Lady Balls Read online

  He loves me.

  Will that be enough?

  She had no idea, at least not today, after its head-spinning events culminating in this mini-reunion.

  “I don’t like him,” TJ declared, glaring over to where J.D. was schmoozing a few advertising VIPs who’d been invited.

  Their mother whacked his arm. “You don’t have to. I do. And I think your baby sister does too.”

  Kayla shrugged, her face hot.

  “Well, he thinks something of you, anyway,” Randall declared, holding up her left hand so the overhead lights caught the diamond and threw prisms around the room. He whistled. “Sister’s caught her a hot one, I think.”

  “Shut up,” she said, her voice soft. “I’m tired. But I want to see you guys tomorrow. Can we have dinner?” She glanced over at J.D. again, mentally shuffling through the restaurant options, which shocked her. She’d never been one to assume anything about what he’d pay for—until now, she supposed. Since they had a contract and everything. “You’re sticking around another day, right?” TJ and Randall both nodded. James gave her another hug. “Okay.” She yawned so wide her jaw cracked. “Sorry.”

  “You go on,” her mother said, giving her a tiny shove toward J.D. who’d appeared at her elbow. “Have a nice night,” she said, her eyes shiny.

  “Mama,” Kayla said, mortified by the fact that her entire family knew she was about to ride the elevator right up to this man’s bachelor pad condo with him.

  “It’s an honor to meet you,” J.D. said in his best sucking-up voice. He shook hands all around, and endured another tight squeeze from Kayla’s mother. “Dinner tomorrow night?” He looked to Kayla who nodded. “We’ll figure out a place and let you know, okay?”

  James kept scowling but her other brothers smiled at him. She tucked her arm into his elbow. “I love you guys,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  ****

  The condo was awash in candlelight. The Jacuzzi was filled with hot water, flower petals floating on top. A bottle of champagne rested in ice nearby. The Rolling Stones were playing on the sound system. She stepped into the bathroom and took a big breath. “Okay,” she said, before turning to him. “You can say it now.”

  J.D. turned her and took her in his arms. “I love you, Makayla.”

  Her face flamed hot and her pulse raced at those simple words. She blinked fast, willing herself to respond the right way. Thrilled he said it, yet terrified at the same time. “I … I’m…”

  “You talk too much,” he said, before picking her up and carrying her into the bedroom, where his bed was covered in rose petals so deep she couldn’t see the duvet. He laid her down, stroked her face, then undressed her, slowly, one item at a time, kissing every inch of flesh he exposed. Kayla let the world go silent, let her mind take it all in, to enjoy without judging. To be happy without waiting for the other shoe to drop. To trust a man, for the first time in years.

  When he loomed over her after using his talented lips, tongue, and fingers to leave her breathless and gasping, post-monster-climax, he stared into her eyes, his own dark pools of sapphire. “I love you. And I hope you’ll find your way clear to meet me halfway on this. I know it’s against your nature.”

  She tilted her hips and wrapped her legs around his waist, needing him inside her, to complete this strange day the way it should be completed. He closed his eyes and slid into her with a groan. She put her hands on his face and started moving in perfect rhythm, that crazy way they’d found as if they were meant for this, or something equally weird.

  No. Not weird.

  Fate. Or something like it.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered, right before the second orgasm caught her off guard.

  “Deeper,” he croaked out. “I need to be deeper.”

  She bent her legs and reached behind her to grab the head board so she could give him what he wanted.

  “God,” he sighed. “Yes…” His low hiss morphed into a cry of satisfaction.

  Kayla smiled up at him, happier than she’d ever been in her life.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The week after the documentary aired was, in a word, nuts. Between the vocal support the station had gotten for being brutally honest about women in sports and Makayla’s ongoing stress about her tryout, J.D. felt as if he’d been stomped on by a herd of elephants by the time Friday arrived.

  He’d given at least eight interviews and had spent some quality time with a couple of late-night TV show hosts. The usual jokes about his looks, his life as head of a TV station filled with members of the fairer sex, and his upcoming marriage to the star of the documentary that was making so much noise in the sports world were trotted out and he bore them with good humor.

