close to me.

"Or she'll be my daughter," he said. "I'll owe my kid everything, but I don't owe the world some bulls.h.i.t lie. I'm Jack Carson. I'm no f.u.c.king saint. What I do on my nights off, who I go out with, what I do, who I take home...that's my business. I'm not going to let the league tame me because they think my reputation has anything to do with how well I play football."

"You can't party forever, Jack. You have to grow up someday."

"And you can't schedule your life down to the minute and hope that nothing knocks you off course." He winked, brushing a hand over my belly. "Or hope that someone knocks you up."

I poked his chest, but my hand tickled over the thick muscles of his pecs. "You better take this seriously, Jack."

"I'm a serious as I get right now." His grin charmed me even when I thought I could resist it the most. "Think it's too early to take a pregnancy test?"

I laughed. "Oh, you don't know anything about the female body, do you?"

"I know my way around it. No one's complained yet."

"It's too early to take a test."

Jack's gaze hardened over me. He gripped the hem of the jersey and tugged it up, revealing my crossed legs. A firm hand to my knee pushed my thighs open, and he stared at my puffy slit, already slickening under his gaze.

His voice was a heated, feral rumble. "Is it too late to keep trying to make a baby?"

I shuddered as he leaned close, capturing my mouth and running a confident finger over my p.u.s.s.y. One little flick, and my body rocked with a dangerous pleasure.

"We could probably..." I sucked in a breath as he circled my c.l.i.t, but his hand immediately dropped to free himself from his shorts. I met his gaze. "Increase our odds..."

His c.o.c.k was hard, hot, and more than ready to try again. I gasped as the thick head pushed inside my core, still swollen and raw from the f.u.c.king last night. His growl warned me before he shoved every last inch within me. I groaned, grasping his shoulders, holding tight as he began to move.

I wrapped my legs over his waist and commanded his kiss. Jack wasn't a man who'd deny me. I melted against his lips and savored the feel of his body against mine.

Hot.

Strong.

Close.

Every movement explored my body and demanded my pleasure and stole from me the last defenses I cast for Jack. I could hide nothing from him while his c.o.c.k stretched me and tormented me and delighted me. I never imagined experiencing such a pa.s.sionate intimacy with him.

I never thought I'd enjoy it so much.

That I'd need it so much.

That I'd love it so much.

I came quickly for him, trembling against my own sudden realizations.

It would be far too easy to fall for Jack Carson, to want the untamable and risk breaking my heart for the arrogant trouble-maker.

I'd have to be careful I only gave him my body.

I couldn't risk giving him my heart.

Chapter Twelve Jack.

The team cheered as I dropped back, let loose, and threw a bomb that hit our receiver mid-stride for a sixty yard completion.

Had it not been training camp-had we actually strapped on our pads and gone to work at a real game-it would have broken my personal record.

Just gave me something to aim for this season. It was a good pa.s.s. It felt good. It looked good for the screaming fans and press attending our training camp.

I could feel it. This was going to be my season.

My year.

My championship.

Bryon finished his stretches and hooted at me. "Baby, you kicked it up a notch this offseason."

"f.u.c.kin' know it." I took the bottle from the trainer but dosed myself with the cool water. G.o.dd.a.m.ned August was killing me, and it was only the first week of camp. "Just a preview of what's coming, gentlemen."

Bryon revved the team up. "Watch out!"

"Better start working up new nicknames. Play-Maker's gonna become the stuff of dreams."

The guys laughed. Bryon mocked me, hands in the air. "Preach it, Jack."

"I'm the baddest motherf.u.c.ker on this field. You best be calling your mommas on Monday. Ain't no one rocking you to sleep Sunday night after you get f.u.c.ked by me."

The team cheered, my offensive linemen heralding the charge with another blitz of profanity. My back-up nudged me.

"Dude, there's kids over there." Matt wasn't a stick in the mud, he was all the dirt in the d.a.m.n pile. "Better watch your language."

"Jesus Christ, it's a practice. Like they haven't heard this s.h.i.t before-"

Coach Thompson's voice was a shrill as the whistle. It silenced the field. "Carson!"

What the h.e.l.l. I was in a rhythm. Why the f.u.c.k were we stopping?

I abandoned the practice and jogged to the coaching staff, strategizing over the playbook. The rest of the team buzzed the field, some running laps, some doing plays, most of the new recruits s.h.i.tting themselves while trying to make a good impression.

I guess I was in that position too. My contract renegotiation hadn't started yet. I doubted they'd let me wallow through the last year of what I originally signed. It'd be a monumentally s.h.i.tty idea for the team, especially after how good I looked at this year's training camp.

