There. The barest flicker of a genuine smile. “Thanks.”
“You must feel like it’s been a day and a half. Go sleep for a while.”
She turns as she’s heading to my room. “Wake me when Lily’s up?”
“Sure,” I say.
As soon as Carter is out of view, I make like a tree and timber onto my couch, arms splayed out, legs spread, and look to the ceiling. Fucking exhausted.
Here’s the problem: I remember Paige Tobias.
While reputation precedes me, especially during college and at the top of my game—both with women and as running back—my mother raised me to respect women. I mainly apply that respect to physical appreciation, but it’s a rarity for me to look at a girl and not remember sleeping with her. I know who I fuck. My dick commands my brain for the most part, but there still has to be an attraction, a willingness to strip naked and pleasure a woman.
And I recall the night Paige stepped into my world with uncomfortable clarity. It was a house party, right after we became the National champs, so yup, I was finally drinking again after being sober the entire season, and hammered out of my mind. She came into the room with Carter beside her, and the reason they were so memorable was their utter awkwardness in a relatively raucous room. Beats, bass, hollers, drinks spilling, girls’ shoes randomly ditched, and a group of us guys, “cheers-ing” with the women draped over us.
Those two stood out like it was the first party they’d ever come to.
Asher, one of my main buddies, spotted them the moment I did. Covered in tats and with a toothpaste smile, he said to me, “Freshies?”
“Nah,” I said while a girl kissed me and gnawed at my ear. “Look at those legs. Those aren’t baby deer over there. They’re at least gazelles.”
Asher could always be relied upon to laugh at my quips. “Hunting season already, bro?”
I lingered on Paige, curly blonde ringlets half clipped back from her face, giant green eyes, a splattering of freckles on the top part of her chest, then returned to the girl next to me, giving her a nip on her nose, much to her delight.
“Too innocent for me,” I said to Asher. “I like my girls…” Another nip and this one giggled. “Up for anything.”
But my attention strayed back to the two of them, this time moving to the one beside her, to those dark, sexy waves of hair hitting her elbows, those oval gold eyes, more feline than human. Now she was more what I’d like to prowl, rather than the all-American girl beside her.
She caught me staring, gold shields wavering ever so slightly before she spoke to her friend and they skittered away.
“Your heart beating a little fast, bud?” Ben came up behind us, draping his arms around both my and Asher’s shoulders.
“If I were you,” he said to the lady beside me, “I’d be insulted.”
She—Laura—smacked Ben’s arm in an oh you gesture, huddling closer to my abs.
Fast losing interest in her, Ben said, “Easton’s bailed, as usual. We should play some beer pong.”
“Why?” Asher asked. He pointed with his chin. “This room alone has whatever you need to pass the time.”
“Another night, another party, more chicks.” Ben gave an exaggerated eye roll, clearly blitzed. “Blah.”
“I’m not into pong,” I say. “Should we throw some ball outside? Get some poker going?”
To be honest, I was also losing interest in this party, in the sameness of it all. Senior year. Routine was all well and good on the field, but take me out onto concrete and spontaneity was what I craved. Not another house party, another exam, another day of training. I felt for Ben.
“Nah, all done and done.” As if on chance, but it was purely planned, Ben put those two girls back in his sights. “Which one, Locke?”
I laughed, but it was suspicious. “What are you talking about, man?”
“Which one do you want?”
I shook my head, playing with Laura’s hair. “Neither.”
“Liar.”
“Fine. The brunette,” I said. “‘Cause I got a blonde right here.”
On cue, Laura giggled again, then whispered, “Let’s go somewhere.”
“Soon,” I said to her. Despite my boredom, my cock was calling for some action.
“I dare you to bag the blonde, then. The other one.”
My attention strayed to Ben. “Dude, no.”
“Yes!” Asher pumped the air. “A wager. Better than any poker game, because I suck at it.”
“I’m not betting on a chick,” I said, “when I can get any chick I want.”
“Bet you can’t get that one,” Ben said.
