Quarterback Keeper Read online

  Quarterback Keeper

  A surprise baby novella

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  Lacey Black

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Books Also by Lacey Black

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Quarterback Keeper

  Copyright © 2021 Lacey Black

  Cover Design by Sarah Paige of Opium House Creatives

  Cover Photo - Deposit Photo #261298098

  Editing by Kara Hildebrand

  Proofreading by Joanne Thompson & Karen Hrdlicka

  Format by Kaylee Ryan

  This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

  Published in the United States of America.

  All rights reserved.

  Prologue

  Ashtyn

  “I got the job!” I bellow the moment I’m through the door of my twin brother’s condo. “Alex?” My bliss practically carries me into his living room on a cloud of excitement and anticipation, but the moment I’m through the doorway, it’s not my brother’s face I see. “Oh, sorry,” I mumble the moment my eyes land on the sexy man sprawled out on my brother’s couch.

  “Hey, Ashtyn,” he replies in that deep, intoxicating drawl that does dangerous things to panties all over the world. His arm is thrown over his head casually, displaying a large tattoo on the underside of his bicep, and his strong, muscular legs span the entire length of the couch. He’s wearing a T-shirt that hugs his arms and chest and a pair of basketball shorts that seem to do nothing to hide an impressive bulge between his legs. His hazel eyes are darker than I remember and his hair a little messy, as if he just got out of bed. Not to mention the totally irresistible dimple in his chin. He’s pure sex, and the problem is he knows it.

  Tate Steele, quarterback for the St. Louis Fire professional football team and my brother’s best friend.

  Even if he’s not my type at all, I can still appreciate the glory only created by God himself that is Tate freaking Steele.

  But what’s he doing at my brother’s place?

  That’s when I notice the ice pack on his knee. “What happened?” I ask, instantly taking a few steps his way.

  Big mistake. The moment I do, I catch a whiff of clean, earthy shampoo and pheromone-producing body wash. It makes my nipples prickle with delight.

  “A linebacker got a little overzealous in practice the other day. I’m out for another week to rest my knee,” he tells me, his eyes lazily roaming my body from head to toe.

  I quickly glance down, realizing in my excitement, I didn’t even change my clothes. I’m still in the pair of small cotton shorts and tank top I was wearing to clean my apartment before the phone call came that changed the course of my future. Well, at least I’m wearing a bra. My eyes meet his as I try to comprehend what he just said.

  Tate chuckles, slow and gravelly, and things start to tingle between my legs. “Football, Sweetness. It happened at practice on Wednesday. Thank fuck it’s still early in the preseason, though, I’m not too thrilled with being sidelined for the next week. Fucking second-string QB has had a hard-on for my spot since they signed his ass last year.”

  “Oh, uh, well, I’m sorry you’re hurt,” I tell him, glancing around for Alex.

  “He’s not here. Got called into work for some big client he’s trying to sign. Said he’d probably be gone all evening, taking him and his family to dinner to grease the wheels.”

  My brother is a recruiter and coach and loves his job. He played football growing up and eventually went to Notre Dame, where he met Tate. They were roommates and shared a love for the game. When it was time to graduate, Alex left the game behind and with his bachelor’s degree in sports management started working for Notre Dame as an assistant for the sports program, while Tate, a Heisman Trophy winner, signed a contract with the St. Louis Fire for an obscenely large amount of money. Alex has worked hard, clawing his way up the ranks from the lowest-paid position on the team to being their head recruiter and assistant coach in just six short years.

  “Oh,” I mumble, dropping down in the chair with a plop.

  “What’s this about a new job?” Tate asks, removing the ice from his knee and tossing it on the coffee table. He turns his large body to face me as if giving me his full attention.

  “Um, well, I got a new job at a large library. It’s kind of a big deal,” I tell him, intentionally vague about the position. Tate Steele doesn’t care about books, and I’m pretty sure the only time he ever set foot in a library was to make out in the back.

  His hazel eyes hold my gaze for a few extra seconds and something that looks a lot like pride flashes through them. “Wow, congrats, Ash. When do you start?”

  “Next month,” I reply, leaving out the part that involves relocating to an entirely different state. With this job comes a lot of change, and I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.

  “Alex will be excited for you,” he insists, giving me a genuine smile. Not one of those cocky, conceited smirks he flashes on television that makes women everywhere take off their panties.

  I’ve seen and heard the tabloid stories on Tate. He’s a playboy, an arrogant bachelor with a black book list of phone numbers longer than the Chicagoland phonebook. He never goes anywhere without a piece of arm candy at his side and is photographed constantly with the most beautiful women in the world.

  I, on the other hand, prefer quiet evenings in. I don’t even have cable. Not Netflix or whatever streaming sites are available. My best friend is a teacher at the school district I work for, and as far as my social calendar goes, it’s usually filled up with long nights of reading Jane Austen, Harper Lee, and the Bronte sisters.

