Calling the Play (The New York Nighthawks #12) Read Online Fiona Davenport

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love, Novella, Virgin Tags Authors: Series: The New York Nighthawks Series by Fiona Davenport
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Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26508 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
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“Thanks for the save.” I stretched my legs out and leaned against the back of my chair.

“Us pregnant women need to stick together.” She beamed a smile at me as she set her drink on the table. “Sneaking away for a little break was just what I needed, too.”

“Want to place a bet on how long it will take until one or both of our husbands come looking for us?” I asked.

“Nah.” She shook her head with a laugh. “We both know it won’t be very long at all.”

“Too true.”

“Your hair is always amazing, but you outdid yourself today,” Rory complimented.

Tugging on one of the black extensions, I flashed her a rueful smile as I patted my rounded belly. “I wish I could claim the credit for these, but I needed help putting them in the back, so Ivy did it for me. Like she does a lot of things lately.”

“Did I hear my name?” Ivy called as she trotted toward us. “And here I thought I was going on a wild goose chase when Cole asked me if I knew where Lorna had run off to.”

“Already?” I huffed. “We’ve literally been gone for like two minutes.”

Rory giggled. “Sounds about right to me.”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I don’t live with a possessive guy like you two do, but even I’m not surprised by the fact that they noticed you were gone the minute you stepped away.”

Rory tapped her finger against her chin. “But are you interested in being with one? Because I can think of a few players who—”

Ivy held her hand up to interrupt Rory. “Nope. Don’t go there. I already have enough on my plate right now without worrying about adding a man to the mix.”

“She really does,” I confirmed. “Like I was saying, Ivy is helping me out with a ton of stuff. I don’t know how I would’ve survived the past six months without her.”

Ivy snorted. “Your man would’ve figured it out.”

“He’s amazing, but juggling a wedding and opening a salon while also being pregnant is a lot,” I pointed out.

“Especially during football season,” Rory added. “The guys only have so much free time for those six or seven months. Including the coaches.”

“Exactly,” I agreed with a nod. “Which is why I’m so lucky Ivy decided to help out with the salon instead of staying with Catherine.”

Ivy waved off my gratitude. “Yeah, well…your hubby made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Like he was a part of the DeLuca Mafia family instead of a coach for the Nighthawks.”

“We both know you would’ve taken the job anyway, just because you love me so much,” I teased, not bothering to deny what she said since the amount of money Cole had offered her had been impossible to pass up. He’d insisted that it was only fair because she now had to deal with the commute that he wanted me to avoid, but I knew it was also because he wanted my friend not to have to worry about money after the lease on the apartment that we had shared renewed and she had mentioned how much she dreaded the thought of moving.

“Of course, I would.”

“Found ’em,” one of the players called over his shoulder as he rounded the corner of the house.

Ivy shook her head with a sigh. “I guess your husbands got impatient with how long it took me to find you and sent out a search party.”

“Definitely,” Rory and I agreed in unison.

I waved at Saxon to let him know I was okay, but that didn’t stop Cole and Gage from walking to the patio to join us. While I tilted my head back to smile at my hubby, I noticed how the wide receiver stared at my friend. Poking Cole in the side, I whispered, “You should introduce Saxon to Ivy.”

He glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. “Judging by the look on his face, I don’t think that’s gonna be necessary. Saxon wouldn’t have made it as far in football if he didn’t know how to go after what he wanted.”

EPILOGUE

COLE

“Caroline O’Hara!” Lorna gasped as she rushed through the doorway to our seven-year-old daughter’s bedroom.

Hurrying after her, I shifted our seven-week-old son, Colin, from the crook of my arm to rest on my shoulder.

When I crossed the threshold, I stopped short, then swallowed hard, trying not to burst into laughter. My wife obviously didn’t see the humor in this situation, and I didn’t want to piss her off after the doctor’s appointment she’d had today.

Three pairs of emerald green eyes stared at us in shock.

Caroline stood at her play table holding a pair of scissors in one hand, and a chunk of wavy, red hair in the other.

Catherine, who was five, stood next to her with her cash register in her hands.

The four-year-old little redhead in the chair at the table nervously fingered the one long lock of hair that remained hanging from her head.


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