Football Baby: A Secret Baby Romance Read online

  3

  Lauren

  I don’t know why I agreed to work during my last week before finals. What was I thinking? I barely have any time to study for my classes, let alone try to line up jobs after college.

  But somehow I’m making it work. I guess that’s what not having a real social life can do for you.

  I hardly ever see my roommate, even though we’re quite cordial with each other. The thing is I’m just never there in the room. That gives us fewer chances to have an argument over something typical.

  Oh yeah, I know what I was thinking. I have bills to pay. It was never even an option with my parents whether they would pay for college, the way everyone else’s parents do. They never even brought the subject up.

  I’ve done the best I could to pay for my room and board, but I still owe the college about 100,000 dollars, and the bills are going to start coming in shortly after I graduate. I need to be saving up now, earning as much money as possible.

  “How you doing today, Lauren?” says Cindy, greeting me as I enter the massage center front office for the first time today. I’m working a shift from 5 to 10. I did manage to get some studying done earlier today, but not a lot. After all, having such huge bills hanging over your head will get you pretty distracted and anxious.

  “Just worrying about finals, you know how it is,” I say.

  “Never went to college,” says Cindy, giving me a hard stare. Shit, did I just mess up here? My heart starts pounding in my chest.

  “I didn’t mean anything…”

  “I’m just messing with you,” says Cindy, giving me a huge smile. “Hey, you have another new client today.”

  “Great,” I say, groaning. “Another guy?”

  “Yeah,” says Cindy. “He’s some kind of football player at Twilmore. I think you’re even in the same year. Do you know him? Dylan Knight?”

  “Ugh,” I say. “Gross. Let’s hope the dumb jock doesn’t try to put the moves on me.”

  I don’t know Dylan Knight personally. I’ve never actually even seen him, but I’ve heard a lot about him. He’s supposed to be the golden football God at college or something. All the girls are always talking about him. He’s always mentioned in the campus newspapers.

  Apparently he’s going pro next year with some team out West.

  Meanwhile, I’ll be stuck here in upstate New York where we get less sun per year than any other American city, excluding those in Alaska.

  Cindy clears her throat quite noticeably, and tilts her head over to the waiting area, which is right in front of Cindy’s desk. In one of the seats, is a man who’s unmistakably a college football player. I’ve never seen him before, but this is certainly Dylan Knight in the flesh.

  Oh shit.

  “I’m sorry,” I sputter. “I didn’t mean that…”

  “It’s OK,” says Dylan, getting out of his chair, and sticking out his hand. “I’m Dylan.”

  I shake it, and find that it’s warm and large, and also rough. “Lauren,” I say.

  “I hope you don’t find me as bad as my reputation,” he says, giving me a little grin. Then he winces in pain.

  I’m caught for a moment staring at his smile. There’s something just very nice about it. His demeanor isn’t at all what I was expecting. I was expecting a cocky asshole, and at least so far he seems fairly humble and not to mention very forgiving.

  But apart from his demeanor, he looks like the classic golden boy all American football player. He’s blond, with his hair in a short cut that has grown out just a little bit. His eyes are a bright, piercing blue, and he has a powerful look to his face, with a regal sort of nose. The rest of his features look absolutely perfectly proportioned.

  He’s quite tall, and somewhere in between lanky and bulky. He’s certainly muscular, that’s for sure. I can see and sense his powerful sinewy muscles working underneath his t-shirt as he shifts his stance a little.

  “What happened to you?” I say, trying to shift the conversation away from the huge faux pas I just made. I’m also distracted a bit by his handsome appearance, and don’t want it to seem like I’m staring at him, even though I just was. I just hope my mouth wasn’t hanging open at all.

  “Football game,” he says. “I got hit pretty good. My leg’s seizing up every time I try to move it, and it’s painful when I’m just lying still.”

  “I think I can help you with that,” I say. “The room is right down this way.” I gesture down the hall, and Dylan starts walking.

  “Have fun, kids,” calls out Cindy. I turn to see her giving me a big wink and a smile.

  Dylan limps down the hall, and I can’t help but watching his body moving. Even with his limp, I can tell he’s extremely athletic, just by the way he moves.

  His upper body tapers down to his waist in a perfect inverted triangle. His shoulders are wide, and his upper body is big and well-built. His waist is thin, and his legs look strong and his thighs are incredibly muscular.

  “All right,” I say, once we’re in the room. “So it’s the thigh, mainly?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “I’m not sure what muscle it is or anything. I was never much for physiology or biology.”

  “Living up to your reputation already,” I mutter, saying it before I realize what I’m saying.

  Oh shit, why do I keep saying mean stuff like this? Why do I keep messing up?

  “So I’m just the dumb jock again, right?” he says. But he doesn’t sound mad. Instead, there’s a big grin on his face. His face just seems kind. Does anything ever make him mad?

  “I just… sorry,” I say. “I’m just stressed with finals and all that. You’re a senior, too, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Tell me about it. I couldn’t even study with this injury. I’ve still got like four books to read for my lit classes.”