  He was getting sick of the “Pussy Palace” commentary that persisted about DSN, no matter how many times they proved themselves as a serious sports station. But he had no idea how to change that perception other than to carry on with what he’d been doing—to continue to push boundaries, tell real stories, and not shy from the ugly underbelly of the sports world.

  The fact that Don Harris was being relentless in his attempts to rattle them both with phone calls from different numbers and, most recently, bizarre, badly spelled text messages to his phone didn’t help his stress level. Makayla had sworn she’d not been contacted, but he fretted almost twenty-four seven lately about Don and what he might do to exact some kind of sick revenge for DSN ruining his career by outing him as nothing but a predatory rapist and abuser.

  At least they were past the tryout. He’d had to sit on his hands not to pick up the phone and call Rick, to insist that he put her on the roster. But he hadn’t and he’d been pretty damn proud of himself as a result. Not throwing his weight around to get what he wanted was a new thing to him. He’d had to do that a lot during the early days of DSN’s existence. It had become too much of a reflex, he now realized. Makayla would make her own way. She’d make that team. She deserved to be on it. And he’d be there to cheer her on when she won her spot.

  But yeah. He was damn glad they were past this stage. Strong women turned him on—they always had. This one in particular had done something scary to him the minute they’d met. Now that he’d accepted it, turned it into a mutually satisfactory situation, and he felt as if they had their shit together on the emotional side, he was okay with her scariness.

  She’d slept in this morning, after a long night of blowing off steam post-tryout by riding him like a circus pony—not that he was complaining. Quite the opposite. He grinned, and shifted in his seat, the gouges in his back stinging just enough to make him horny all over again.

  He got up and put on his suit coat. “Matilde, will you tell Ted I’ll need him now, instead of one-thirty?” he spoke into the invisible speaker on his desk. “I have to make quick stop before I head to the airport.”

  “Sure thing,” his assistant replied. “He’ll be at the front door in ten minutes. Your luggage is already in the trunk.”

  “Thanks,” he said as he passed by her desk. “Will you make sure—?”

  “I’ve got LeeAnn and Makayla scheduled for the morning show, Makayla said she’d do the speech at the soccer club dinner for you, oh and we just got another request—some late-night guy, but he wants you and her. You know, the happy couple and all that.”

  “Thanks,” he repeated. “You’re good at this.”

  She shrugged. “You’re easy to work for, as long as I keep you in coconut water and espresso.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I’m out, I guess. Four days in LA—”

  “Two in Seattle, then two in Denver. I know.”

  “And let me guess … you and Janice already have the awards gala planned, right?”

  “Of course. We’ll have it all set for you when you get back.”

  “And my special request? For the end?”

  “I’ve got LeeAnn on that. She’ll be directing the cameras herself, to make sure we get your best ang
les. I’m expecting the package you ordered to be delivered directly to me and I’ll hand deliver it to the catering manager.”

  “Great, thanks a ton. Okay, I’m outta here. You hold down the fort.”

  “It’s what I do.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, and in case you’ve forgotten I’ve arranged for flowers to be sent to your condo, for Makayla, the second she hears from the team.”

  “I don’t deserve you, Matilde.”

  “I know.”

  He hummed his way down the elevator and out into the cool autumn afternoon air. “Where to, boss?” Ted, his hulking ex-NFL player, ex-con of a driver asked.

  “Here’s the address,” J.D. told him. “I need to pick up a few things. Then I need you to deliver them back to my place, if you don’t mind.”

  “You got it.”

  He replied to a few emails on his way to the store in question. When they arrived, Ted made no comment at the sight of the “Lover’s Lane” sign. J.D. found what he needed, had the woman wrap them up in a fancy box with a silk ribbon, then handed the box up to Ted when he got back in the car. “Just run them up to the condo and ring the bell. Makayla’s there. She’s taking the day off after her tryout yesterday.”

