by Lane Hart
“Taking care of a baby isn’t that big of a deal. It doesn’t require a full-time, slutty nanny,” Callie says in a huff.
“Watch it, woman,” I abruptly spin around in the middle of the hallway to warn her. We’re so close that her sweet, fruity smell invades my senses, temporarily distracting me before I recover and remember my indignation on Kelsey’s behalf. “I get that you have a lot going on and that you don’t particularly like me, but there’s no reason to badmouth a nice girl who is just here trying to help me out,” I snap at her.
“Whatever,” she replies, lowering her stormy eyes in what I hope is a little humility.
Turning around and stepping inside my bedroom, I flip on the lights.
“So, here’s his changing table. Extra diapers, wipes, and clothes are in the drawers,” I tell her.
“Thanks,” she mutters softly as she takes Brady out of his seat and lays him down on the table. “And I’m, ah, sorry about what I said.”
“No problem,” I say as I walk out of the room with a satisfied smile.
Chapter Nine
Callie
I’m feeling more than a little overwhelmed.
In fact, as soon as we walked into the waterfront mansion, I was so intimidated that I lashed out, forgetting my plan of playing nice to get some dirt on the football player. There was also something else bothering me that I wasn’t expecting.
The young nanny is so pretty, and she was fawning all over Quinton. While I had no right to make assumptions about her, the first thing I thought was that her responsibilities probably include more than just taking care of the baby. Knowing a man like Quinton, well, make that any man but especially him, he probably wouldn’t discourage her to give him a little more personal attention. Which is fine and none of my business, so why does the thought of her and him bother me?
As I’m changing the baby, I realize that instead of being a tad jealous of her, I need to be nice to the nanny, try to win her over and see if she has any secrets of Quinton’s I can use in a custody case.
After we eat what I have to admit was a decent meal, Quinton takes Brady to feed him, not that I’m agreeing to use that name, and then I’m alone in the kitchen with Kelsey.
“So, how do you like working here?” I ask, trying not to sound too nosy while wiping down the table as she starts on the dishes.
“It’s great. Quinton’s really nice and pays me well,” she answers.
“Well, that’s good,” I say. “Do you sleep here in the house too?”
“Yeah, and I get up when I hear Brady at night, but Quinton is usually already fixing his bottle,” she says, which I have to admit is rather surprising. I assumed he would depend on the nanny to do everything for the baby, especially the late-night feedings.
And now that I think about it, the way she answered didn’t sound like she’s sharing a bed with Quinton, but I decide to delve deeper.
“So, you’re not, you know, sleeping with him?” I ask.
“God, no,” she exclaims, and then lowering her voice she says, “I mean, I would in a heartbeat if he asked, but he hasn’t.”
“Oh, well, is he seeing someone?” I ask.
“Not that I know of. There haven’t been any women coming by other than Roxy.”
Before I can inquire as to who this Roxy is, Kelsey informs me.
“Roxy’s the team’s new kicker, and she’s seeing Kohen Hendricks. He usually comes by with her.”
“Oh,” I reply. “I thought football players were all about wild parties and lots of women.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
I jump when Quinton unexpectedly walks back into the kitchen cradling the baby in his arms. “Brady didn’t want much of his bottle, so I’m gonna change him and put him to bed,” he says to Kelsey, handing her the nearly full bottle to wash. “Then, I’m probably gonna try and get some sleep myself. Tomorrow morning I have to be at the stadium at eight a.m. to watch the films I missed today before practice starts.”
“I guess I’ll head home too,” I tell them.
“I assume you’ll be back in the morning?” Quinton asks me with a crooked smirk.
“Yeah,” I agree.
“Do you have a job or what?” he asks.
“I work from home as an accountant,” I reply. “The busiest times of year are January to April during tax season, so I have a lot of time off in the fall and winter…”
Quinton closes his eyes, throws his head back and pretends to snore. Loudly.