“You’re an ass.”
“You’re a pussy.”
“If you fuck her, I’ll give you five hundred bucks,” Asher jumped in.
Both Ben and I said, “You fuckin’ kidding?”
We knew he wasn’t. Asher came from prime old money stock. His family had more money than some countries. College was more a way for him to pass the time, and, I often ribbed him, a place where he could make friends.
“Nope,” he said. “Let’s boost the odds a bit. You’ve got a lady on your arm—sorry, Laura—but, go for the girl who has the best chance of saying no to you. Prove us wrong, Locke. Show us the Hayes legacy remains strong.”
“You’re both dicks,” I muttered.
“That’s ‘cause you won’t use yours.”
I don’t know which one of them said it. It didn’t matter. I was bored, used to nailing challenges, and figured, why not give that girl a story? She could have one night with the best, something she could tell her grandkids one day.
Little did I fuckin’ know, I’d be related to those grandkids.
Falling back into the present, my apartment ceiling re-enters into focus.
That’s what I don’t want Carter to find out. That I slept with her friend on a dare, when I really would have preferred to sleep with her. Clearly, Paige never filled Carter in on the specifics. And yeah, I accepted a thousand bucks cash for it. I’d upped the ante with Asher on precedent.
Fuck, Carter would hate me more than she does now.
I’d always been interested in women. Who wouldn’t be, when your first experience with them was being propositioned by an older lady at a convenience store at fifteen years old buying Red Bulls?
After my injury, I went into overdrive. My knee had healed enough to get by without opioids, so I threw myself into my own personal female anatomy classes. I grinned, I wooed, and soon I didn’t even have to do that. They came around me, fluttering butterflies with excellent asses, and I was a natural. I pleasured them with less conversation and more sex. Adventurous, detailed sexual positions that got me off and sent me prowling for more. Always more.
I forgot all about the blonde I’d screwed in the back of Asher’s Audi. And I never once thought about her friend with the gilded eyes.
I’d gained, I’d conquered, and I broke hearts. My career and life goals were over as I knew it, so what did I care if a chick cried into a tissue box for a few nights before moving on to some other dude? Not me, man.
The only time I ever thought it was a problem was when Carter stepped back into view a month ago. But Carter gave me no time to process, since she dropped a bomb in the form of a baby, then left. That should’ve been it. Some crazy woman who can’t let go of a kid that isn’t hers. I’d do my part, gain rights to Lily, and then Carter would re-exit stage left.
Except, on the day she flew back to Florida, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. It finally clicked. Those toffee-colored eyes that held more cracked glass than sparkle. The curves of her body and how I wanted my hands on her hips and cupping her ass in college. Only now, both were flattened by grief.
For the past month, between being terrified of taking care of Lily, becoming her sole custodian and forcing myself into figuring that shit out, images of Carter would creep in and glue onto my retinas. Her lips, and yes, her tits, her curves, and angles—some sharper than others.
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She hides her emotions too well. When she’d looked away from me at that party almost two years ago, all I wanted to know was why. Why didn’t she approach me then? And now that she’s in my apartment? All I want to do is figure out her layers. And I’m not supposed to want that sort of thing.
Cut to now, and I’ve asked Carter to live with me—can’t wait to hear Ben’s and Ash’s thoughts on that—this girl I can’t shake. Regardless of how much she can’t stand me, I want to figure out her puzzle.
It should be easy because I’m a master at women.
I close my eyes and rub them.
Too bad for me, I’m currently housing two ladies I have no clue how to handle.
11
Carter
Once Locke is out of the room, I’m not supposed to think about him.
That’s what I tell myself as I strip off my pants in his room, lie down in his bed, cover myself in his sheets.
He’s right, they’re crisp and clean. Smelling like lavender.
What he doesn’t know is that lavender is Paige’s signature scent. Was.
Like always, my eyes fill with unbidden tears. I use a piece of his sheet to wipe them away, but that only traps me in a floral breeze, and I choke back a sob.
