Mother Faker

“Your wife didn’t want to sit with us?” Gavin teases, bringing his coffee cup to his lips at the table across from me. Both our teams are playing in the same city this weekend, so we’re sharing the company jet. While Sara is traveling with the team, I’ve always forced Liv to travel with me.

“It was a long night,” I say, fighting back a yawn. “Addie kept us up for hours. She’s working on a new tooth.”

Liv is sitting a few feet away, headphones in, eyes closed, looking completely relaxed. Thank God.

We aren’t supposed to be doing the whole married thing in front of the kids, but last night while Addie whined and Liv pleaded with her, tears in her voice, to go back to sleep, I couldn’t help myself. My wife hasn’t slept all week because her baby girl has been up tossing and turning. The woman needed sleep, and I couldn’t bear to hear both of them breaking down. So, I got up, took Addie in my arms, and ordered Liv to go back to bed.

She didn’t, but she also didn’t fight me. Eventually, Addie fell asleep on my chest, and I fell asleep beside Liv. My neck hurts this morning, and we’re both tired, but waking up with my cheeks smooshed between Addie’s chubby hands while she said “Bossy”—her version of Bossman, I guess—over and over again? Let’s just say I’d trade sleep for that any day of the week.

We both woke up before her pretty mama, so for a few moments, I got to witness Liv in a completely unguarded state. Relaxed, without filters, and in my bed. My chest aches at just the thought of her like that.

“So, Clayton,” Gavin prods, changing the subject.

I groan. My star catcher is driving me nuts. It’s a well-kept secret, though, since the guys know enough to keep their shit locked up in public, but whatever is going on with Clayton and Damiano—a pitcher I have a shit ton riding on—is seriously starting to piss me off.

Gavin chuckles. “Too bad Miller is happy with the Metros.”

“Tell me about it.” Cortney Miller is arguably the best catcher in the MLB. He’s also the younger brother of one of my best friends. Miller has been with New York since he was a rookie, and although he’s at the tail end of his career, the cost to bring him to the Revs would be outrageous. “We play them next week. Jamie is coming up for a game. You around?”

Gavin picks his phone up off the table and taps the screen a couple of times. “Appears so.” He locks the device and pockets it with a long sigh.

“What’s wrong with you?”

The crease between his brows is deeper than usual. He’s the brother who’s always smiling, but right now, he looks exhausted. “Just saw a date in my calendar for this weekend. A woman I met during our series here last year. We meet up when I’m in the city.”

I raise my brow, waiting for him to elaborate. So far, it sounds like a typical weekend for Gavin, but the weariness in his tone is new.

“You ever get tired of it?” he asks. “The women? The travel?”

“Yeah. Hence the reason I got married.”

Gavin levels me with a stare, and I hold up my hands.

“I’ve never been like you. I like monogamy, one woman.”

“The wrong woman,” Gavin grumbles.

Those three words instantly make my blood boil. I sit up straight, ready to unleash hell on him.

Before I can formulate a coherent response, though, he goes on. “Until now. I meant, you were with the wrong woman until now.”

Deflating, I settle back in my seat. “Yeah. And if you don’t like the game anymore, get out of it.”

Gavin rolls his eyes. “And do what? Get married like you, Ford, and Jay? That’s not in the cards for me.”

Hmm, I hadn’t realized that all of our friends had gotten married in the past year. First it was Jay, and his wife came with the package deal of their daughter. Then Ford, who’s older than both of us, shocked the entire world and started dating his son’s ex. Although I guess the real shocker was the destination wedding we all attended only two months later. They weren’t wasting any time. Come to think of it, Gavin hasn’t been the same since that trip. Was it the wedding that freaked him out? Or is it something else?

“Why?” I know why I believed marriage wasn’t in the cards for me. Is my brother’s reasoning the same? I almost hope it is so I can be forced to talk him out of it. I want to tell him how good he’d be, how well he could juggle work life and family life. Because I want to say that to myself. I want to believe I can do it all.

Gavin shrugs. “Just never interested me. Or maybe I’ve never met a woman who made me want to spend the night.”

“Thought you’ve gone out with this woman before?”

One side of Gavin’s mouth quirks up. “Never said anything about spending the night, big brother.”

At my loud laugh, Liv opens her eyes and settles them on me, her face warming in a smile.

Nope, don’t miss the days before her at all. But if I don’t figure out how to hold on to this woman, I’m going to miss these.

“What do you mean you don’t have a room for me?” Liv practically growls at the receptionist during check-in.

I rest my palm against the small of her back and bring my lips to her ear. “Livy, you’re checking in under the wrong name.”

My wife’s breath hitches, and tiny goose bumps spread across the pale skin on her arm. Liv is always wearing sleeves, but when we landed in Vegas, she hissed about how it felt like we’d stepped into the third circle of hell and finally took off the damn cardigan that was covering her delicious curves. Just the suggestion of her tits hiding beneath her camisole has me excited to get her alone.

“Can you check under Olivia Langfield?” I ask the receptionist.

