Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Callie
I lie in bed, my hand on my stomach, feeling relieved since the declaration from Dr. Amato that this pregnancy is moving forward.
Not that I thought there were any issues, but late one night while Foster was away, I read a little too deep into some Reddit groups that suggested not to get your hopes up yet—a lot happens before that twelfth week.
Now that I feel more at ease with the pregnancy, Foster’s obsession about me not having an orgasm and offering a do-over to prove himself is at the forefront of my mind.
It’s ludicrous. I mean, we’re doing something admirable here. We’re being responsible adults for our unborn child. We cannot sleep together, but the truth is… I really wouldn’t mind saying fuck being an adult and being a little reckless instead.
I’ve been so thankful for the kind of pregnancy I’m having so far.
The little nausea I felt has subsided, and ever since Foster made me dinner, I’ve wondered what it would be like to be on my knees in front of him, my hands hooked on either side of his hips, drawing those gray sweatpants down as I watched his eyes turn feral.
For me. To take a man like him to the brink of losing control would be like having a gold star pinned to my chest.
My grave would read, Callie Carlisle—daughter, sister, mother—the woman who made Foster Davis crack his quartz countertop when she went down on him.
Ugh.
I roll over and try to get comfortable again, but all I can think about is Foster taking his time with me, doubling down and making sure I have more than one orgasm. It’s hard not to imagine what he could do with those large hands and long fingers. What it might feel like if he—
An alarm blares in the condo, and I bolt up, looking around as if someone is in my room.
Is someone trying to break into the condo building?
I throw off the covers and tiptoe across the floor so I don’t alert anyone I’m in here. I’m not trying to be a jerk, but go pick the six-foot-three tattooed baseball player. I’m busy growing a human here.
My door creaks opens and a dim light floods in. I scramble to find anything to hit the person with, but I’ve got nothing, so I grab a pillow and cover my stomach.
Foster peeks his head in. “Stay in your room and lock the door.” He slams my bedroom door shut.
“Wait!” I call and follow.
Foster is shirtless with a pair of athletic pants on, slipping into his slides by the door. “Do you ever listen?”
I ignore his ornery behavior. “What’s going on?”
“It’s the downstairs alarm. Someone must’ve tried to get in past the gate.”
I rush to my bedroom, grab my sweatshirt from the chair, and go out to the main area, feeling safer in the condo now that I know the possibility of them being in here is slim.
“I told you stay in your room.”
“I feel safer with you than being here by myself.” I slide into my shoes by the door, hopping in place to get the backs on. I usually wear Foster’s slides when I go get the mail and stuff.
He stops and stares, his delicious abs on display. I wait for him to argue with me so I can argue back. I am not staying here by myself.
“Fine. But you’re not going past the security gate.”
I salute him. “Yes, sir.”
He grunts and opens his door, looking right and left before he signals for me to follow as if we’re a pair of Navy SEALs on a mission.
The alarm is even louder outside the condo.
Easton and Decker are already at the bottom of the stairs, and Easton is pressing in a code, but the alarm isn’t shutting off. I toss my hoodie over my head and cover my ears as we walk down the stairs to join them.
“Fuck, do you not remember it?” Decker asks loudly enough that he can be heard over the screeching alarm.
“Why would I remember the code to the alarm?” Easton presses some numbers again, but it doesn’t turn off.
“Because it’s gone off twice in the past month.” Decker glares at Foster.
I turn to Foster with a questioning look because I haven’t heard it go off. And why would Foster be to blame anyway?
Decker finally presses in the correct code and the blaring stops.
Easton’s phone rings, and he walks off to the side. “Hey, Coop—yeah, Decker got it to turn off, but I’m not sure if there’s a malfunction or what…” He listens, nods in understanding at whatever is being said.
“When did it go off before?” I ask Foster.
His eyes are on Easton, but he answers. “During the day. You were gone both times. Ruby told us about it, and she called Cooper.”
Decker’s gaze drops to my sweatshirt, then flicks to Foster.
“Don’t ask,” Foster grumbles.
“What?” My head volleys back and forth between them.
“You live with a Colts player,” Foster says matter-of-factly.
“Your neighbors are Colts players,” Decker adds.
“Your brother is a Colt,” Easton says. I guess he’s done talking on the phone. “But Cooper will be happy when he sees you.”
“Cooper’s coming?” Decker asks.
“Yeah, security company called him, and cops are coming this time, so Cooper has to sign the paperwork.”
“Cooper who?” I glance between them all, and their attention snaps to my sweatshirt at the same time. My confusion spikes.
“Cooper Rice. Grizzlies quarterback,” Foster clarifies.
“Ohhh… I vaguely remember Hayes saying something about him owning the building.”
Decker rolls his eyes.
I sit on the cement stairs and pull the sweatshirt over my legs. “It’s comfortable, okay? And someone left it behind, I guess. I still love you guys the mostest though.” I bat my eyelashes.
They all take turns glancing at one another then shake their heads.
“So who’s going to go outside the gate and see if someone really is trying to break in?” I raise my eyebrows.
They all stare at me as if I’ve officially lost my last brain cell.
“None of us.” Foster leans on the wall closest to me, crossing his ankles.
“Are you scared?” I ask.
“Fuck no.” Easton scowls.
“Definitely not.” Decker shakes his head.
Foster doesn’t even bother to respond.
“Oh, I figured you’d all be fighting to be the one to find the guy trying to get in.”
“Or girl,” Foster says, and when I turn to him, he’s looking at Decker. “I know you think these two are all innocent, Callie, but they—”
“We have a game tomorrow,” Decker says. “And the women I see don’t try to break in. That seems more your style.”
Foster scoffs. “Yeah, I’m always the problem, right, Deck?”