I don’t want Locke to hear me. I’d be mortified if he came in here and saw me without pants and crying.
But memories of Paige don’t care about what I want, and they assail anyway. Of her holding Lily in the hospital, her cheeks wet with happy tears. Her recovery in our apartment, a small bassinet beside her, Lily sleeping through most of it while Paige could barely come to a sitting position…
My sleeping with both of them, helping Paige figure out how to breastfeed, and then, when that didn’t work, how to take a bottle. Figuring out morning feedings and the weird tendencies of newborns to appear like they’re malfunctioning as they adapt to life outside the womb. All scary, terrifying prospects that Paige and I battled together.
But then…the greatest fear of all came upon us, and I couldn’t lift up a sword for her.
The lump on Paige’s right breast. Her dismissal of that tiny bump all throughout her pregnancy. The failure to breastfeed leading us to mention it during Lily’s one-month wellness checkup. The pediatrician feeling Paige’s breast and going, “Huh…”
Everything turning into disaster after that.
It’d be easy to blame Paige for this. For my being here. For Lily being given to a guy who wouldn’t know who Paige was if someone threw her at him. But as much as I hate to admit it, I know Paige’s reasons. She wanted Lily to have a father, her father, not another family where not only I but she would disappear.
I wonder if Paige kept up with Locke’s career. If she knew about his knee blowout and maybe thought she’d be offering him the gift of learning to live again by giving him a chance to choose Lily.
That would be so like her, to notice his fall, sense an opening. To give him the chance to overcome his ego and understand true love instead of the allure of brief, physical talent.
Did she wrestle with the idea that Locke could’ve been worse, rather than better, after his accident? Not simply due to the drinking and women, but the failure, too. Losing his career, becoming invisible to the masses that once adored him. The infallible Lachlan Hayes turning into an internet joke.
Who knew? I roll over, fluffing Locke’s too-flat pillows. Locke certainly won’t tell me.
Slowly, ever so carefully, I feel my eyelids weighing shut, but can’t help the bleak thoughts from blanketing me into slumber.
Locke could be a worse man now than he was then. And back in college, he was pretty bad.
I wake to a thump. And then another.
Cracking an eye open, I’m still unable to see anything. The room is dark, only the barest line of curtain bordering the night.
Lily.
I shoot up in bed and throw the covers off, fumbling in the darkness for my jeans.
While I was sleeping, Lily might’ve been hurt. I’ve left her with a stranger the entire afternoon who doesn’t know a toddler from a newborn and—dammit, where are my jeans?
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
Fuck ‘em.
I sprint to the door and fling it open, desperate to see a baby crawling around, one healthy and pink-cheeked and whole.
“Lil—!”
I stop. Freeze under three sets of headlights. Three men—none of them Locke—have somehow managed to fit themselves on the couch in the main room.
The closest one grins. “Hello!”
I scream and clutch the doorframe. Given the length of tattoos stretched across both arms, even a few on his neck, I’m frantically thinking about an improvised weapon. The buzzcut doesn’t help, either.
He’s here to steal my baby.
“Where’s Lily?” I demand, holding my fists up boxer-style.
“Whoa, there,” another one says, holding an arm out, but I’m on the move. I’ll toss their bodies off the couch and upturn the ottoman if I have to.
The scary one stands, which leads the other two to stand with him. “She’s safe. I’m Asher. A friend of Locke’s. You must be Carter.”
“Yeah.”
Rude, I know. But I can’t find Lily.
A cry grabs my attention, but it’s happy. Locke steps out of the kitchen with Lily, another bottle glued to her face.
“Oh, thank God,” I say out loud before I can stop it.
“I feel the same way, honey,” another man says beside Asher. “I wouldn’t trust Locke alone with a baby, either.”
Locke shoots him a wry look. “I’m doing just fine, thank you. Are you all right?” he asks me. “You’re not wearing pants.”
My lips go numb. A common occurrence when all the blood leaves my face. I’m standing in front of four men in my underwear and a crop top. They can see all the lace I have to give.
