She stepped a little closer and pretended to take notes on a notepad as she said, “I have to go home after my shift. I’m not some young coed who can fall into bed with you. I have Darla.”
“Shit, you think I just want to fuck you?” I slammed my fist onto the table, furious with myself for forgetting child care and shit.
“You didn’t think about that, did you? About her?”
I’d forgotten how well Jules could read me. “Where is Darla? Who’s with her? This parenting thing is all new to me.”
“She’s with a sitter. Because I’m working.”
“Well, I can come home with you . . . later.”
“I don’t think so, Drew.”
She pursed her lips, and her dumb fucking tight-ass bun taunted me. I wanted to grab the purple tie she wore around her neck and yank her close, kiss that pissy look right off her face, bury my tongue in her mouth and sink my free hand in her hair.
“To talk,” I lied.
“I’m not ready. I agreed to the tennis lessons, but that’s it. Look, I have to go. I have other tables.”
“I still want my Scotch, and I’m going to order some food.”
She turned without saying a word.
A few minutes later, some asshole arrived with my drink and asked if I needed anything else.
“Of course,” I told him. “But I’ll wait for Claire to put my order in.”
That was pretty much how the evening went. I barked drink orders at Jules, and she sent other people to deliver them. She dumped my steak in front of me, and it wasn’t clear whether she’d been aiming for my lap.
The back-and-forth left me pretty much wrecked and sauced by the time her shift ended.
“I’m finishing up for the evening, so if you want to close out your bill . . .” She stood beside my table, her arms crossed, surveying me with a dirty look. “Or I can transfer it over to someone else.”
I whipped out my black card and handed it to her. “I’ll close out.”
When she returned with my bill, she said quietly, “I’m going to call you a cab. You’re drunk, and I don’t want that responsibility on my hands.”
“You drive me. Please, Jules.” I stood and misjudged, rattling the table, sending the leftover ice sloshing in my tumbler.
“Drew.”
When she came close, I could smell her perfume. It reminded me of sea and beach and sand. It was new on her, but I liked it anyway.
“My sitter is waiting.”
“Tell her to wait. I’ll pay.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my money clip.
“No. Why would you do that?”
“She’s my daughter, Jules, that’s why. And you’re waiting tables in a steak joint to make ends meet. That’s further why,” I said, and leaned my head onto her shoulder.
“Don’t.”
Sadly, I listened like a scolded puppy and moved.
“One second.” She walked to the side of the restaurant and pulled out her phone.
I watched her fingers graze the little screen, typing quickly, and imagined she was running them over my chest and into my pants . . .
Shit. I ran my hand over my face and got my head straight. I was hoping to talk. Not touch.
Maybe just a little?
When the screen in her hand illuminated with a reply, she said, “Come on,” to me and pointed toward the back exit.
I waited for her while she gathered her stuff, and we walked out into the night air. It was muggy and humid enough, but when I saw Jules finally let down her hair, I found it hard to breathe. She yanked on the hair tie and all her red glory fell around her face. I searched for her green eyes in the lion’s mane in front of me.
My hand twitched to move up and push her hair out of the way . . . guiding my lips to hers.
“Drew! Drew, stop.”
Looks like my hand more than twitched.
“I’m sorry.” I breathed into her hair, unable to take my fingers out of it. Placing my lips on her forehead, I bared my soul. “I’m so confused, Jules. I spent the last seven years trying to put you in some sort of storage bin in my brain. I worked, worked out, ate, and drank, but I didn’t live.”
Her hand came to rest on my elbow, her fingers lightly grazing my skin.
“Now, here you are. Alive and well, looking amazing . . . and you had my daughter. And all of that is messing with my head. I want you. Need you. I never stopped loving you.”
She squeezed my elbow. “We can’t. I can’t. Our past is our past and it has to stay there, Drew. I’m not going to keep Darla from you, but that’s all that you get out of this deal. Darla. On my terms.”
