Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection)

by Ketley Allison

  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 leather 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.

  Locke looks to me, but it’s not unkind. “It’s okay,” he says. “Don’t let their rough and tumble ‘tudes scare you.”

  I walk forward and gently pass Lily to Ben as if she’s a one-month-old and not eleven months, but I’m ready to scoop Lily and run at the first sign of a fumble.

  But these men are athletes, and Ben hooks Lily with the ease of a football and sits back down on the couch, Asher’s elbow practically in his hip. But Asher bends forward, sticking his tongue out at Lily and bringing his fingers to her stomach before darting back, inducing a belly laugh from Lily, her lips thinned by a smile, gums out, tongue dancing with her giggles. She reaches for Asher’s hand but misses.

  “Can’t believe she’s yours, man,” Ben says, and he’s staring at Lily with the same astonishment. He starts bouncing Lily on his knee, and when he realizes she likes the action, he smiles and goes faster.

  “Neither can I,” Locke says, then spreads his hands. “But there you have it. I make great looking kids.”

  The guys laugh but then are quickly drawn back to Lily. Even Easton leans in close, squeezing Lily’s bare foot.

  I wonder if the spirit of Paige stands beside me, looking upon these four large bears and thinking what I’m thinking: all it takes is a baby to turn macho men into fluff balls.

  Lily, unused to such undivided attention by so many people, thrives. I swear she flirts with each and every one of them.

  “Uh-oh,” Asher says, his indigo eyes landing on Locke. “You may have a problem later in life, bud.”

  “Nope. I’ll buy a handgun,” Locke responds, and laughably, he’s adopted my previous stony expression. His arms seem to itch to hold Lily again. “Or a shotgun. Outfit the place with booby traps.”

  “Not to worry,” Asher says. “We’ll be your muscle. No guy’ll get near her.”

  Guys, I want to say. She’s eleven months old. No need to worry about prom night yet. But I don’t know them enough to joke or how they’ll react. I haven’t been acting like myself since…well, since I said good-bye to Paige. And it isn’t until now I realize I’m tired of putting on a brave face.

  I just want to go back to how I was. Happy, fulfilled, with my best friend beside me.

  “Well, it’s been real.” Easton slaps his knees and stands. I guess he’s satisfie
d with a foot-squeeze and now wants to go find his drum set.

  Can’t blame him. Some people are baby people, others aren’t. I was in the latter until Lily showed me otherwise.

  “And he’s my ride,” Asher says. He makes a blowfish face at Lily and rises. “It’s nice to meet you, Carter. Maybe next time we’ll actually talk. Considering you’re, you know, living here for a while.”

  Ben doesn’t look happy with that statement. I’m not used to so much bluntness, both in words and expression, and I’m a little thrown. “Sure. Yes, okay.”

  “Man, congratulations,” Ben says while handing Lily back to Locke. He smacks Locke on the shoulder. “Wish we could have said it a lot earlier.”

  Ah. There it is. Ben probably assumes I deliberately kept Lily a secret from Locke. Well, he can shove his theories up his ass.

  Asher squeezes my shoulder as he passes, and I take it as a form of understanding. Definitely not solidarity, as it’s clear where his loyalty lies, but at least he might be willing to listen one day.

  “Have fun, kids,” Asher says as they depart. Easton gives a wave, and Ben leaves with a salute. None of them look at me. Nobody says they’re sorry to hear about Paige.

  It’s not like they should. She was a nobody to them in college. She may as well be a nobody to them now. A nameless mother who gave them a cute kid to protect on prom night.

  “That was warm and fluffy,” I say once the apartment door is shut.

  “I know, right? I’ve never seen the guys like that.” Locke chuckles as he bounces in place with Lily. He’s so absorbed, he has no idea I’m being sarcastic and simmering beside him.

  A childish part of me wants to burst his bubble. “How long has she been up for?”

  “Uh…” Locke looks to the ceiling. “Four hours?”

  I make a show out of peering around him to see the oven clock. “And you changed her diaper how many times?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Locke pales at the memory. “No childcare class could properly warn me about that. She pooped, dude. Like real, terrible poop. Singed my nostrils.”

  I try not to smile.

  “First time, I put the diaper on backwards. Second time, Lily ripped out of it because I didn’t do it right. Third time, I wanted to wake you up and have you do it,” he admits. “Fourth time…I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I can’t help but ask, “What happened?”

  “That’s between me and this tiny volcano,” Locke says, then spins Lily. “What should we have for dinner, little sputnik?”

  I have to cover my mouth to stifle the laugh once I spot it. A huge streak of brown, right on the bottom of his previously snow-white tee. “What’s the state of the nursery like?”

  “Again,” he says in an overly bright, singsong voice, “We’re not talking about it.”

  “Fine. How about I get dinner ready for her, and you can change?”

  “Change?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I say while gently extricating Lily from his—hopefully sanitary—hold. “You need a new outfit.”

  “Goddammit.” He pulls at his shirt. “I thought I got all of it.”

  “A piece of advice, you’ll never get all of it,” I say in an equally singsong voice as I stride into the kitchen with Lily, then can’t resist adding, “Won’t that go down nicely with the ladies.”

  I don’t need to turn to predict his glare.

  When he returns, in a navy tee this time, I have Lily set up with a quick dinner of premade food packs I brought with me. I don’t trust Locke’s fridge enough to believe in freshness. He narrows his eyes at Lily’s food but doesn’t say anything as he pulls out a Coke, offering me one.

  We drink, with Lily as our centerpiece, and barely say a word to each other. When Lily’s done, I clean up her mess and say, “Definitely time for bed, pumpkin.”