“Sorry,” he says when he opens his bright blue eyes again, the usual lopsided grin on his face. “Just the job description put me to sleep.”
“Well, not everyone can have careers as exciting as playing a game one day a week,” I remark before I go over to press a goodbye kiss to the baby’s forehead. “See you tomorrow.”
“What? No kiss for me?” Quinton teases.
“I’ve got something you can kiss, all right,” I mutter with a shake of my head before letting myself out the front door.
Later that night when I finally lay down in bed, it’s impossible to fall asleep thanks to the excitement of the day and the emotional roller coaster of the week.
After rubbing Felix for a while, I finally give up on sleep, and I get up to start crocheting the new project idea I had earlier today. Years ago when I was bored, I went into a craft shop and picked up a beginner kit. Ever since, I’ve been hooked. Weaving the yarn in a repetitive pattern is a relaxing, stress relieving activity. And I’ve been doing a lot more of it since the divorce. Mostly I make pink and blue hats for the NICU babies, but I’ve also made a few blankets too.
Tonight, I need the hobby to help me get my mind off the baby. I miss Brady and hated having to leave him at Quinton’s. It’s not fair that I would give anything to be a mother, but fate always has other plans. Ones that involve letting a man who doesn’t know the first thing about being a father have custody of my sister’s son over me.
There has to be something I can do to convince Quinton that the baby is better off with me. His life is probably hectic and crazy, traveling all the time when I’m right here in this house ready and able to care of the little guy day and night.
And yeah, I can admit that Quinton has what appears to be a few good qualities and seems like a decent guy. He’s just being so damn stubborn about custody. Maybe he’s not even the father, and my sister had it all wrong. If that’s true, there’s no one but me who can legally have him. Unless John is later tested. I can admit that I would prefer Quinton as the biological father.
I guess we’ll just have to wait for the results and see. Until then, I’ll have to try to be cordial with Quinton and his nanny. The man’s certainly easy on the eyes, incredibly tall, buff and handsome. There’s something else about him that I can’t put my finger on that makes him seem ridiculously desirable. Maybe it’s the fact that he just looks like a virile man capable of impregnating dozens of women to repopulate the Earth after an apocalypse nearly wipes out all of mankind. It’s a crazy notion since I have to assume that if Brady is his son, he’s Quinton’s only offspring and he doesn’t really have an army of baby mamas.
Then, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve never gotten pregnant because I was sleeping with the opposite type of man Quinton is. John is lazy and has no drive to succeed in anything except procuring drugs without me finding out. Oh, and sleeping with my sister. Thinking of them side by side, my money is on Quinton being the father of Bianca’s baby. There’s no way John could be responsible since his sperm obviously takes after him.
I blame those foolish thoughts for causing me to wake up in the middle of the night with my hand in my panties thanks to a fantasy involving a giant football player having his way with me. In fact, I’m so far gone that I bite my bottom lip and continue to let myself imagine being pinned down by the strong, sweaty man pumping into me while promising not to stop until he gives me a baby.
Feeling only a smidge embarrassed by my naughty dream last night involving the man I
currently loathe, I ring his doorbell around eight-thirty, expecting the nanny to answer. Instead, a frazzled looking Quinton with his black Mohawk all askew opens the door and walks back into the house, barely acknowledging me.
Once I step inside and shut the door behind me, I realize why.
The baby is screaming at the top of his lungs.
“What’s wrong with him?” I ask Quinton as I jog to catch up with him on the way back to his bedroom. “And aren’t you supposed to be gone by now?"
“He’s been like this all night,” Quinton tells me once we reach the room where Kelsey is pacing the floors, bouncing the baby on her shoulder, her hair also unbrushed.
“Is he hungry?” I ask, holding my arms out to take him from Kelsey, who passes him to me with a relieved sigh.
“No,” she answers, nodding to the full bottle on the dresser. “We keep trying, but he’s barely eaten since last night.”