“Please.” The word was mangled, coming from somewhere deep in my gut.
“Come on, I’m going to drive you home. Besides being drunk, you’re talking nonsense.”
She moved away, opened the driver’s side door and got in her sedan, and I slithered into the passenger’s side like the snake I was.
I might have been drunk, but a thousand and one scenarios ran through my mind . . . how to get Jules in my bed and my daughter under my roof.
What the fuck? What the hell happened to me?
The big dick-swinging bachelor, the hard-ass coach who fell into lust with his collegiate player?
He fell in love and never forgot it.
Jules
My car idled outside his place, not your typical Floridian Spanish stucco monstrosity, or one of those big mega-mansions with the hideous Roman columns.
No, it was worse.
Much, much worse.
Perfectly worse.
Modern white clapboard siding lit by the moonlight outlined the two-story house situated on the coastal highway. I rolled down the window and listened to the ocean slap against the shore as I took in the modern take on a Craftsman in front of me. It was like the 1970s Brady Bunch house impregnated one of those ridiculous industrial-modern places, and they created the most stunning place known to man.
Drew swayed a bit as he made his way down a narrow walkway and up a few steps toward the front door. I couldn’t help but silently pray he fell into his perfectly trimmed bushes.
The air smelled like salt and money. I took in the private staircase down to the beach as the light popped on inside Drew’s house. It was a dream and a nightmare. This could have been mine . . . but it wasn’t.
Needing to get back to where I belonged, I started to reverse out of the driveway, needing to leave this fantasy in my rearview.
“Jules,” he called out, and I stopped until he caught up to me. “I meant it. I’ve always loved you. Please give me a chance.”
“Good night, Drew.”
It was time to return to reality, I scolded myself, to my small two-bedroom apartment, far away from the water. I needed to stay in my lane and away from Drew.
After dropping Darla off at school the next day, I sat slumped over my morning coffee, visions of his gorgeous house tormenting me. It was a fantasy.
Drew was then and this is now. Me, Darla, the apartment situated in a decent school district, and the promise of Bryce moving on and me taking over his job.
The Southern chain had been good to me ever since Bryce had taken a chance on me. I’d been given stacked benefits and the opportunity to build a life for my daughter and me. As the company expanded, they promoted from within, and seniority counted. Perhaps soon, I’d be a manager.
My mom had wanted me to give up the baby and finish my degree, but I couldn’t do it. The tiny life in my belly had become my entire purpose as soon as I learned about it—about her.
There was no way I could have stayed in Ohio, and my mom wouldn’t leave. My dad had been buried there when I was two. She’d die there too, and be buried next to him and the countless memories she had, no doubt half of them make-believe.
Plus, she’d made it clear she wasn’t going to help with the baby.
Even when she’d shown up in North Carolina for the delivery, she’d said every ten minutes, “I’m going home in a fe
w days, and you’re on your own.”
When I’d fled to North Carolina at the promise of a tennis-teaching gig and a whisper of night school, it had been a pipe dream. Neither panned out for a twenty-something single mom.
Over the years, my mom had looked at Darla with suspicion. On Dar’s third Christmas, Mom came to visit again, bringing a few presents and a pocketful of accusations.
Actually, her accusations were truths. “I’d know that face, those eyes anywhere.”
My phone rang, interrupting my negative-thought train.
When I saw who it was, I answered, “I’m not working lunch, Bryce. I promised Darla I’d pick her up at school and see the turtle in their classroom.”
“Nice. But I’m not calling about lunch.”
“Oh, sorry.” I went to the coffeemaker and topped off my mug. “What’s up?”
Bryce cleared his throat, something he did when he was nervous.
“What?” I demanded.
“Your friend is here. He came to pick up his car, and he asked for your phone number.”
“Ugh.” I slumped back into my seat.
“He’s refusing to leave until I give it to him.”
“I’ll come and deal with him.”
