Around noon, I’ve got Fia down for a nap, and I’m about to take one, too. I’ve been through a lot of tough things, but the past eighteen hours take the cake.
I keep telling myself it’s only a challenge like any other, my goal simple: make it through the week. Beyond that, I don’t know. Honestly, Fia’s just another chick I don’t have time for. So other than having to acknowledge she’s pretty damned cute and that I really feel bad for her—Marli should not have dumped her like that—I can’t allow myself to feel anything.
It’s just a babysitting job. I mean, why treat it any other way? Even if she is mine, which is something I’m not prepared to confront, I can’t take care of her. I’m barely taking care of Flip and myself. And I’m not ready to be a father! That’s a freaking eighteen-year commitment. Jesus! What if she’s one of those kids who wants to live with me forever? I’ll never get my life back!
See. That settles it. No keeping the baby, no matter what. If Marli doesn’t return, I know what I have to do. And that means I can’t afford to get attached.
I’m about to close my navy-blue blackout curtains when there’s a knock at the front door. Mike and Igor are out, enjoying their final days before the semester starts, so it’s up to me to answer.
Fuck. I really need to rest up before practice tonight. I know Coach is going to make us run through all the plays for Sunday’s game. To me, it’s the most important one of the season because it sets the tone for everything else. If you kick ass in the first game, the team’s energy feeds off it. If we get our asses kicked, the entire season will feel like an uphill battle. Morale will be low.
I pry myself from bed, go to the front door, and look through the peephole. It’s Lara from work. I have no clue why she’s here on her lunch break.
I open the door a few inches so she knows not to come in. “Hey, what’s up?” I say, faking a scratchy throat.
Lara looks like her usual cute self with her blonde hair up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a purple Grape Ranch cardigan and those snug khakis that show off her cute round ass. Not that I stare at it when we’re at work, because that’s what creepy assholes do, but it’s hard not to notice the nice shape when she’s walking away.
“I brought you soup, some chamomile tea, and lemon drops.” She holds up a grocery bag.
“Wow. That’s so nice.”
“I can set you up if you want?”
Meaning, she wants to come in and play nurse.
“Naw. I’m good. Wouldn’t want you to catch anything. This was really thoughtful, though.” I take the bag from her hand and slide it through the narrow opening.
“What’s that all over the front of your shirt?” She makes a sour face.
I look down at Fia’s handiwork. Baby puke. “Oh, uh, I spilled some cream of chicken down my shirt. Had an early lunch. But I’ll be sure to enjoy this soup for dinner.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to make you some tea or—”
A piercing cry explodes from inside my room.
“Is that a baby?” Lara asks.
I flick my thumb over my shoulder. “TV. I have the volume too loud. I’ll see you back at work—”
“Dean, that is not a TV. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I say.
“Bullshit. You’re hiding something.” She pushes past me, following the sound.
“Wait. This is my place. You can’t just barge…” My voice trails off. It’s too late. Lara’s in my bedroom, pointing down at the baby.
“TV, huh?” Lara’s brown eyes narrow.
“Oh. That baby. I can explain.”
“Ohmygoodness, what a pair of lungs.” Lara tries to comfort a crying Fia by gently bouncing her. “I’m guessing she just has a little gas. Moving her around a little should help.”
The little toot sound from her butt confirms it. The baby’s butt, of course. Would be weird if Lara was just standing around my room passing gas.
“Wow. You really seem to know what you’re doing,” I say as I watch Fia settle right down like nothing happened.
“I babysat in high school a lot,” she explains. “So when’s your sister coming back?”
Yes, I told her the sister lie.
I shrug. “She said by Sunday.”
“And she just dumped her baby on you?”
“She’s my niece. I have to help.”
“So why did you lie to me?” Lara arches a light brown brow.
“Technically, I didn’t lie to you. I was leaving a message for Hector. And I wasn’t in the mood to explain every complicated detail about my family’s drama.”
“Technically, you lied to me twice. Once on the phone and just now when you said it was the TV making that noise. Why lie? And don’t use Hector as an excuse. We both know when it comes to compassion, he’s a saint. There was no reason to call in sick when he would give you time off to help your family. So if you’re not telling people the truth, there’s a reason.”
Yep, Lara is smart. And beautiful with blonde hair that sometimes looks golden in the light. Other times, the color comes off as a soft caramel. She’s also older than me by a few years. Totally has her act together, too—college degree in business, a good-paying job, plans to run her own winery someday. For now, she’s officially Hector’s admin, but in such a small operation, that job title comes with five other hats, which is why Lara took the position. She’s learning the operation. What I’m getting at is, she’s too intelligent to buy my stupid story. But also, if someone can give me advice, it’s her.
I clear my throat and gesture at the wiggly bundle in Lara’s arms. “She’s mine. I think.”
Lara’s face turns ghost white. “Sorry?”
“Her mother dropped her off when I wasn’t home and left a note, saying she’s my daughter. She asked me to take care of Fia for the week.”
“Did you know about her?” Lara sits on my bed, still holding Fia just as naturally as ever. I’m impressed.
“No. I met her mom last year. I was at a bar, having a rough night, and we…you know.”
“So no condom?” Lara snaps.