“Okay, you two. We’re a united front. I’ll go out, and you guys better have my back.” Easton walks toward the gate. He’s only wearing basketball shorts, and I’m pretty sure no underwear. If it is a woman, she’ll be drooling.
I jump off the stairs. “I’ll be your wingwoman.”
Someone pulls my sweatshirt hood and yanks me back. I land against a hard chest.
“No, you won’t.” Foster’s voice is gruff and sexy as hell in my ear.
“Well, you guys aren’t doing anything. You’re kind of earning your reputation right now.”
Easton turns around, crossing his arms. “What’s that mean?”
I shrug. “Just that, you know… hockey and football players are rough and tough. Baseball players are… well… not.”
Foster comes around in front of me, and all three of them stand side by side, staring me down. Easton’s arms are crossed, Foster’s hands are on his hips, and Decker’s palming the back of his neck.
“I didn’t mean to offend you guys. It was an offhand remark. I’m just saying, I think Miles Cavanagh would’ve been through that gate already.”
Easton and Decker both turn to look at Foster.
“What?” His jaw flexes.
“This is your fault. She lives with you, and she’s wearing his sweatshirt, and now she’s saying he’s tougher than us.” Easton throws up his hands.
Foster blows out a breath and heads to the gate. Easton and Decker follow.
I smirk to myself. It really is too easy to bruise their egos and convince them to do something.
Foster pushes the gate open and walks right out, not even looking in either direction. “Just as I thought—no one. Except the fucking neighbors.” He spins back around and the gate slams closed behind him. “And now a picture of me without a shirt on will be on the internet in about ten seconds.”
“It was a nice thing you did. You made a lot of women happy just now.” Somehow, I manage not to burst out into laughter.
His chest rises and falls, and I shrug with an expression to say sorry.
“Are you satisfied, Mrs. Cavanagh?”
Foster grunts in response to Easton’s question.
“There already is a Mrs. Cavanagh, and I think she could kick my ass, so cool it.”
The police show up shortly after, then Cooper Rice does as well. Holy hell, the man is drop-dead gorgeous. I can see why he gets all the endorsement deals even after retirement.
We all talk on this side of the gate, away from prying eyes, after everything has been settled with the cops.
“I’m going to go back to my wife who just got home from work.
I’d like to discuss this further with you all though.
I’ve never had this happen in all the years I’ve been renting this building out.
So rack your brains for some names of people, and we’ll meet up to chat about it.
” His gaze falls to my sweatshirt, and his head tilts. “And you are?”
“Oh, this is Callie Carlisle,” Easton says. “Hayes Carlisle’s little sister.”
Cooper points at Foster. “I thought you took over his place?”
“I did.” Foster doesn’t offer any more information.
“It’s just temporary. I’m staying here until, um…” I don’t really know how to finish that sentence.
Cooper raises his hands. “None of my business. But I’m curious as to how you’re wearing Miles’s favorite sweatshirt.”
I bite my lip. “Uh… I found it in the closet.”
He blows out a breath. “He’s bitched about that sweatshirt for years. We each got blamed for taking it.”
“She should give it back, right, Coop?” Easton nods at Cooper like say yes.
“Ah, I don’t think so. It’s kind of funny that I can razz him about it.”
“No, I definitely think his wife wouldn’t like another woman wearing it.” Decker gives Cooper a look.
“And you?” Cooper nods at Foster. “You want her to give it back?”
“I hate the thing, but it’s not coming off right now.”
“Excuse me.” I look around at all four ballplayers. “You little egomaniacs. I don’t belong to any of you.” I shed the sweatshirt, leaving me in a T-shirt and boxer shorts that admittedly don’t cover a lot.
“Jesus, Callie.” Foster grabs the sweatshirt out of my hands and tosses it to Cooper. “There. We’re going back up to bed.” He grabs my hand and leads me up the stairs.
“This is pretty caveman of you, Reap.” Easton’s laugh follows his words.
“It’s a turn-off, I’m sure,” Decker shouts.
“My wife would kick all of your asses. You’re a bunch of cocky assholes who haven’t learned how to act around a woman,” Cooper says as we move out of view.
When we reach our floor, Foster jams his finger on the keypad until his door opens.
Once we’re ensconced inside, I whirl around. “You cannot act like I’m your property.”
“Have you seen your shirt?” He motions to my chest area.
I look down and see it’s white and yeah, okay… a bit see-through. Not my finest moment, but still, I can wear what I want. I cross my arms and jut out my hip, staring him down.
“I’m not apologizing.” He slips off his slides.
“If you don’t, you’re gonna wake up to a cold bucket of water over your head.”
He grabs his dick through his gray sweatpants. “Would you like it if I was down there with three other women, and you could see the outline of my dick?”
I’d probably have stood in front of him the entire time, blocking their view. But that’s beside the point.
“Is that supposed to make me jealous?” I wave my finger between us. “We’re not together.”
He scowls at me. “Jesus, Callie, don’t act like that.”
“Like what? I’m not yours, and you aren’t mine.”
He stalks toward me, and I step back on instinct. My spine hits the wall. He plants his hands on either side of my head, boxing me in, and leans in so close that his warm breath skates over my lips.
“I’m about to sound like an asshole,” he warns, as if that’s anything new, “and I’m not going to apologize for it.” His gaze is wild, and I wait with bated breath for whatever he’s going to say next. “You’re mine.”
My pulse stutters. I tip my head, drowning in those baby blues, and his shoulders sag with a breath he’s been holding back. He looks wrecked, not possessive, as if he hates how much he wants this, and I arch my back in offering because God, that second chance sounds so dangerously good right now.
Then his gaze drops to my stomach, and the heat in his face shifts to something else, something like panic. “At least until that baby comes.”
I guess it’s me getting the cold bucket of water.