Quarterback's Unknown Baby Daughter: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Read online

  “Congratulations,” I say, placing the ribbon around her neck.

  “Thank you!” she gasps out, shyly accepting my handshake. “Oh, Mr. Connor, I can’t believe it’s really you! I’m a huge fan!”

  “Thank you. You should be very proud of your performance today.” The organizer hands me the accompanying certificate. “I think they want to take our picture now,” I add with a wink.

  She blushes noticeably as we hold the piece of parchment up between us and pose for the camera.

  That done, I can’t help but satisfy my curiosity. I turn to face her and place a hand on her shoulder. “Can I ask you something?”

  Her mouth drops open a little as if in awe that I’m actually speaking to her. “Sure,” she replies, clutching the certificate in both hands.

  “Would your mother happen to be Deanna Murphy?”

  Her brow furrows a bit, and she tilts her head to the side, the gesture reminiscent of the girl I once knew. “Um, yeah... How do you know that?”

  “Oh, just a hunch. You see, she and I were very good friends back when we went to high school right here in Odessa. You look a lot like her, and well, your name is Murphy too.”

  “Wow!” Her pretty green eyes threaten to grow as big as saucers. “She never told me that! Sh-she’s here today, watching the game.”

  “Is she?” I say, feigning surprise. “Well, I’ll be sure to catch up with both of you a bit later then, alright?”

  “Really?” A giant grin spreads across her flushed cheeks.

  I nod in affirmation. “I’ll be outside the dressing rooms in a minute, signing autographs. I’ll see you there.”

  Grace spins on her heel and dashes back to her team, waving her certificate in the air. I’m uplifted by the exuberance of youth that surrounds me, feeling the years peel away as I watch her go. Suddenly I’m eighteen again, strutting triumphantly off the school football field, into the arms and the waiting kiss of my old sweetheart, Deanna, caressing the soft strands of her honey blonde hair, and holding her close to my dirty, sweat-soaked, jersey-clad body.

  I would get hard inside the cup of my jockstrap with her soft curvy form pressed up next to me under the shadow of the bleachers, anticipating the time a few hours after the game when we’d be able to sneak off alone. Sometimes to her parents’ house, sometimes mine; more often to the back seat of the old clunker I used to drive.

  Anywhere we could get naked was okay by us. My God, we’d taken chances. I couldn’t get enough of Deanna’s sweet lips and hot pussy. We weren’t experienced at sex, but boy did we learn fast. If there were a trophy for best make-out sessions, we would have won it hands down. The memory makes me smile, but the happy images in my mind cloud over when I remember how it ended.

  It wasn’t pretty and, looking back, it wasn’t fair either. Not to Deanna. I was so star-struck by the football scholarships being thrown at me I’d lost sight of her. I did love her; I was sure of that. But my whole future was at stake. Full rides to schools like Princeton and Yale didn’t fall out of the sky every day. I left town faster than the Road Runner himself, leaving Deanna in the West Texas dust.

  I never meant to hurt her.

  Seeing this miniature version of her tonight makes me realize my feelings for her haven’t gone away. They’ve just been in storage along with the rest of my humble Texas past. Perhaps I’ve kept them there for too long. Maybe it’s alright to let them out for a little fresh air.

  Chapter Three

  Deanna

  BLAST FROM THE PAST

  “Mom! Did you see it? Did you see me?” Grace shouts as I help her off with her equipment.

  “I sure did, sweetheart. That was some catch! You were so good... I’m so proud of you!”

  I fold her jersey that I will have to wash later into her Cubs-branded duffel bag. Only the mothers are allowed into the girls’ dressing area... essentially the ladies’ restroom around the corner from the team dressing room. The number of boys on the team still outnumber the girls, and though the female ranks are increasing, the league’s budget hasn’t caught up. There isn’t the money to reconfigure the entire sports facility infrastructure to include separate male and female rooms.

  “And OMG, did you see him!” Grace exclaims. “Wyatt Freaking Connor!”

  “Hey!” I admonish. “That’s not very respectful. And yes, of course, I saw him.”

  “Are you kidding, Mom? He’s the biggest star on the Jets team, and he talked to me,” she carries on. “He shook my hand and everything... and... you know what else... He asked if you were my mother!”