“You sure? You don’t have to—I can handle him.”
“See you soon.”
I hung up and yanked out my messy bun. With a swift hand, I finger-combed through the knots and twisted my hair into a tight knot. I threw a cardigan over the tank and yoga pants I’d worn to school drop-off, and slipped my feet into flip-flops.
It didn’t take me long to make my way to the restaurant. As I pulled around back, I caught Drew sitting next to the back door. He was in athletic shorts and a damp shirt, his feet straight out from him, adorned in running shoes.
I slammed the car in park and jumped out. “Drew!”
I was good and mad, but for all the wrong reasons. Furious at the man in front of me for reigniting a dream that had died long ago. Devastated that I refused to allow myself to have the fantasy, the reunion I’d seen in my mind about a million times.
When he stood and headed slowly toward me, all the anger seeped from my veins.
“Why are you limping?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Are you hurt? Don’t tell me you ran here—”
“I ran at the gym. Ubered there, Ubered here. Would’ve Ubered to you . . . if I knew where that was.”
“You can’t keep surprising me like this.”
“I can and I will. Until you give me what I want.”
He closed the gap between us; close enough for me to see the beads of sweat that clung to his short hair, and detect his scent. He smelled like sweat and something minty.
“I want you,” he said on a breath. “And I’m going to have you.”
I couldn’t speak; my lungs didn’t work. I commanded myself to take in air and blow it out my nose. “Drew,” I said, as if his name were the only word in my vocabulary.
“Have you eaten?”
I shook my head to clear the cobwebs of confusion—he was like an emotional boomerang this morning—but he took it as my response.
“Great. Let’s go eat.” He flung his arm around me and pulled me against his side, grazing my ear with his lips.
“I’m not dressed to eat . . . to go anywhere.”
“Sure you are. You just need to do this.” He tugged on my knot and gave my hair free rein to do what it wanted, which was to curl around my face.
“Drew.”
“Enough with my name. I know who I am. And what happened to King Drew?”
“He left,” I said bitterly.
“He didn’t want to.”
As if on cue, my stomach gurgled.
“Come on. I’m going to feed you.”
With his arm wrapped around me, Drew guided me to a ritzy twenty-four-hour diner just a block away. I hadn’t eaten at the Purple Stallion yet, mostly because it was out of my price range with all the expensive tennis equipment I had to buy, and the upcoming birthday party.
We walked inside the metal building, fashioned after an old-school diner, and a brass bell chimed overhead. The inside was all shades of purple, from the linoleum to a huge glass-shelved bar lining the back. TVs hung over the bar, and miniature carousel ponies dangled from the ceiling. The place was outrageously gaudy and super cool at the same time.
The smell of fresh-brewed coffee and cinnamon filled the air, making my stomach growl.
Drew flashed the hostess two fingers, never letting me go.
“Toward the back,” he said in a hushed tone when the hostess came close. “Something semi-private, a booth?”
“Gotcha.” She led us to a small booth in the back, a window on one side and the drink station on the other.
I slid into the booth, and rather than sit opposite me, Drew squeezed in next to me. His thigh hit mine, and I would like to say I wasn’t a goner, but I was.
Heat, old feelings, unanswered questions, and new curiosities clung to every cell in my body.
Jules
“Hey, welcome to the Stallion. Old-timers or virgins?”
I wondered if the waitress was some sort of clairvoyant. Drew and I were definitely old-timers when it came to each other, and definitely not virgins.
Of course, she barely glanced at me, yet couldn’t keep her batty eyes off Drew.
“Two coffees, milk instead of cream,” he said, ignoring her cute face, blatant flirting, and curvy physique. Instead, he turned to face me.
“I still take milk.”
Crap, I don’t why that came out of my mouth.
“I figured.” His finger caught a loose hair, pushed it behind my ear, and he leaned close.