  “Sure thing, J.D.,” he said as he pulled onto the interstate for the trip out to Willow Run airport. He climbed aboard his private plane and settled into one of the leather recliners with a sigh of relief.

  He’d spent a few minutes running his fingertips along the curve of Kayla’s exposed hip and down the expanse of her thigh that morning, before she’d growled at him to leave her alone. He’d never experienced so many honest emotions for a woman. But he was determined to let it happen. To allow himself to just … feel it. Because he realized if he showed even one iota of uneasiness about her and about them together, she’d sense it. And all hell would break loose.

  He sighed and pulled the footrest up so he could stretch out for the six-hour flight. He had back-to-back meetings with a couple of producers, one of whom, he believed wanted to pitch a movie-length project to him. Then he was going to do a bit of publicity with a station in Seattle, catch a baseball game, then visit some old friends in Denver on his way back home. A whirlwind visit, and one that would end with him being back right in time for their annual gala.

  After grabbing his phone, he stared down at the screen, pondering the Mother of All Grand Gestures to make. One that involved a certain vintage diamond and emerald ring that had been in his family for three generations. One he hadn’t given Lisa, since it wasn’t her style, or maybe because he somehow knew that whole thing would end in disaster.

  He’d called his mother to ask first, of course, since it was her grandmother’s ring. She lived in Boca Raton near one of his sisters, and within a two-hour plane ride to her other daughter’s family. The ring had been locked in a bank vault not far from his building for years. And he was ready to put it to good use.

  “Sure, honey,” his mother had said. “It’s about time you found someone worthwhile. But … I’m confused. I thought you already gave Makayla a ring. You announced your engagement months ago.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s … complicated. But I’m smoothing it out. And I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

  “I’m looking forward to it, Jon David.” She didn’t question him any further and for that he was grateful since the whole thing would be damn hard to explain.

  He’d removed the ring, taken the box to his favorite jeweler for a spruce up, and had ordered a pair of emerald and diamond earrings, plus a stunning necklace made to match it. He’d described it to Ricardo, his favorite jewelry designer, in broad strokes. The guy promised to craft exactly what J.D. wanted, for a small fortune, of course. But it didn’t matter. This was a Grand Gesture he’d be making in public, at the awards dinner, in front of his own cameras. It was go big or go home time and he fully intended to do both—go big and home with the woman he loved. All the details were in place. While Ricardo wouldn’t show him what he’d done, J.D. trusted him and looked forward to being surprised by the matching pieces that night with Makayla, the night he asked her to marry him for real.

  Any doubts she had about not making the team were unfounded. He’d watched her workout. He’d gone with her to the nearby high school field and fetched balls for her for hours. She was laser-focused, on a mission. He’d bet his own heart on it—which he had done, on purpose, to prove to her how much confidence he had in her.

  He propped his hands behind his head and drifted, memories of the past week and a half filling his mind with satisfaction. When he woke with a jolt, thanks to turbulence over the Rockies, he sighed and sat up, rubbing his shoulder, which always tended to lock up on him when he was stressed. He grabbed a water bottle and an apple from the mini fridge and decided to knock out a few more emails since he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep.

  Then his phone buzzed. A common enough occurrence but today, now, something about it made him break out in a cold sweat. He put the thing to his ear without a greeting or looking at the number.

  “Hello, J.D.,” Don Harris said. “How’re the friendly skies today?”

  “You’ve been warned, Don. Do not call this number again.”

  “Oh, I won’t. Your sweet piece of tail is gonna do that for me, aren’t you, hot chocolate?”

  He leaped to his feet, hitting the top of his head against the curve of the plane’s roof but not noticing the pain. “You stay the fuck away from her, Harris. You hear me? If you even think about touching her, I’ll rip your spine out through your asshole.” He made his way to the cockpit. “Put her on the fucking phone, Don. Do it now or you will be sorry you ever met me.”