“Oh, god…” I say through a lurch of mortified nausea. Then I sprint for Locke’s bedroom, slam the door, and turn on the stupid light as I find my jeans.
“She seems nice,” I hear a voice say through the door.
“Nice ass, at least,” another one replies.
“One more word and one of you will break that window’s glass, and the next one your fall.”
Definitely Locke’s voice.
I squeak, clutching at my exposed butt cheeks as if now is the proper time to hide them. Damn Sophie and getting me to amp up my lingerie game with G-strings.
I hop into my jeans, smooth my hair back, and take a deep breath. Nobody, but nobody, could get me to go back in there after being so naked in front of those guys—except Lily.
I hear her babbling, and I just want to hold her and hide in her ringlets.
When I come out, Locke’s regarding me like he doesn’t know what to do with me. Ask if I’m okay? Do I need anything? A robe? His conflict is written all over his expression as he adjusts his hold on Lily. I have to give him props for that. I doubt I’ve spoken a truly kind word to him the entire time we’ve been together.
Part of me feels bad about that. Most of me doesn’t.
“Meet three guys who might as well be my brothers,” he says instead. “Asher, Ben, Easton.”
He went from left to right, and each man couldn’t have been more opposite from the other. Locke was the skinniest, certainly, but that doesn’t mean his body can’t handle muscle. In the current tank he’s sporting, cut low at the sides, I spy the ridges and lines of a good workout regime.
Asher is the only one with tattoos. Ben is the basic blond with the blue eyes, except for what looks like a pretty nasty burn on his left forearm, an old one.
Ben spots where my focus has landed and winks. “Saved my baby sister from a fire.”
I can’t tell if he’s kidding or not, so I frown at him and move on to Easton, the darkest of the three, both in skin and fashion sense. His features have a hint of bronze, not tanned, but natural. Even his eyes blaze copper, and I wonder about his heritage. He’s wearing a l
eather jacket and tight, ripped black jeans. Like a…a brooding rocker guy who lost his drum set.
College football alone couldn’t have brought these men together. But what did I know?
“You’re right, Locke, she’s a tough nut to crack,” Ben quips, which earns a warning glare from Locke.
But I’m still exhausted and now crashing from the severe adrenaline rush of showing my ass crack and not knowing where Lily was. Now that I’ve located her, safe in Locke’s arms, it’s okay to breathe.
“Can I get you a drink?” Locke asks me. “Or something to eat? You slept for a while.”
“Don’t let him cook for you,” Ben warns. “At least get the professional chef to scramble you up an omelet.”
“You can’t scramble an omelet,” Asher responds with a sneer. On him, it’s murderous. Ben brushes it aside like Asher’s a fly.
I glance between the two of them, unsure if Ben was actually calling this tattooed gargantuan a professional chef.
“I’m sorry for oversleeping,” I say to Locke while rubbing one eye. “I haven’t slept very well lately.”
“I’m glad you finally did.” Locke says it with a soft tone and a lingering study. I’m not sure what to make of him or the guys surrounding me, so I ignore all of them and lift Lily out of Locke’s arms.
Locke finally says, “Guys, this is Carter.”
“Sorry to intrude,” the one named Asher says from his perch. His height makes it difficult for him to fit on Locke’s tiny green couch. “We really wanted to meet Lily.”
“I’m glad you did,” I say automatically. I have no idea if I’m glad. I’m just being polite.
“They’re not a group that waits for invites,” Locke says wryly. “My sister’s gonna kill each of you for this.”
“Then don’t tell her,” Ben says, then holds out his arms. “Let me hold her.”
I stiffen. There’s nothing about these men I know, besides their names. For so long, it’s been Paige, Lily, and me against the world. No one else. Then I blink, and suddenly it’s four men and a baby.
“Locke…” I say under my breath. Unintentionally, I reach for his arm beside me. Press my palm against it. The action has Easton studying us with interest.
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