“I know. That was stupid of me. I’m all out of focus or brains when it comes to you. Just like old times, but I have no idea what it means.” With him in my personal space, my voice was quiet and timid, my brain barely able to fire synapses.
“Don’t do that.” He kissed my cheek. “Don’t be hesitant with me, because all I want is you.”
Right then, little Miss Peppy Server set the coffees on the table, my milk in a small container on the side.
“Did you know what you want?” she said, still focusing on Drew.
“We didn’t even look yet. What do you recommend?”
“The special is crepes. They’re filled with Chantilly crème and topped with fresh raspberries. It’s divine.” This declaration brought her tongue out, and she licked her lips, making me wonder if this was a porno or a diner. “Today’s sausage is organic apple-spiced chicken. My personal favorite is the sweet potato pancakes with cranberry-apple compote.”
“Great. Bring us the special and potato pancakes to start.”
“Be back,” she said, and left us.
“I could’ve ordered for myself.”
“I know, but I wanted her gone.”
I poured some milk into my mug and took a sip of the coffee, the liquid warming my throat and lifting my mood.
“I’m going to win you back.”
Drew reached out and his hand covered mine. I watched the veins flex and the hair on his forearm like they were Beyoncé in the halftime show during the Super Bowl. I didn’t want to take my eyes away for a second.
“Who said I’m a prize to win?” I spoke without lifting my gaze, and of course, he tilted my chin up with his finger.
“You’re not just the prize. You’re everything, and I want it. I want you and my daughter. All of us, together.”
“I can’t.”
“Don’t say that. You can, and you will.”
As he ran his lips along my cheek, a faint reminder of how much he drank the night before wafted from his pores and mixed with the mint.
“God, I want you so bad,” he mumbled.
“It’s not like that now. I have a daughter.” My standard line seemed wrong in this moment; not that I’d used it a lot.
“We have a daughter.”
I sealed
my eyes shut and allowed every thought, every concern about Darla to wash over me. “I’m such an idiot. How will I tell her who you are? I’ve fucked this up beyond repair.”
“Nothing is beyond repair, especially us.”
He squeezed my hand, and I wanted to believe him.
“Here you go.”
The server was back with two plates. The air around us filled with sweet aromas, reminding me I was famished.
Drew stopped the server as she was walking away. “Oh, can I get an order of the sausage for myself?” Turning to me, he said, “I didn’t want it to touch your crepe. The meat.”
Why did he have to be so thoughtful?
“Not necessary, but thanks.” I picked up my fork and took a bite of crepe and raspberry, moaning as the crème made its way around my mouth.
“Wish you were doing that for me.”
Raising an eyebrow at him, I said, “You’re really into the cheesy now.”
“Nah.” He ran his finger down my forearm. “Just trying to lighten the mood for my girl.”
“Drew,” I growled.
“My soon-to-be girl.”
“Don’t you have work?” I asked around a mouthful of cranberry and potato.
“I haven’t got much done this week. Plus the hangover. I left my associates in charge.”
“Finance?”
“Yeah, risky investments with high returns. It’s all about the thrill for my people.”
“Wow. I don’t know if I could gamble with my money like that.”
“Most of my clients have plenty to spare. As for me, I didn’t think I had much responsibility until a few days ago. Now I have a love child . . .”
I couldn’t help myself. I laughed out loud. “Love child! You make it sound so sinister.”
“But it is, isn’t it? Our story? A coach and his pupil make a child.”
“Oh God, just eat and soak up the alcohol. Pupil.” I rolled my eyes and almost laughed the coffee right out of my nose at that word.
“Oh, I sweat that shit out already. My knee wasn’t happy, but my gut was.”
He speared a crepe just as his sausage arrived. “Now, tell me about Darla Katherine King.”
“Smith,” I corrected him.
“Hopefully not for long, but I’ll let it be. Tell me, how big was she when she was born? Did she come out with a racquet in her tiny hand? What’s her damn birthday?”
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