“He slept a lot yesterday. I had to wake him up to feed him,” Quinton says with his phone in his hand. “The pediatrician’s office should be open now. I’m gonna call and get him an appointment.”
“Good,” I say before I start bouncing Brady on my shoulder and making a shushing sound to try and soothe him. It doesn’t work.
Quinton has to walk out of the room to make the phone call since the baby is crying so loudly.
“I feel so bad. I told Quinton I could take him to the doctor so he wouldn’t miss practice, but he insisted on staying,” Kelsey says.
“Yeah, he should go, and I can stay with you,” I agree. “We’ll be fine.”
“Well, maybe you can convince him,” she tells me. “I’m pretty sure he’s not supposed to miss any time with the team.”
I start to say it’s just a freaking game but refrain since that wouldn’t be very nice or helpful.
“What’s wrong, little boy?” I ask the baby. He doesn’t respond. I put my palm over his forehead to check and see if he’s running a temperature, but he doesn’t feel feverish.
“Okay, they can see him at nine-thirty,” Quinton tells us when he walks back in the room.
“Kelsey and I can take him if you need to head to the stadium,” I assure him.
“I don’t know,” he answers with a shake of his head. “What if there’s something wrong?”
“Let me get your cell phone number; and if so, I’ll call you right away. Otherwise, it’s probably just gonna be a lot of sitting around and waiting on the doctor.”
“Yeah, I guess,” he replies, running a hand over his head. “If you’re sure, then I should head on in. Maybe I can leave early...”
“We’ll be fine,” I tell him with a wave of my hand. “Go.”
“Kelsey can give you my cell and the numbers to have them page me at the stadium and practice field,” he says, just before I experience temporary blindness.
Quinton swiftly yanks his white t-shirt over his head and then walks shirtless over to the dresser to pull on another one. The man in my imagination last night was a sorry substitute for the real thing. I knew he was obviously muscular underneath his clothing, but I didn’t expect all the smooth, tan skin or chiseled abs.
“Tell them to bill me for the visit,” Quinton says, barely penetrating the hypnotic trance I'm under as he drops his pants and pulls on a pair of jeans just as quickly over his red boxer briefs. Way too quickly. “They have my information on file from when I brought him in for a check-up on Monday. I swear they told me he was perfectly healthy.”
When my lips suddenly go dry, I realize my mouth is hanging wide open, so I make a point to shut it before he sees. A glance over to Kelsey reveals that I’m not the only one in awe of the giant’s body.
“Call me after you see the doctor and let me know what they say,” Quinton tells us while shoving his feet in a pair of athletic shoes.
“We will,” I assure him, feeling much more agreeable than usual toward him. Must have been the partial glimpse at his nudity.
As Quinton comes closer, I finally notice that his normally bright, blue eyes not only look heavy with weariness but are also full of worry. Leaning down, he places a gentle kiss on Brady’s head and then surprises the shit out of me when he cups my jaw, the same one that was only moments ago hanging open at the sight of his amazing body.
“Thank you,” he says softly before pulling his enormous palm away.
He says something to Kelsey as well over the crying baby as he leaves the room, but my brain is all fizzled out, my cheek still warm and tingly from his caress.
“Wow,” Kelsey mutters, and then she dramatically faints onto Quinton’s unmade, island-sized king bed. “Is it just me or does he smell absolutely edible?” she asks while actually sniffing the man’s sheets. And yeah, if there weren’t any witnesses, I might do the same for another hit of Quinton’s clean, masculine woodsy scent.
“If you say so,” I tell her offhandedly, trying hard not to sound affected. “We better start getting Brady’s bag packed up.”
“Yeah,” Kelsey says, rolling and rutting around in the sheets like she’s making snow angels before she eventually gets to her feet with a dreamy smile on her exhausted face. “Don’t tell him, but I would’ve worked for him for free.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” I reply with an amused eye roll.
“Do you mind if I grab a quick shower? It won’t take me but like ten minutes, and then I’ll get his diaper bag packed.”
