The Knocked Up Plan

“It’s true,” Delaney says with a straight face. “I do need shoes.”

After they leave, I take my wife for a round of mini golf, since we still try to find interesting dates. After she wins, she suggests we grab a drink at the bar at Grand Central.

But she doesn’t order champagne. She orders lemonade. After she finishes it, I learn why. She takes me to the Whispering Arch, and when she’s on the other side, I hear some of my favorite words from her.

“I’m pregnant.”

And I’m the happiest man on the face of the earth.

Nine months later, we have a girl, and we name her Rosemary.

She is an absolute angel.



* * *



THE END



* * *



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Did you enjoy getting to know Flynn? Stay tuned for his story in COME AS YOU ARE! Also, his twin brother Dylan has a story to tell too in STUD FINDER!





The great thing about masquerade parties is no one knows who I am. I can pretend to be whoever I want. For one evening, I'm not the millionaire everyone wants a piece of.



And when I come across the most intriguing woman I've ever met, and it turns out she likes hot, passionate up-against-the-wall sex as much as I do, there's no need for names or numbers.



It’s a perfect night.



Until the next day when she walks into my office with a proposal I didn’t see coming.





***



Want a sneak peek at my next release? My all-new sexy, sports romance MOST VALUABLE PLAYBOY releases on Sept. 1! Check out the first chapter and preorder now!





Prologue



* * *



Always a bridesmaid.

No Action Armstrong.

Ball cap boy.

Mr. Clean.

The Unused Insurance Plan.

Warmest Butt in the NFL.

Oh wait. Here’s one more, and a personal fave.

Best Butt in the NFL.  Those are just some of the nicknames I’ve been given in the last few years. Lest anyone think they bug me, they don’t. Not one bit. They’ve all been true, especially the last one. You should see my ass. You can bounce a quarter off my cheeks if you want.

Here’s the thing — when you spend the first three years of your career warming the bench for the best player in the league, you can’t let a chip on your shoulder develop. You’ve got to stay sharp, and be ready for that moment when your pants finally get dirty, and you swap out a ball cap for a helmet.

My time has finally come this season, and we’re winning so far.

But tonight isn’t about what happens between the opening kickoff and the end of the fourth quarter.

Tonight is about the one game I’ve dominated.

For the last few years, I’ve cleaned up in the players’ annual charity auction, and maybe that’s because the one nickname I’ve relished most doesn’t even belong to me. The guy I’ve backed up has been called a lot of things — a legend, the greatest ever, a titan of the game — but the one I particularly enjoy is the “second-best-looking quarterback on the Renegades.”

Hey, I didn’t give him that name. The media did, deciding the dude who played second string had a prettier face — that’s me. Before this season, I hadn’t seen a grand total of 120 minutes of playing time in those first three years, but I’ve taken home the top honors in the charity auction where some of the loveliest ladies come to bid on the players they want to take out for a night on the town.

Ah, the memories of those dates have warmed my heart, and other parts, on the sidelines when the games were dull. Evenings in limos testing the strength of the leather backseat, nights in hotels that lasted way past dawn, the rule of no physical contact between the winner and the woman blissfully ignored by all parties involved.

Yeah, I’ve enjoyed the fuck out of being paraded on stage in front of hundreds of women, with slender arms raised in the air, and winning bids going my way over all the other guys. It’s been my one chance to shine, even to stand out.

Those days are behind me though, now that I’m finally leading the team down the field every single Sunday.

This time, I won’t be living it up and letting loose after hours since I’ve got a reputation to protect, and a season on the line.

The trouble is, the woman who has her eyes on me at the Most Valuable Playboy charity auction wants my full enchilada, and it’s not on the menu anymore.

Guess that means it’s time for me to call an audible on the line of scrimmage.



* * *



Chapter One



* * *



My hair is sticking up.

In my defense, it’s always sticking up.

I have what’s known as permanent bedhead. Which can be awesome, if it means I look like I just strolled out of a most excellent roll in the hay, complete with hands having been run through my dark brown strands.

It’s not so awesome if I’m trying to look the part of a classy athlete dressed to the nines. I’m decked out in a charcoal gray tailored suit and parked in a swank leather chair in a suite at the Whitney Hotel in the heart of San Francisco with a bunch of guys from the team.

Violet’s trying to curb my bedhead. Her long fingers thread through my hair, aiming for a reverse roll-in-the-hay effect. “I swear, Cooper, you’ve had the most stubborn hair your entire life.”

I wiggle my eyebrows. “It takes after me. I can’t be tamed, either.”

She rolls her amber eyes, glancing down at me, her long chestnut hair spilling over her chest. “That’s right. You’re a wild mustang. Impossible to domesticate.”

I neigh.

She stops, sets her hands on my shoulders and gives me a sharp stare. “Can you count with your hooves too?”

I drag a wing-tipped foot along the carpeted floor one, two, three times. “I can go all the way to ten.”

“You let me know when you make it to twenty, Mister Ed. That’s when I’ll be thoroughly impressed,” she says, with a smile I’ve seen for the last twenty years. I’ve been friends with Violet since we were kids and I moved to her hometown a few blocks away from her house.

I rub my palms together. “Excellent. I have a goal to shoot for. You know I love goals.”

She laughs. “I do know that.”

Give me a task, and I’m nose-to-the-grindstone focused. I’ve been that way my whole life. My ability to execute is top notch. Run a mile in under six minutes? Sure thing. Throw a ball downfield twenty-five yards? Let’s do it. Win a scholarship to a top-tier school? Consider it done, and done with a smile.

Violet stretches her arm behind her, silver bracelets jingling, as she grabs some hair gel in a black tube from the chrome coffee table. “We need to domesticate your lovely locks, Cooper. I don’t have a riding crop with me, but I think this gel will do.”

I give the tube a skeptical stare. “You’re not going to put a ton of goop in my hair, are you?”