Obediently, she types away. “Oh.” As she hits Enter on her keyboard, her face splits into a smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Langfield. We have you in the honeymoon suite. Special occasion?”

“Isn’t every day with my wife a special occasion?” I tease.

Beside me, Liv is starting to squirm, so I run my hand up and down her back, hoping to soothe her. The last thing I want is for my wife to be uncomfortable and though I wish I’d thought of upgrading us to the honeymoon suite, I didn’t do this. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who did though. Gavin’s eyes dance as he watches us.

As I slide my company credit card across the desk, I lean in close to Liv. “It doesn’t mean anything, Livy, we can just sleep,” I whisper in her ear. Then, unable to help myself, I nip at her lobe and add, “Or not.”

Those damn goose bumps skitter down her neck. Shit, now all I can think about is whether they’re dusting her entire body, the parts I’ve yet to see, the spots I’ve yet to kiss.

Once I’ve returned my credit card to my wallet, I slide my hand in hers. With key in hand, we leave Gavin to check in.

“Meet at seven?” Gavin calls after us.

Neither team plays tonight. While Aiden and Brooks have a game tomorrow and can’t go too crazy, we can grab dinner, and then I intend to spend time with Liv. Alone. Without a child in the bedroom. Without ten other people within listening distance, without her brother glaring at us, or her best friends and my brothers interfering. Just Liv and me and the plush hotel bed.

I nod and then hold tight to Liv’s hand, refusing to let go until we reach the door and she pulls aways so I can open it. Immediately, I miss the warmth and softness of her palm against mine.

She clears her throat as she walks in ahead of me, her gaze sweeping across the room, which I’m stupidly excited my brother arranged. When I’m in Vegas, I always stay in the penthouse. It has two bedrooms and would have been fine for us. And it’s what my secretary booked for this trip.

But this room, though smaller than the penthouse, has an incredible view of the Strip. Liv walks straight to the window and sucks in a breath as she takes it all in. I head for the bar and spot the bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket along with two champagne flutes. Beside it is a note that says, Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Langfield.

No matter how many times I’ve heard that name, my name, it’s never sounded better than with Liv’s name in front of it.

Olivia Langfield. Fuck, it gets me every time.

The pop of the cork startles Liv, and she spins in my direction, her eyes wide and her mouth in an O.

“Champagne, Mrs. Langfield?” I hold up the bottle.

She lets out a light laugh as she shakes her head. “It’s like stealing, Beckett. We’re not really married.”

My heart sinks in my chest at the words and the conviction behind them. I nod at her hand, gaze narrowed. “Is that a wedding band on your finger?”

Liv shrugs and rolls her eyes.

“And did we or did we not stand in front of God and Elvis and pledge to honor one another for all the days of our lives?”

A loud laugh slips through her perfect lips. “Pretty sure all your employees make that pledge to you when they meet with HR on day one.”

I stalk to her, and she retreats, step by step, until her back hits the window. With the bottle still in hand, I cage her in so she’s forced to hear my every word. “Do all my employees know how I sound when I come?”

“Beckett.”

Her soft whimper urges me closer. I want nothing more than to feel the way those lips taste when she says my name like that.

“I’m dying to know how you look when you come, Livy. Dying.”

Her brows knit, and she searches my face. “We didn’t when—” She drops her gaze for a moment before dragging it back up and locking eyes with me. “I woke up naked beside you.”

I smirk. “You mean the morning you snuck out on me?”

A flush creeps up her cheeks. “Yeah, did we… um—” She dances around the topic.

“Fuck?” I offer. “That the word you’re looking for, Livy? You think you wouldn’t remember the first time I fucked you?” I press closer so our hips are aligned and buck my pelvis against her. “That you wouldn’t feel me between these thighs the next day?” My knee presses between her thighs and I push in, pulling her legs apart. I drop my mouth right next to hers, my cheek against her cheek. “Open,” I rasp.

Liv obeys, parting those gorgeous lips. I bring the champagne bottle to her mouth and slide just the rim of it in. Her tongue darts out and licks the interior rim, making us both moan.

“Fuck,” I mutter. I tip the bottle and let the cool liquid run into her mouth. Watching the way her throat works as she drinks, my thoughts grow dirtier. My mind can’t help but fixate on how good she’d look swallowing down something else. With her lips wrapped around something else. Choking on something else.

I pull the bottle back and take a swig myself. With the champagne bubbles still dancing on my tongue, I tug on her bottom lip, lean close, and spit the champagne into her mouth. Her eyes fly open, but I don’t give her time to react. My lips collide with hers and our tongues tangle together. Just the sight of her taking what I’ve given her makes me ravenous. I swallow her moan along with the champagne, and Liv does the same.

She pushes against me. “Beckett, wait—” Her eyes are wild as she studies me. “We should⁠—”

“Talk? Yeah, I’m all set with talking, Livy. Work? Fuck no.” After a second swig of the champagne, I lean in and bite her bottom lip, then lick it before kissing her again.

“Holy shit,” she whispers tugging me closer.

Dropping my forehead to hers, I sigh, my breath ragged. “Go rest for a bit, Livy. I’ve got big plans for you tonight.”