Undeniably Married (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires Book 4)

“It’ll be fine,” I reassure Sorel as I pull off my shirt and shuck out of my shorts, then toss both of them on the bed. I’m gross as fuck, but after that walkthrough, I could barely move, let alone shower, and I decided I’d rather shower in my room than in a locker room.

Besides, the less time I spend on the field or in any practice space here in New York, the better. I haven’t seen Brody yet, but I have no doubt there will be an encounter between him and me at some point. Sorel and I told everyone we’re pregnant—well, her family, as well as my dad’s best friends who I consider to be my uncles and aunts—but we’ve decided to hold off on telling the world until we can no longer hide it, and we know Brody’s deal.

She’s been giving him space to figure it out for himself, but it’s been a few weeks since they’ve talked, and he hasn’t reached out to her with a decision. She told me she’d try calling him on Monday and proceed from there. That’s her show. I don’t want to tell her what to do with that side of things. I know it’s weighing on her. It’s weighing on me too. Hell, it’s the first thing everyone asked us after we told them about the pregnancy.

“I know,” she says with a heavy breath. “I wish I could be there with you.”

“Except it’s a late-night game, and since you can’t travel back with me, there’s no way you’d get home before tomorrow morning, and we want you to save as many days off as you can.”

“What if he tries something?”

“Baby, there’s not much he can do. We’re on opposite teams. I’m on the field, and he’s on the sidelines. Plus, cameras will be all over us after what happened in July. If you were there, the camera would be on you constantly.”

“Ugh. Fine. Stop being such a voice of reason.”

“Someone has to be. Your hormones are not to be trusted.”

She giggles. “Facts. Speaking of, I’m going to go snack on junk since you’re not here to stop me, and then I’m going to sleep. Go shower and think of me while you’re in there.”

I chuckle. “Yes, ma’am. I always think of my princess whenever I’m touching my dick.”

“Good boy. Love you.”

“Love you.” I hit the red end button and walk with my phone into the bathroom, putting on Sorel’s playlist as I go, and not even caring if it makes me a total pussy-whipped pansy-ass for my wife. My boxer briefs hit the floor, and the bathroom door partially closes behind me. I start the shower and face my reflection in the mirror.

I’m tight, and that’s not a good thing going into a game tomorrow. A game I’m determined to win at all costs. No way in hell am I allowing Brody’s team to beat me. Truthfully, I’m uneasy, though I’d never mention that to Sorel. Why hasn’t he tried to call her again? Is he actually waiting for her to come to her senses and go to him, or has he moved on now that he knows I’m sticking around?

Either way, I would have thought he’d try to talk to her again.

It’s not his style to lose or stay quiet. He likes the spotlight. He likes to look like the hero instead of the villain.

“Walk on the Ocean” by Toad the Wet Sprocket comes on, and I find myself tilting my head toward my reflection and scrunching my nose. I love her, but fuck this. I hit next, and “Jane Says” by Jane’s Addiction comes on, and this I can manage.

I step into the shower and groan at the feel of blazing hot water smashing into my muscles with ferocity. I did an ice bath at the stadium, but this I needed more than anything. Tomorrow night’s game isn’t going to be a picnic, and I’m too exhausted and burned out for a long jerk-off session, but I need a release—and then a full night of sleep after that—all the same.

Having an insatiable Sorel whenever I want her means I’ve been getting used to being inside her at least once a day. Her pussy is heaven, and just thinking about it makes my cock start to thicken and my balls ache. Sorel is always beautiful, but her belly is starting to round, and her tits are crazy full and sensitive—more than they were even a few weeks ago.

My hand grips my wet cock at the base, and I slowly slide it up to my tip. A groan slips out as I picture her on top of me, riding me, taking my cock as she bounces and sways, her tits heavy doing the same as she drags me in as deep as she can. I picture holding her tits in my hands and sucking on them as she rides me hard and fast.

Fuck, I wish she were here. I wish I could see her pretty, flushed face and those stunning hazel eyes, dark and hungry. My hand jerks faster, my grip firm, and far too soon, I’m groaning and grunting and shooting my load all over the shower walls.