  My body seems to go cold at her words. He knows. Or at least guessed. It wasn’t a far reach given mine and Grace’s resemblance along with the same last name.

  “Oh my,” I manage, after a hard swallow. “He did? That’s... interesting.” I busy my shaking hands with stuffing the bulky shoulder pads into the bag. I’m not sure if I’m trembling with trepidation or excitement that Wyatt still remembers me; enough to make that connection between my daughter and me. But what connection might he make next? I wonder.

  Grace flashes me that bug-eyed look she always does when she thinks I’m being impossible. “He said he knows you! Why didn’t you ever tell me? He’s famous! And you know him!”

  “Well, that would kind of be bragging, wouldn’t it?” I answer, trying to sound nonchalant. “We went to high school together, along with 500 other students. Lots of people know Wyatt Connor; it’s not that big a deal. Being famous doesn’t necessarily make you a better person, Gracie.”

  “He’s a great person.” Grace pouts. “Look at the medal he gave me. And this certificate.”

  I chuckle at her bold declarations while examining her awards. “I never said he wasn’t. I’m just saying that fame can change people, sometimes.” I run my fingers over the embossed metal, oddly thinking how it had been in Wyatt’s hands only moments ago, and how those hands had been all over me once upon a time. Skillful, strong hands that excelled at everything… whether love or sports.

  And in the end, he chose sports.

  “Well, I think he’s great and famous,” Grace says, hastily tugging on her street clothes. “Can we hurry up, please? I want to get his autograph! He said he’d be here outside the dressing rooms. I don’t want to miss him!”

  “Not so fast, young lady. You go brush your hair and wash your face and hands first. No daughter of mine is walking out of here looking less than neat and clean,” I say, handing her the hairbrush from her bag and pointing her in the direction of the sinks.

  “Auwww!” she groans out, grabbing the brush from me and stalking toward the sinks. “We’re gonna miss him!”

  That’s the general idea. I’m not sure what I’ll do if I come face-to-face with the Jets star quarterback after all these years. While I do insist on Grace taking pride in her appearance, a few minutes of stalling would serve my purpose just now. But how can I disappoint her? She would never forgive me for missing this opportunity.

  “There!” Grace announces, making a face in the distorted reflection of the polished metal mirrors above the sink after a few exaggerated strokes through her hair. “Satisfied?”

  “Fine.” I sigh and shoulder her equipment bag, knowing I won’t get any further cooperation from her than that. “I’ve got this. Let’s go.”

  I follow behind Grace as she skips excitedly out the door. I don’t mind being the pack mule for this occasion. The bag might help me blend into the crowd a little better.

  We follow the concrete exterior wall until we reach the main dressing room entrance around the corner, where we’re met with a knot of bodies all jockeying for position around the central figure. Eleven and twelve-year-olds can be quite tall these days, but Wyatt Connor still towers over them as they swarm around his six-foot-four stature. I slow my steps and skirt a wide arc around them, while Grace rushes directly into the fray.

  The coach is there too, attempting to impart some order to the chaos and get the children to line up politely f
or their autograph session. Other parents are getting in on the action as well, cell phones in hand shooting pics and videos. I take up a position near the fence where I can be mostly out of sight, holding Grace’s equipment bag in front of me like a great lumpy shield, but I can’t help taking in the view.

  I can see Wyatt’s face clearly; a few more lines than I remembered, and his long wavy locks of teenage hair now cropped in short, professional fashion. Are there a few flecks of gray in there, or is the light playing tricks on my eyes? Either way, I have to admit defeat. The man still makes my heart flutter. Dang!

  His shoulders, broad even without the benefit of football pads, fill out the expensive-looking jacket he wears. He displays amazing patience as he takes the time to smile and converse with each player despite the pandemonium that surrounds him. The world of pro sports must demand all of that – handling media attention and keeping your cool everywhere but on the field. I admire that because I’m sure I couldn’t do the same.