  “You an English major or something?” I say, surprised. I would have thought he’d have studied something more douchey. English isn’t exactly what most jocks study.

  “Yup,” he says. “It’s my real passion, aside from football.”

  “What kind of stuff do you like to read?”

  “Poetry, and 18th century novels. I like the beat writers too. But Rimbaud and Blake are my absolute favorites, I’d have to say.”

  “I haven’t heard of them,” I say. I’ve always tried to studying practical things. I always liked English in high school, but I figured it wouldn’t ever make me any money. “I study accounting.”

  “Ugh. Sounds boring as hell.”

  “Well, English isn’t going to get anyone a job. But you’ve got football to fall back on.”

  “Yup,” he says, sighing. “Although sometimes I wish I wasn’t playing next year.” This catches me by surprise, and apparently it’s evident on my face. “I know, I know. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity and all that. And I do love football. There’s a sense of freedom and power on the field that I don’t feel anywhere else, except when I’m working with poetry or really good literature.”

  Turns out Dylan is a lot more interesting than I ever could have imagined. Who would have thought the star quarterback who’s going pro would love poetry so much?

  I check my watch. Shit, we’ve already wasted about five minutes chatting.

  “We’ve got to get started if we want to get that leg working again, especially if you do want to play next year. Once it seizes up, it can get a lot worse if it’s not taken care of quickly. I’ll leave you here to get changed. Get on the table, and put the towel over you. And no funny business. Period.”

  “Funny business?” he says, giving me a devilish look that tells me he knows exactly what I’m referring to.

  “Just do what I say,” I say. “Don’t worry, I know exactly how to handle difficult clients, and, trust me, you don’t want to mess with a massage therapist who knows exactly how to heal, but also how to inflict the most excruciating pain you’ve ever felt in your life.”

  “He
ard you loud and clear,” he says, giving me a mock salute.

  As I leave, he’s already pulling off his shirt.

  I can’t help but look, even though I know I shouldn’t.

  His abs are simply stunning, rippling down along his front. His chest his just hairy enough to make him seem very masculine, but it’s not some kind of overgrown bush like I’ve seen.

  His body is simply… perfect.

  4

  Dylan

  “Good, at least you’ve got your towel on.”

  “Wouldn’t think of wearing anything else, not for such an occasion.”

  I like that she’s got a smart mouth to her. There’s something different about her. For one thing, she seems a hell of a lot smarter, not to mentions sassier, than all the other girls I’ve been with at college.

  “So it’s the right thigh?” she says. I think she’s trying to keep this all business, or at least mostly business.

  I can’t blame her for thinking I was just some dumb jock. Hell, that’s how I thought of myself for a long time, before I started noticing I could do well on English Lit papers. I realized I understood what the author was saying in a way that was a lot different from my peers. My professors were shocked when I figured out finally how to express my thoughts on paper, but they weren’t more shocked than me.

  Lauren oils up her hands a bit, pumping a bottle of lotion on a nearby countertop. I can’t help noticing that top of her breasts as she bends down. There’s just something sexy about a woman like that pumping on something, and rubbing her hands together.

  As she gets the oil out of the pump bottle, her long hair falls down in front of her face, and she gently pushes it back with the back of her hands, to keep her hair oily free. Her hair is long and dark.

  She’s got a hell of a body on her, although she’s dressing like she doesn’t want anyone to know. But my super body radar sees right through her baggy pants as if I have x-ray vision. Her ass is taught yet plump. She’s well-built, all around, with plenty of curves to drive any guy wild.

  No wonder she’s taken on this hardline no-bull shit sarcasm approach with clients. There’s no way she’s not getting a ton of comments about her body from the male clients.

  She starts rubbing my leg, moving the towel aside gently so that my leg is completely exposed.

  “So you get a lot of request for a happy ending or something?” I say.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she says.

  “Wouldn’t ever dare,” I say.

  She’s moving around my body, trying to get to a different angle for the thigh.

  The way she’s rubbing it and, digging in deep, not only feels good, but it’s also just incredibly sexy having a woman like this touching my bare flesh, rubbing me.

  I do my best to not get an erection. I think about baseball, sports cars, the works, everything under the sun except her.

  But it’s no use, and soon enough my cock is starting to swell up. Sure, it feels good being erect, with my cock pressing against the soft massage table, but I really need Lauren to work on my thigh, and I can easily see her marching out and refusing to ever work with me again if she gets a hint that I’m aroused.

  Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to need to flip me over yet. She’s just working on the back of the thigh, and shit does it feel good. The pain seems to be melting completely away.

  I’ve never gotten a massage this good, and, trust me, plenty of the college girls have tried there best. They just couldn’t’ wait to get their hands on the famous quarterback who’s going pro. Maybe that’s why this is so great—it doesn’t even seem like Lauren wants to massage me, and she’s certainly not eager to do it.

  “Time to flip over,” she says.

  Oh shit. I’m done for. The leg feels a lot better, but it still needs a lot of work, I can tell. This is going to take a couple sessions to feel better.