My forehead falls to my forearm that’s pressed against the tile, and I take a few deep breaths.

With a sated sigh, and feeling more relaxed than I did a few minutes ago, I take my time, enjoying the hot water, and wash up while I hum along to the next song that comes on, though I don’t know who it’s by or any of the lyrics. Sorel has been adding to her playlist, and some of the songs she has on here I’ve never heard before. She likes to tease me and say it’s because she was born in the nineties and I wasn’t. She’s big on the fact that she’s older than me, like that matters in the slightest.

Stepping out of the shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and open the door to the bathroom, letting some of the heavy steam out. Momentarily, I’m preoccupied, my head down as I turn off the music on my phone.

Which is why I don’t notice the woman in my room until I look up and jump in shock.

“What the fuck?”

A woman wearing my goddamn shirt and what appears to be nothing else stands right outside my bathroom door. She’s tall and skinny with long, blonde hair and an expression that’s meant to be seductive. A phone dangles limply from her hand, which is a relief. At least it’s not pointed at me.

She gives me a flirty smile that makes my blood run cold. “I have a key.” She holds up the plastic rectangle in the same hand as her phone. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time,” she purrs breathily. “I thought you might want some company tonight. I figured we could have some fun together.”

“No. And fuck no. Get out. Now.”

She pouts and shifts her weight. “Are you going to make me get naked to do that?” She plays with the short hem of my shirt that ends at her upper thighs. “I’ll take it off right here if that’s what you want.”

“What I want is for you to leave. You had no right getting a key to my room.”

She laughs lightly like what I just said is ridiculous. “Oh, like you haven’t had women do that before. Come on. Don’t be so rough. It’ll just be tonight. No one has to know.”

I snarl. “Grab your shit and get out of here before I call security.”

“Shame.” She gives me a long once-over. “I was hoping to ride that big dick of yours.”

Horror blooms in my gut. How long has she been in my room? Did she hear me in the shower? I just jerked off to thoughts of Sorel doing the same thing to me. I feel like I’m about to throw up.

I fold my arms over my chest, wishing I were wearing a hell of a lot more than only a towel. “I’m married, and you need to leave.”

She laughs with her head thrown back and everything. “Oh please. I think we all know your marriage isn’t real. She was engaged to your former teammate the same day you married her.”

“Out. Now.” I point in the direction of the door. “This is your last chance before security escorts you out.”

She huffs, displeased, but thankfully not crazy or aggressive. With an aggravated breath and some exaggerated movements, she snatches her clothes from the bed and storms for the door, tugging on her jeans as she goes.

The door to the room opens, but before she leaves, she turns her head over her shoulder and pins me with a disappointed and indignant scowl. “I’m not someone you want to kick out your door. You’ll regret this.”

“Somehow I doubt it.”

With a sulk and a dramatic flip of her hair, she leaves, her clothes and shoes bunched up in her hands. The second the door is shut behind her, I flip the bolt—the one I should have had engaged the moment I got back—and run over to the hotel phone to call the concierge. I rip him a new asshole, something I’m not known for doing, but right now, I don’t care. I don’t even care when he apologizes and says he has no clue how she got up here or who gave her a key.

It doesn’t matter.

She paid someone off, and they did it.

This is going to sound bad, but typically we get asked if we’re cool with that sort of thing happening by a manager of the hotel. Women come and lurk in hotels when they know a sports team is here, and she was not the first to get up to my room. It was a question I never liked answering and one I rarely indulged in and only very early on in my career. The girls who show up in your room are the ones you can trust the least, and as I said before, I’m not stupid despite how people view me.

To come out of the shower and find a woman in my room is disconcerting, to say the least. I didn’t want it or approve it, and no one asked me. I assumed it was because of the band on my finger, and I was fine with that.

More than fine. Hell, I didn’t even think about it until she was standing there.

I flop down on my bed, my forearm over my eyes.

It’s late, and I don’t want to call Sorel back since she said she was going to bed. I don’t want to wake her. Certainly not for that. Nothing happened anyway other than me kicking the woman out, but still. I feel dirty. I feel wrong. I’d go out of my mind if the roles were reversed.