  We’re so far apart on the social circle scale we might as well be on different planets.

  “I have an idea,” he says, clapping his hands together and getting up. Before he tells me what’s on his mind, he bends and stretches his knee. “How about we celebrate? Since I’m supposed to be laying low for a few days, we can order food and have it delivered.”

  My heart literally can’t decide if it wants to stop beating all together or pirouette in my chest. “Oh, that’s not necessary,” I insist, jumping up and backing toward the front door. Suddenly, I’m all too aware of the fact I’m alone with an incredibly sexy man and I look like I’ve been scrubbing baseboards and behind my kitchen appliances all day.

  “No, I insist. Your brother would definitely want to celebrate, right? So, let’s celebrate, Ashtyn.” There’s something in his warm hazel eyes that says I can trust him, which is crazy, considering I’ve really only met him a handful of times.

  “Um, I’m not sure I’m celebration ready,” I state, glancing back down at my way too casual, way too exposed outfit.

  Tate’s eyes drop to my chest before returning to meet mine. “You look great, Ash. And we’re staying in, remember?”

  “Oh, uh,” I start but struggle to find another excuse as to why I need to go home.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun. We can get to know each other better. You’re my friend’s twin sister, and I barely know you,” he insists.

  That’s because we have nothing in common, and his eyes were usually too focused on some cheerleader or blonde with double Ds to pay any attention to anyone else in the room.

  “I guess we can call The Tap and order something,” I reply as if the words fly from my mouth entirely on their own.

  “Great.” Tate pulls up the menu on his phone and starts tapping away. Suddenly, he’s thrusting it at my face, an indication it’s my turn to enter what I want.

  I scan the menu for my favorite entrée and toss in an order of fried cheese curds for good measure. I mean, it’s a celebration, right?

  When I hand him back the phone, our fingers touch. A jolt of electricity bolts up my arm, causing me to jump back and put a little more separation between us. Tate doesn’t seem to notice, which makes me feel like one of those silly football groupies who swoon whenever he walks into a room.

  “We have forty minutes,” he replies, finishing up our order and slipping his phone into his shorts before disappearing into my brother’s kitchen. A few minutes later, he comes back with two glasses of wine. “I hope you like white. It was all your brother has besides a bottle of scotch, and you don’t strike me as a scotch drinker.”

  “The wine is actually mine, so this is perfect,” I reply, taking the offered glass.

  Before I can take a sip, he holds up his glass. “To Ashtyn and her new job at the library. May your new position bring you happiness and continued passion,” he states. There’s a flash of something in his eyes when he speaks that one word.

  Passion.

  Suddenly, the room is entirely too small, and I’m desperate for a little liquid to cool and soothe my dry throat.

  By the time ten o’clock rolls around, I am nurturing a healthy buzz and my side hurts from l
aughing. Who knew Tate Steele was so funny? Not me, but after spending the evening with him, eating, drinking, and talking, I’m pleasantly surprised by how laid-back and witty he truly is. Plus, I could be way off base, but there’s something else there. An underlying desire I feel every time he looks at me. My body has been strung so tight the last hour, I’m afraid he can tell I’m practically crawling out of my skin with need.

  “I think I’m going to bed,” I mumble, getting up out of the chair and stumbling a little as the room sways.

  Strong arms wrap around my shoulders. The swaying stops but only because I’m pressed firmly against a hard chest. A nice, warm chest. The rich scent of sandalwood fills my entire being, and before I even realize what I’m doing, I have my nose buried in the material stretched across his pecs.

  My face burns with mortification.

  I really just sniffed my brother’s best friend.

  Cheese and rice, I’ve had too much to drink.

  “I’m going,” I start, pointing a thumb over my shoulder toward the bedrooms.

  But Tate doesn’t let me go. He walks with me, even though I have my footing enough now. It’s only when we reach the guest room I occasionally sleep in that I realize the problem. Tate’s stuff is there. His suitcase thrown on the floor and a pile of clothes strewn on the chair.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot you were staying here too. I’ll just bunk with my brother. As long as he’s not bringing home anyone, he won’t mind if I’m there. Or he can just sleep on the couch. It’s not that uncomfortable. I’ve crashed there before too. I just wouldn’t recommend the chair because your neck will hurt and—”

  I’m cut off by his hot mouth. It slams into mine with urgency, one I reciprocate willingly as if kissing him is a necessity. Like air. His tongue pressing into my mouth at the same time he lifts me and pushes my back against the wall. My legs wrap around his lean hips and his erection presses firmly against my core. Holy hell, this man is…wow.

  I rip my lips from his and suck in a greedy breath of air. Tate’s mouth trails along my jaw and moves to my earlobe. I gasp and rock my hips into him as he sucks on my lobe before sliding those amazing lips down the side of my neck. “Oh God,” I groan, my panties so wet, I’m certain he can feel them through my shorts.