  “Such a temper. You always were that guy. Pretending to be cool as a cucumber. But I know you, J.D. I know what you’re about. And I’m going to make you pay for fucking with me. For believing those stupid bitches instead of me. See ya ‘round, lover boy.”

  Raw fury and terror at what was happening back in Detroit and out of his control rendered him nearly deaf and blind as he grabbed the co-pilot’s arm. “God damn it. Turn this plane around. We have to get back.”

  “I’m sorry, J.D. but we’re about to land in L.A. I’ll have to do that first.”

  He flopped back into his seat and typed out a text with trembling fingers.

  J.D.: Hey. About to land in L.A. You okay?

  As he waited for the little response bubbles, he calculated how long he’d been away from her, in the car and in the air, before he sent another message, hoping against hope that Don was only bluffing about being with her.

  J.D.: My spidey sense is tingling. Give me a shout and let me know you’re OK. Please.

  When he disembarked into the warm California afternoon, she still hadn’t responded. He shot off messages to Matilde, LeeAnn, Ted, and Gloria, the female ex-cop who’d been one of his first hires. She guarded the front door like a mean mama bear—a mama bear packing a Glock and a sharpshooter’s eye. He trusted her implicitly. But she wasn’t answering either.

  J.D. turned on his heel and ran back to the pilot who was doing his post-flight check. “Take me back to Detroit, now.”

  “But … we need to refuel…”

  “Get it done and take me back home, god damn it,” he barked, before he dropped into his seat and put his head in hands, the words to a long-ago learned prayer filling his mind, the near five-hour trip ahead making him sick to his stomach. He called Mike, Gloria, Ted, everyone he could think of. But every single one of the calls went straight to voicemail and no text messages would show the reassuring DELIVERED beneath them. It was as if they all had chosen to turn off their phones at the same time. Which was ridiculous. None of them ever did that. And they were all in the building, that much he knew.

  “Fucking … fuck!” He tossed his phone on the leather seat across from him and headed back to the cockpit. “We need to contact the police and get them to my building. My phone’s jammed or something. Can you do it?” He felt his heart wha
mming against his ribcage. Could hear it echoing in his ears. “Please?”

  As they were making the call to Detroit, J.D. stumbled backward, his legs wobbly, his face so hot it hurt. He dropped to his knees and grabbed for his phone, willing someone, anyone, to fill him in on what was happening back home to Makayla. The woman he would now fully admit he loved, wanted to marry, to fuck, to make love to, to—God help him—knock up, to fight and make up with, which was something he figured they’d be doing a fair bit of. As he was pulling himself into his seat, the co-pilot handed him a cold bottle of water. “We’ve called the Detroit PD. They’re on their way to your building now. They said they’d contact us so you can know what’s going on there as soon as possible.”

  He nodded, ignored the water, and glared down at his phone screen for the next however many hours of hell he had to endure to get back to her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Kayla woke slowly, taking her time to figure out where she was and why. She’d been doing that ever since moving in here. But more and more often as she settled into her new reality—that of J.D. Baxter’s actual, possible, maybe fiancée. But everything felt so surreal, so grown-up and unlike what she’d imagined for herself.

  They’d admitted they loved each other, the night of the watching party. They’d had dinner with her family. She’d had her team try out and she’d done all right. Maybe not quite as fast with her passing as she could have been, but she’d been paired with some sluggish players in her first scrimmage.

  Afterward she’d burst into the condo and jumped onto J.D. like some kind of succubus. But when he’d tried to initiate more sex this morning, his touch had irritated her. She knew he was headed to the west coast for a stretch of days and she’d agreed to take on a couple of speaking engagements. Her new-found celebrity status had meant she’d been in as much demand as he was. The one thing she craved at the moment was space and quiet, so she could think.

  She rolled onto her belly and pulled J.D.’s pillow under her face, sucking in huge breaths and reminding herself that this was, indeed, real. Not a dream. This was her, Makayla Jean Franklin, fake-engaged and sleeping with what some might argue was the more perfect man in the known universe. Well, perfect as far as any male human being was. She giggled at the thought of what he would say to that.