  Also, I don’t want to offend her. She seems like a nice girl, despite this sarcastic armor she’s insisting on wearing.

  I wonder why she feels like she needs to protect herself so much?

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I say. “Can’t you just keep working on it from the back?”

  “No way,” she says. “Turn over.” She checks her watch. “We don’t have time to waste. The session’s almost over, and I’ve got another client coming in at six.”

  I’m still desperately trying to get the erection to go away. I’m thinking about everything I can except sex—icy cold plants far away, spinning rapidly through space, dump trucks, sewage.

  It’s no use. She’s standing closer to me than ever, with her hands under my stomach, as if she’s going to pull me to flip me over.

  Finally, I do it.

  My erect and swollen cock springs up as I flip over, making a huge tent in the white massage towel.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “You can’t help it,” she says. “Not with a girl like me, right?”

  Huh? What’s going on? “I was sure you’d be furious,” I say.

  “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, trust me. And at least you’re not asking me to jerk you off, like some of the guys here.”

  “I wouldn’t ever dream of it,” I say. “Just a natural reaction.” I almost add “to a woman like you,” but I think better of it.

  “Plus, it kind of helps that you’re not old and gross, like all the other guys who come through here.”

  Am I imagining it, or does she kind of like my erection?

  Sure, I guess I’m bigger than average, but I’ve never thought about it too much. Sometimes, women have commented on the size or thickness, but I’ve never been one of those guys who are so preoccupied with the size of their dick. It all seems kind of silly to me.

  She’s working on my leg, digging in deep, and the pain is gradually fading.

  “It feels really good,” I say. “You really know what you’re doing with your hands, don’t you?”

  “I’ve been a licensed massage therapist since the first year of college,” she says.

  “What made you get into this line of work? I don’t know a lot of other college students who are working jobs like this. I mean, hell most of us don’t have jobs at all. And the rest work at a supermarket maybe, or some campus job, like at the library.”

  “I’m paying for my own education,” she says.

  I’m extremely conscious of the fact that she’s leaning over me. She’s standing on my left side, and as she leans over me to get to my right thigh. Her breasts are just barely touching my stomach.

  The erection is as strong as ever. It’s only getting stronger. I’ve given up trying to get rid of it. I’m just worried now that I’m going to burst. Hell, that’d be embarrassing.

  “So you needed a job that would pay you more than those typical jobs?” I say, trying to keep up the chatter so that she’s not going to focus so much on my erection. But I’m also actually interested in what she has to say. She’s so different from the rest of the students.

  Not to mention she’s really hot. I’ve never felt this kind of response to a woman’s body before. There’s just something about her particular curves, her hair, her way of moving, that’s driving me absolutely crazy.

  “Yeah,” she says. “Those other jobs don’t pay shit. And you don’t need to worry about it with your future football career, but I have to think about the loans after college.”

  “Shit,” I say. “That’s got to be a lot of pressure.”

  “Tell me about it,” she says.

  “Wow,” I say. “You really know your stuff. This feels amazing. And I’ve been to physical therapists and massage therapists before. No one has ever made an injury feel this much better this quickly.”

  “Looks like we’re all done for today,” she says. “You’re going to need a couple more sessions. Even if it feels better now, it’s possible it could tighten up again, and the last thing we want is for it to freeze up
.”

  I stretch my leg out. “Feels amazing,” I say. “It’s not tight at all.”

  “Let’s just hope it stays that way,” she says, glancing at her watch.

  She gives my crotch a look, her eyes widening a little.

  Shit, I forgot about my erection for a second, because I was so caught up with how good my leg feels now. Moving my leg shifted the towel, and now it’s just barely hanging onto my cock.

  “I’ll give you a few minutes in her to yourself,” she says. “I can use the other room for the next client. You look like you need to take care of some personal business.”

  Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, and I know “personal business,” just means jerking off. But she doesn’t seem mad. Instead, she’s just smirking at me, before turning to walk out the door.

  “Hey…” I say, sputtering, and almost shuddering, trying to think of something to say. “I’m not going to do that.”

  “Sure,” she says, closing the door firmly behind her.

  Shit.

  Honestly, jerking off does sound pretty appealing right now. My cock is certainly aching for it, and it wouldn’t take me any time at all to crank one out to the sexy massage therapist Lauren, who happens to be my age, and attend the same college.

  But, fuck, that’d be pretty sleazy. I don’t want to just be another one of her gross clients.

  I make a decision right here and now. I don’t want to be jerking off to Lauren. I want her. I want her body. I want to possess her. I’m going to do whatever it takes to get her.

  It’s going to be much more satisfying that way. A thousand times more satisfying.

  I get dressed as best I can, pulling my jeans up over my swollen cock, tucking it inside behind the waistband so that it won’t create a huge and noticeable bulge.

  When I get to the waiting room reception area, to my surprise Lauren is waiting there with her book bag.

  “Lauren’s other clients canceled for today,” says the receptionist, who seems very friendly. “I thought you two could walk back to the campus together.”