I was bigger than last season. Stronger. Fitter. I knew the offense better than the layout of my house. And I had a reason to win-not just because I was the most insanely gifted quarterback to enter the league in twenty years.

I had my pride to regain. A lost game to forget. And they knew it.

"Carson, you're gonna watch your motherf.u.c.king mouth on that field." Coach Thompson pointed at me with a pudgy finger. "In fact, you're gonna shut that mouth. Throw the d.a.m.n ball and do your job."

The insult cracked deep. I narrowed my eyes. "Haven't I done that?"

"You s...o...b..at when you got a ring on your finger to show what hot s.h.i.t you are. You brag in the minutes after that final win. As of now?" He tapped his watch. "New season, Play-Maker. You're on my time now, and there ain't no winners or losers yet. You gotta prove yourself, same as anyone else."

"You're kidding, right?"

The coach was a beefy man, a former lineman that forgot he wasn't burning thousands of calories in exercise a day anymore. He tried to intimidate me. Didn't matter how many clipboards he held in front of his face, he wasn't p.i.s.sing with me.

I took another drink and hoped it was the heat that made me so f.u.c.king irritable. I pitched the water bottle at my feet and turned back to my team.

Coach Thompson snorted at me. "You think you're special, Jack?"

I'd shove that whistle down his throat. I faced him, eyes narrowed, every muscle in my body tensed and ready to prove that I was a one-in-a-million athlete that wouldn't tolerate his bulls.h.i.t much longer.

"What the h.e.l.l is your problem?" I pointed to the field. "I have fifty-two men I'm leading back to the championship. And you know what I'm gonna get?"

"A win this time?"

"Re-f.u.c.king-demption. Don't tell me I gotta prove myself. I know exactly what I need to do."

He nodded at the other coaches, backing them down as I felt my temper baited, checked, and about to rage. He patted my shoulder, but the son of a b.i.t.c.h didn't have a right to rile me up just to s.h.i.t on me when the urge came over him.

"You've been doing good these past few weeks, Jack. Staying out of trouble."

"Don't patronize me."

"Don't give me a reason to treat you like a child."

I knew better than to say a d.a.m.n thing. If I let loose, I'd be overheard by the media hanging too close. They always descended when they thought there'd be fireworks.

f.u.c.k em. I wasn't giving them any fodder to take to Leah. It was bad enough she still dealt with the car accident and the camera incident. Those scandals complicated my nights with my publicist, when she had to b.i.t.c.h at me before I tossed her in bed and tried to knock her up.

It had been a good couple weeks of attempts though. Leah's p.u.s.s.y was great stress relief. Something about getting a girl like her in trouble-even if she gave me permission-was s.e.xy enough to get me hard every minute of every day.

Coach Thompson grabbed my shoulder. It was a bad move, but I let him pull me back.

"Listen to me, Jack. You're keeping your head down. You're doing good work. You're on time. And you weren't with Bryon when he got into that mess with the s.l.u.t downtown. You're doing what you're supposed to be doing. You understand me?"

I did, so why was I resisting it? "Yeah. I'm the league's newest lapdog. You taught me not to bark in the house, but you still want me neutered."

"d.a.m.n right, we do. You're gonna stay on this path."

"I am?"

"Yes, you are. I don't know why this is always a fight with you." He pointed to the field, watching as the men ran plays without me. "You are one of the most gifted athletes I've ever seen, but you refuse to cooperate with anyone. You're aggressive. You throw temper tantrums. You insist on using your c.o.c.k to make your big decisions."

Couldn't argue with that, but when had my c.o.c.k led me wrong?

"This past month, you've been behaving-and yes, I say behaving because you're the only G.o.dd.a.m.ned adult I have to treat like a teenager. I got kids at home, Jack, I don't need another crew of ungrateful s.h.i.ts here, you get me?" He looked me over, but he still didn't try to respect me. "You haven't been partying as much."

Yeah, cause I was b.a.l.l.s deep in Leah at night, trying my d.a.m.nest to make her o.r.g.a.s.m so hard she'd pa.s.s out on my d.i.c.k. Every man had a dream. This one was new. Didn't involve a championship game, but it took up a lot of my nights.

"You're focused, Jack," he said. "You're concentrating. You're in great shape. You're not hiding in your sungla.s.ses cause you have a raging hangover. You understand now? You're ready to lead this team the way it should be led, and you're becoming the man you were supposed to be three years ago. I don't know what changed, but something flipped that switch in your head. It's going to bring us to victory."