Rolling over, I see it’s now after eleven. Sorel goes to bed early and all but passes out. She’s also a heavy sleeper and likely wouldn’t hear the phone ring. This pregnancy has been a lot for her in terms of her need for extra sleep.

Shit.

If I call her now, it’ll only upset her, and I don’t want that.

I’ll call her in the morning and tell her.

With a growl, I throw on a clean pair of briefs, brush my teeth, and climb into bed.

All I know is, I can’t wait to get the hell out of New York and back to Boston.

Somehow, I fall asleep, and it isn’t until the middle of the night that I wake up and realize, one, the woman had her phone in her hand the entire time. Why keep it on you if you’re only there to seduce someone? And two, she left wearing my shirt.

All goddamn day, I’ve been off. I slept like shit, tossing and turning most of the night, unable to fall back to sleep after I woke up with those turbulent thoughts. By the time I did fall back to sleep, it was just before dawn, and once I woke up and tried calling Sorel, she didn’t pick up. When she tried to call me back, I couldn’t answer.

I shouldn’t feel guilty, but after everything she went through with Brody cheating, I want her to know everything. More than that, something feels off about that woman. I can’t even put my finger on what. It might be that I’m paranoid about Brody. About Sorel’s insistence that the other shoe will eventually drop.

But as game time draws closer, there isn’t much I can do about it. I have to put it behind me, get my mental game ready, and transition into quarterback mode.

“Reyes, you’re mic’d up tonight.”

I growl a curse under my breath as the network rep comes over to me.

“Can’t you pick someone else?” I hate being mic’d up. My speech is clear, but when you’re a kid with a hearing deficit and have been in speech therapy your entire life and still rely on sign language on occasion, the last thing you want is a microphone capturing your every word. Especially for Sunday Night Football. More so when you’ve had a crappy day.

“Sorry, man.” He shrugs, not sorry at all. “Network and the Rebels say it’s you.”

Of course they do. I’m a hot commodity tonight considering we’re playing my wife’s ex-fiancé’s team. That’s the stuff of prime-time and reality TV right there. Networks aren’t fools. They know how to play the game and spin spice in their favor.

They’re hoping I’ll slip up and say something that’ll go viral.

We go through our pregame stuff, many of us wearing our headphones and listening to whatever gets us game set. My dad does his standard speech, and after, I give mine.

“You know what this game is,” I blaze in the center of a circle of men. “It’s the difference between going home winners or losers. It’s what makes us undefeated to start the season. It’s any other game. It’s nothing special. We kill games like these. It’s a game on the road and a game against a good team. Let’s show them who we are.” I look at each of my guys, my voice and vigor climbing. “Let’s show them how we play and that no one beats us. And let’s fucking destroy them.”

A ruckus of enthusiastic cries cracks through the air. The doors open, and we run as a team out of the locker room, past a series of cameras, through the tunnel, and onto the field. The stadium is juiced up for this game. The home team music and the roar of the crowd penetrate every corner of the outdoor stadium, filling the night sky. I’m directed over to the sidelines, and they get me wired up for sound. It’s dark, and the air is cool. Football weather. And Sunday night is my favorite night to play.

I don’t look across the field. I don’t acknowledge the other team. I rev up my offensive line, encouraging and charging them up.

My dad comes over to me and, with a smirk, signs, You good?

With how loud the crowd is tonight and the fact that I’m mic’d up, I might end up signing more than the network and team owner would like.

I’m good. Ready, I sign in return.

“We’re going to stuff it down their throats.” He smacks the back of my helmet, and the game begins. We lose the coin toss and end up on offense first. The moment we line up in formation, I see it. The glares. The scathing looks. It’s more than simple rivalry.

Brody ran his mouth, and he ran it good.

“Hey, Reyes,” a defensive tackle calls out to me. “Prepare to eat grass all night long.”

If I were still single, I’d reply with, doesn’t your wife shave her pussy? But since I’m not, I go with, “We’re on turf, you moron.” I wink at him and start calling the play, but I can already tell it’s going to be a long night.