  As Grace waits for her turn, I divert my gaze across the field, overhead, toward the parking lot; anyplace that didn’t have Wyatt Connor in the frame. I feel itchy all over, anxious to leave the scene and get back to the comfortable obscurity of my home or shop. Places I can handle. Where I feel relaxed and safe. Not out here in the open with a thousand eyes fixed in adoration on the man who’d broken my heart. A man who has no idea what he left behind all those years ago.

  Suddenly I hear Grace’s voice.

  “Mom!” she calls. “Mom!” I turn my head toward the sound and suck in a breath. Grace is barely steps away from me, leading a tall figure in tow. “Mom, look!” She has her hand in Wyatt’s and draws him forward, so close I could spit on him, and maybe I should. But my Southern manners and my treacherous heart won’t allow it. “Mr. Connor wants to say hello to you.”

  I feel my lips forming some semblance of a smile, purely on reflex. My eyes travel the length of him from toes to top, settling on his handsome face and luminous blue gaze. I feel paralyzed, as prey to a predator. Speak, woman!

  “Uh, h-hello, Wyatt,” I manage to utter. “How are things?”

  He smiles and tilts his head at a teasing angle. “Just hello? Not even a hug for an old schoolmate?” His arms open in invitation. Panicking, I stick out my hand instead. He laughs and grasps it with both of his. “I’m good, Deanna. It’s great to see you. How are things with you?”

  My tongue feels wedged in place, like it’s two sizes too big for my mouth. His voice is different; his born-to-it Texas accent almost undetectable. I nod my head until I can wrench it loose enough to speak again. My hand that’s sandwiched between his giant ones feels burning hot.

  “I’m fine... Uh, this is quite a surprise. So kind of y’all to do this for the kids... The awards and everything,” I finally say.

  “It’s my pleasure. After all, this is where it all started for me.”

  I nod again, trying to pull my hand from his grip. “True enough.”

  He releases it while sporting that charming grin he’s always had, the one that curls up on one side of his face before it spreads to the other. If anything, he’s even more handsome than I remember. I have to go off my memory because I burned all my photographs of him and us together long ago.

  “Young Grace here certainly has a talent for the game,” Wyatt says, glancing over at her. “I don’t mean to impose, but how about I treat you and Miss Player of the Game to dinner tonight, to celebrate? If you’re both free, that is.”

  Grace is practically launching herself off the tarmac, bouncing up and down on her sneakered toes. “Oh, could we, Mom? Could we? Please?” Her eyes are alight with excitement and pleading with me to agree.

  I look back and forth between her and Wyatt. All I want at this moment is to escape, dive into the bushes behind the fence to extricate myself from this surreal moment and not have to make such decisions.

  “You don’t have to do that, Wyatt. And it is a school night,” I begin, mentally casting about for a better, more iron-clad excuse. But I’ve got nothing. The sight of the two of them side by side like this is doing my head in.

  “Awww, Mom, c’mon!” Grace immediately whines. “It’s early yet, pleeeease,” she begs, clapping her hands together in a prayer-like gesture.

  “If you have other plans... I understand.” Wyatt fixes me with his gorgeous blue gaze again. That stare made me say yes to a lot of things in the past. And it’s still working. “But I’d really like to buy you lovely ladies dinner. It’s been a long time; we could catch up. What do you say?”

  Grace’s bag suddenly feels very heavy, and my shoulders slump in surrender. “Alright. But we’re not dressed for anyplace fancy,” I reply.

  Grace squeals and Wyatt’s megawatt smile is nearly blinding me. He reaches over to grab the strap of the duffel bag and relieve me of its weight. What am I doing?

  “I think I know just the place,” he says with a wink.

  Chapter Four

  Wyatt

  THE ROAD NOT TAKEN

  “I haven’t been here in years,” Deanna says as her gaze sweeps the interior of the restaurant. “It’s barely changed at all.”

  She’s right. Just like our old high school football field, the Sizzle Shack is exactly as I remember it, too. Bold red and white stripes run vertically on the walls above the wainscoting, and the black and white floor tiles gleam under the light of the retro cone-shaped pendant lamps hanging overhead. The mouth-watering aromas of freshly-cooked fries and good ol’ Texas beef on the grill waft through the air.

  “Mmm, it smells so good in here! I’m starving! How come we’ve never been here before, Mom?” Grace says, eyeing the giant-sized milkshake being served to a customer at a nearby table.