“Sure,” I say, glad to have a moment alone to do some snooping through Quinton’s room.
Once Kelsey leaves, I wait until I hear the shower come on down the hall; and then, still holding the crying baby to me, I head for the bedside table. A gasp leaves my mouth as I take in all the objects --- a mountain of supersized condoms, some lube, a pair of fuzzy handcuffs, and a vibrator. Wow. While those are rather shocking to find, it’s nothing really out of the ordinary for a single man who likely has a revolving door of women in his bed. And yeah, I feel sort of stupid and embarrassed for being nosy. Also, a little curious about what he does with those items…
Shutting the drawer, I go around the bed to search the other side table’s drawer. In that one, I find nothing but boring sports magazines. Well, that’s not nearly as exciting.
There has to be some sort of dirt on Quinton that I could use in court.
For now, my investigating will have to wait because my head is already pounding from the baby’s constant cries near my ear. I feel terrible for the little guy and wish I knew what was wrong. Hopefully, it’s nothing serious.
Chapter Ten
Quinton
My eyes try to focus on the screen in front of me as I sit in the stadium’s viewing room, but my mind isn’t really processing what I’m seeing like it should be.
Instead, I keep glancing down at my phone, checking the time and waiting for messages from Kelsey or Callie. In my gut, I know that something is seriously wrong with Brady. The kid wouldn’t just scream all night, refusing to eat if he was fine. Without knowing shit about taking care of babies, I’m certain of that.
“Quinton? Are you paying attention?” Coach Griffin snaps at me, pausing the video.
“Ah, yeah, Coach,” I answer, jerking my head up, focusing harder on the screen.
“Then how many seconds did you hold the ball on that last play?” he asks.
“Um, long enough to get sacked,” I answer.
“And did you see that Cameron was open down the field?” he asks, rewinding the play to point out the huge opening I missed. “He had five steps on Atlanta’s corner and could’ve ran that in for a touchdown.”
“You’re right,” I say in agreement at the same moment my phone starts to ring from an unknown caller. “Shit. Sorry, Coach, but I’ve gotta take this,” I tell him before answering. “Hello?”
“Hey, Quinton,” the sweet feminine voice says, and it only takes me a second to realize it’s Callie.
“Hey, what did the doctor say?” I ask.
“They did some bloodwork, a
nd Brady’s bilirubin level was high–”
“His what levels?” I interrupt.
“Bilirubin. He has jaundice,” she explains. “The doctor said it’s very common and sometimes doesn’t show up until a few days after birth. His levels have doubled since they checked on Monday.”
Jaundice? That sounds serious.
“So, now what?” I ask her. “Do they give him medicine or something to make it better?”
“Ah, no,” she replies. “We’re on the way over to the hospital–”
“The hospital?” I shout as I get to my feet.
“They’re just gonna admit him to do some phototherapy, you know, put him under a special light. He may even get to come home with a wearable light tomorrow if his bilirubin levels come down enough…”
“So, wait, they’re admitting him into the hospital overnight?” I ask in concern.
“Yeah, just for a day, maybe two to get the levels down quickly.”
“Okay, I’m on my way. Which hospital?”
“Dobson Memorial on West Waterford Drive,” she answers. “But you don’t have to come right now –”
“See you in a few,” I tell her before ending the call. “Sorry, Coach, but I’ve gotta go. The baby’s being admitted into the hospital with jaundice.”
“Quinton, all of us have families too, but this is your team. You’re one of the captains and the rest of the team depends on you to help us win games.”
“I’ll be ready to play Sunday,” I assure him as I start for the door.
“He may not even be your kid!” Coach argues.
“Maybe. Maybe not,” I turn around and answer. “But his mother left him with me to take care of him. Until we have answers, he’s my responsibility.”
“Don’t miss practice this afternoon!” he calls out to my back. “If you do, I’ll have no choice but to bench you.”