  I hold out my arms, and she claps gleefully. Before I can grab her, Locke gently lays a hand on the top of her head.

  “I’d like to try this time,” he says.

  My hands are still spread out like an idiot’s. “Oh.”

  “I watched you,” he said in a kinder tone. “When you put her down for a nap.”

  I nod. “Of course. Let me know if you need anything.”

  Locke smiles, and it reaches his eyes. It’s that expression which halts me from opening my mouth and saying she needs a bath first, then some lotion, definitely a diaper change. It would sound so witch-like, considering all Locke wants to do is hold his new daughter a while longer. And Lily can go one night without a bath. Hell, I don’t even know how often the foster family washed her.

  All I can go on is my own experience, and I gave that child a bath every night because of how much she loves splashing and playing with her water toys.

  I don’t know if Locke has bath toys.

  Tomorrow, I think as Locke walks past me into Lily’s room. He’s given me a tomorrow with her.

  I sit down on the couch and, short of literally twiddling my thumbs, I chew on my lower lip as I listen to the sounds of Locke changing Lily, putting her in a onesie that maybe came from the suitcase the caseworker and I brought, or from his own purchases.

  She’s cooing, making baby sounds, likely kicking her legs up in the changing station and giving Locke a hell of a time—shit, does Locke know to wipe front to back with a baby girl?

  “Stop it,” I say to myself. I refuse to jump up and check. Locke knows. I’m not a handmaiden assigned to Lily. Nor am I a nag.

  Patience. Locke will tell me all about it when he’s done.

  In about the time I figured it would take, the babbling turns to crying, then to screams. After ten minutes, I can’t take it anymore and run to the nursery.

  I crack the door open enough to see Locke practically jumping in place, trying for Mary Had a Little Lamb again, jerkier in tone this time because of all his leaping.

  The light’s still on, so bright compared to the lamps in the main room, and when Locke spins, Lily’s bright red face and gaping maw of a mouth greet me.

  “Oh, boy,” I say, and somehow, Locke hears me over the cries.

  “Carter! Fuck, what am I doing wrong?”

  The face he gives me is laced with such desperation, I dial down the lecture I’m about to give and step all the way in.

  “She’s overtired. Overstimulated from the day and the company. This is pretty normal,” I explain.

  “Normal?” he echoes, except with a lot more screech. “Is she hurting? It sounds like she’s in pain. Is her tummy okay?” He bounces in place, and when that only sends her into hysterics, he stops and looks at Lily like he’s broken her.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

  My heart cracks just a little.

  “I don’t know what to do to help her,” Locke says. He’s stricken.

  “It’s okay,” I say “This is the only way she knows how to communicate right now. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

  “Then…how…?”

  I’ve come close enough to take her, but Locke doesn’t give her to me. He keeps holding on, displaying an unexpected willingness to keep trying.

  “So…bring her close to your chest,” I say loud enough for him to hear me over the cries. “That’s it. Good. Now sway, back and forth, like this.”

  I show him a simple side to side, as smooth as could be, and I’m holding my arms as if I’m holding her. “Just sway, like that. Yes.”

  It’s doing nothing to bank Lily’s cries.

  “Is she hungry?” Locke’s face is white over hers, his eyes the size of a badger’s. “I just changed her. It can’t be dirty already, can it? Is it?”

  I shake my head. “She’s just not used to you. Let me…” But then I stop. Think. The last thing I want to do is tear Lily away from him because I know what kind of emptiness that causes. “I’m going to come closer.”

  I flick off the light and step up to them, wrapping one arm around Lily and weaving the other around Locke’s neck. “Follow my mo
vements,” I say to him. “Just like that.”

  We get into a rhythm, and then I start singing. It’s a folk song, one my grandmother used to sing to me when I was sick, and I couldn’t tell you where it came from. But it worked for Lily at three months, and it works for her now.

  Her cries turn to whimpers, then murmurs, as I keep going.

  I’m surprised how easy it is to pull Locke close, to let him listen to me sing. I’m even more taken aback by the wash of chills I feel on his neck and the reciprocating tingles in the pads of my fingers that grow, trailing down my arm, onto my shoulder, through my breast until my nipple starts feeling the electricity, too.

  Locke’s eyes fall shut at the touch, but he’s awake, still swaying. Lily’s are drooping, her forehead falling against Locke’s chest.

  I don’t tell Locke it’s okay to put Lily down now. I bring my own forehead into Locke’s chest too, and I feel his grip around my waist tighten, a hold I hadn’t known he’d maintained.

  Soon, with only the streetlights from outside painting the room in golden lowlights, the three of us grow silent, my and Locke’s light foot taps the only sound in the room.

  It wakes me up.

  I push off Locke. “I’m sorry.”

  There’s a moment of quiet, and then he says, “We say that a lot to each other, don’t we?”

  His voice is husky but soft.

  It’s too easy to fall into the lure of his tone, the dim light of this room, the soft snores of Lily.

  “I should go,” I whisper, backing up. “I-I mean, I know this is my room, but I should go for now. Make sure Lily’s really asleep, before coming back in—”

  “Carter.”

  “I’m going to leave you alone. Give you time.”

  “Car—”

  But he doesn’t finish. I’ve shut the door and left him and Lily in the nursery.

  12

  Locke

  I am merely a speed bump in Carter Jameson’s quest for Lily.

  That’s what I’ve come to terms with as the days go by and she greets me politely after a full five hours of disappearing, then beelines for Lily. It’s what I’ve come to accept as we become more passersby on the sidewalk than roommates.