  “I don’t know.” Deanna sighs. “I reckon I just never thought of it.”

  I stifle a chuckle as I look her way. She’s something else that hasn’t changed. Still as pretty as a picture; her honey blonde hair still long and tumbling about her shoulders, her figure still killer trim but fuller and sexier with a few extra curves I wouldn’t mind steering around. The years don’t seem to have touched her at all. But maybe I’m seeing her through rose-colored glasses. Either way, she’s beautiful, just like her daughter. The resemblance is uncanny.

  “Really? We used to come here all the time, your mother and me,” I say, pulling out chairs for both ladies at a table by the window.

  Deanna flashes me a look before she sits down, one I can’t quite identify. Is she angry I’ve brought them here? I thought it would be fun – coming back to an old haunt for old times’ sake. Besides, didn’t all kids love burgers and shakes?

  “Mom always wants me to eat healthy,” Grace says. “She thinks we can live on salads and veggie pastas.”

  “I do not,” Deanna protests. “We eat meat at home, Grace, you know that. It’s just that we choose lean, healthy-cooked meats. You’re an athlete; you need your protein.”

  “Especially after a game,” I add in. “You need protein to rebuild muscle tissue after exercise. So how about a nice double cheeseburger there, Player of the Game? They make a fantastic one here.”

  A waitress brings us menus and lingers at the edge of the table. “Thank you,” I say, acknowledging her, knowing why she’s hovering. My face isn’t exactly anonymous.

  “Welcome to the Sizzle Shack,” she says nervously. “Excuse me sir, but are you...”

  “Wyatt Connor,” I answer with a smile and the offer of a handshake. It’s a routine I perform pretty much daily, confirming the suspicions of curious onlookers.

  “Oh, I knew it!” she exclaims, taking my hand enthusiastically. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Connor.”

  “A pleasure to meet you. We’ll need a few minutes to order.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Can I get y’all something to drink to start?”

  “Ladies?” I prompt.

  “Just water for me, and milk for this one,” Deanna says, nodding toward Grace.

  “Mom!” Grace t
hrows her a look. “I can order for myself.”

  “I’m pretty sure there’s milk in a milkshake. I recommend the Malted Mountain,” I offer. “You still have those here?” I ask the waitress.

  “Sure do. Chocolate or Strawberry?”

  “Chocolate,” Grace says, with a sidelong glance at Deanna.

  “Make that two,” I say, also fixing my eyes on Deanna, hoping I haven’t overstepped my bounds in ordering for her daughter. Her lush lips that I recall delivered the best kisses in Ecton County form a disapproving pout before relaxing into a shy grin.

  “Oh what the heck. Make it three.”

  “Coming right up.”

  “Great choice,” I say as the waitress bustles away to get our drinks. “I seem to remember it being a favorite.”

  “That was a long time ago.” Deanna peruses the menu with an intense focus.

  If I didn’t know better, I would say she was deliberately avoiding looking at me. I get the feeling my appearance today isn’t exactly a pleasant surprise, and I suppose I can understand that. We hadn’t parted on the best of terms.

  “I’ll have the Double Cheese Deluxe, but no pickles or onions,” Grace announces, closing her menu.

  “Sounds good to me. How about you, Deanna?”

  “Well, since I’ve already busted my daily calorie allowance, I might as well go the whole hog.” She sighs, finally casting a glance in my direction. I can’t remember a set of green eyes as pretty as hers. “I’ll have the Hula Patty.”

  I can’t help but smile. Of course. How could I forget? A juicy beef burger with a big ol’ slice of pineapple on top. She’d ordered it almost every time we used to come here. Did time stand still in Texas? Or just here in Odessa? So much seemed the same as I had left it, but a lot was different, too. The evidence sat right next to Deanna in the form of her daughter. Strange how life can loop around and bring you back again, like the currents of a meandering stream.

  Our orders arrive, and I get a kick out of watching Grace devour her cheeseburger with such gusto and sport a foamy chocolate mustache after great slurps from her milkshake. She’s easy to get along with, and I imagine any passerby watching the three of us together would mistake us for an ordinary happy family.