  His hazy eyes meet mine. “Do you want me to stop?”

  Well, if that isn’t a loaded question. My brain says yes, definitely stop. This shouldn’t go any further. Tate Steele is an egotistical bad boy, and even though I’m sure the sex will be great, that’s all it will ever be. I’ll be a notch on his infamous bedpost. Something I’ve never wanted to be. Plus, there’s the fact he’s linked to my brother, and the chances are I’ll see him again at some point soon. This has bad idea written all over it with a big black Sharpie marker.

  Yet, my gut—and maybe a little bit of white wine—is telling me to do it. Have fun. Enjoy what is sure to be a good time and then leave it all behind. Move on and forward, ready to start my new job with a smile on my face and the memory of a few orgasms. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, a man like Tate is good for at least two, maybe three. So why not?

  “No, don’t stop,” I whisper.

  My response seems to take him by surprise. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  That’s all it takes. Like a can of gas thrown on a smoldering fire, we ignite spectacularly. Clothes fly, hands are everywhere, and mouths taste and suck on every piece of exposed skin possible.

  When I’m completely naked, his eyes greedily consume me from head to toe. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and gravelly.

  Part of me wants to cover myself. I’m not one to completely undress in front of a man, especially one I’m not dating, but I hold fast. It allows me to take in the man before me once again. He’s completely hard, from head to toe. There’s not an ounce of fat on him. Dark hair is sprinkled across his chest, with a line below his belly button that leads to his erection. It’s large—larger than I’ve ever seen in person—and frankly, I’m equal parts nervous and excited.

  Tate goes over to his suitcase and digs a condom out of the pocket before returning to where I stand. I watch as he rolls it on and tosses the wrapper on the floor. Then, his eyes are set on me like I’m the prey he’s about to devour.

  He threads his fingers in my hair as he slowly kisses me. My hands glide up his chest and wrap around his neck. There’s a major height difference between him and my mere five foot five frame, but the way our bodies line up, it’s almost comfortable and natural.

  Tate wraps his hands around my rear and lifts again, my legs instantly locking around his lower back. The position puts his erection right where I want it, where I need it. His eyes meet mine once more as if he’s giving me one more chance to stop, but when I kiss him, I practically feel all his restraint and control melt away.

  He presses forward, stretching and filling me completely in one thrust. I gasp and close my eyes, savoring the sweet burn that disappears as quickly as it started. Tate doesn’t move, just holds still for a few long seconds. “Good?”

  “God, yes. So good. Do it again,” I beg.

  He glides his lips along my neck and whispers, “Hold on, Sweetness. This is going to be one hell of a ride.”

  And it is.

  He starts to move, his thrust hard and long and filling me so completely, I’m not sure where he ends and I begin. Each time he moves, it’s pure ecstasy, and I feel myself climbing higher and higher. My body starts to tighten as he swivels his hips, touching that magical place deep inside of me. The result is like an explosion, and I cry out as blinding white lights fill my vision. I can feel his fingers grip my ass as he thrusts harder, chasing his own release. When he finally let’s go, it triggers a second orgasm I didn’t even know was brewing.

  I’m pretty sure the result causes me to blackout a little.

  Suddenly, we’re moving. Tate lays me down on the guest bed and curls up around me. My body feels completely boneless and weightless as sleep threatens to pull me under. I feel him shift against me, his softening erection slipping from my body. He places a kiss against my shoulder and pulls a blanket over my body. “You’re going?” I whisper, my eyes cracking open to take him in.

  He’s gloriously naked and gives me a small smile. “I figured since Alex will be home any time, it’s probably best if I’m not in here.”

  The mention of my brother is like a cold shower. I start to move, but he crawls on the bed and kisses me soundly on the lips. “This is your room,” I reply when I’m breathless once more.

  Tate grins and pushes my hair over my shoulder. “I’ll take the couch. Sleep.”

  My eyes close as he runs his hand down my arm. His touch is so soothing and helps lull me toward sleep. His hand moves, gliding over every inch of exposed skin. For someone with rough, calloused hands, his touch is pure magic.

  I feel the bed shift and hear the squeak as the door starts to close. “Goodnight, Sweetness.” It’s the last thing I remember before the blackness finally pulls me under.

  Chapter 1

  Tate

  Present Day

  “That’s perfect, Tate. Give me more of that smile,” Reggie says, his camera shutter clicking in fast succession.

  I’m shooting for a sports drink today, both television and print ads. My agent worked out a sweet two-year deal with the company, and all I have to do is be seen during practice and after the game drinking the product. Since training camp doesn’t start for another month, they figured now is the perfect time to shoot a handful of ads for their fall and winter campaigns.

  “Yeah, more of that smirk. Cocky. You’ve got women lined up for miles waiting to spend just a little time with the infamous Tate Steele,” Reggie shouts, not taking a break from pressing the shutter button.