“I don’t need your judgment.”
“I’m only trying to establish that this baby could actually be yours.”
“She’s mine for the next six days. After that, who knows?”
“Okay, well.” Lara stands and hands Fia over.
I cradle her in my arms, securing her like a football I don’t want to drop.
She adds, “I hope it all works out for you.” Lara turns to leave. She seems annoyed. Or pissed. I’m not sure why.
“You’re going?”
“Yep. Gotta get back to the Ranch. And you need to come clean with Hector.”
I don’t want her to go. Not before I can ask for her help. “Wait. Why are you mad?”
“I’m not mad, Dean, I’m—well, I’m shocked. I thought you were a man, not a boy who goes around knocking up strange women in bars.”
“Whoa.” I follow her as she heads to the front door. “You’re calling me a player? That’s a little unfair.”
Lara turns. “Did you not fuck some stranger you met in a bar?”
“Yes, but—”
“Did she not just dump a baby off on you? A baby she says is yours?”
“Yes, but—”
“Doesn’t sound like a respectable guy who’s got his shit together.” Lara looks at Fia. “Sorry for the swearing, sweetie.”
I push my hand against the door to stop Lara from opening it. She’s not leaving until I give her a piece of my mind. “You know what? I don’t get you women.”
“What?” she snaps.
“If the tables were turned, and you showed up on my doorstep with a baby because you hooked up with some guy in a bar and made one bad choice, and then I treated you like a piece of shit—excuse my language, Fia—you’d call the feminist army on my ass or have me hanged for being a judgmental chauvinist.”
Lara looks at me, then Fia. She knows I’m right. If she were the one with a surprise baby, she would expect me and everyone else to be supportive, not blameful.
I continue, “I know I lied, but now I’m telling you the truth because I could use some help here, and I respect your opinion.”
Lara’s gaze flutters shamefully to the floor. “I’m sorry, Dean,” she says with a remorseful sigh. “You’re absolutely right. What can I do to help?”
“I…” My voice trails off. Mostly because I’m too tired to have a tough conversation about something that’s been mulling around in my head. Something I don’t want to talk about but should because Lara is the perfect person to have this discussion with. She’s logical, kind, and detached from this mess.
I decide to hold off confronting the topic for another time, until I have the mental bandwidth.
“You…?” Lara urges.
“Can you babysit tonight?”
She groans and throws her head back.
“I take it that’s a no?” I say.
She offers a consoling smile. “I can do any night this week except tonight. It’s a friend’s birthday, and I’m throwing her a little get-together at my place.”
Fuck. I can’t miss tonight’s practice. Not after Coach said he’s giving me another chance to be in the starting lineup on Sunday. He needs to see I’m all in. Also, I’m contractually obligated to be there.
“No problem,” I say. “But, yeah, I’ll take you up on your offer. How about tomorrow night?”
“Sure,” she says. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need.” The warm, compassionate look in her eyes sparks instant discomfort in my chest. I don’t know why, but I don’t have the time to care.
“You okay?” she asks, squeezing my shoulder gently. “Because you look like you just swallowed a bee.”
I frown and take a small step back. “Huh?”
“Dean, why are you suddenly acting like my kindness repels you?”
Because I feel uncomfortable right now but won’t admit it ’cause I’m a guy. “Not sure what you mean. It’s all good.”
She shakes her head. “Whatever you say. Just know there’s no judgment from me. From here on out, I’ve got your back.” She opens the door and steps outside.
“Why?” I ask, staring at her blonde ponytail as she walks away.
She says over her shoulder, “Why not?”
“Because you don’t know me.” We’re casual work acquaintances. Nothing more.
“I think it’s you who doesn’t know me.”
My entire life, I’ve been on my own. Never expected much from anyone. What was the point? It’s always been up to me to “make it happen.” I guess it feels foreign or wrong or weird or—I dunno—it feels off when people go out of their way to help for no reason. Don’t get me wrong, people do nice things for me all the time. Especially women. But that’s different. Those people always want something in return. The team wants me to play well so they look good. Women want to be my girlfriend because they only think with their vaginas. That’s right. I’m just a sex object to them. Arm candy. Friends, well, I don’t have many true friends, but I often find myself questioning them. What do they want?
With Lara, suddenly, I’m asking myself the same thing—What does she want?—only now, I’m asking because maybe I want to give it.
“You could be right,” I call out to her. “I don’t know you, but I’d like the chance to change that.” What the fuck am I doing? I don’t have room for another plate on my table.
“See you tomorrow.” She waves goodbye, not bothering to turn around, before she disappears into the stairwell at the end of the hall.
I close the door, and a tickle pokes at my heart. I think I like that woman.
Yeah, but you’d be a selfish idiot if you go for her. I’m not relationship material. Proof being, I’ve never been in one. And right now, what would be the point of starting something when I’m so damned busy? She’d feel ignored.
The current woman in my life starts making cooing sounds in my arms.
“What am I going to do with you, huh?” I’ve come up empty-handed in the sitter department.
I go back to my room and set Fia down in her car seat. I really need to figure out how to put together that portable bassinet. The thing has snaps and zippers and… It looks like a pair of pants from the ’80s.
“I think I saw Michael Jackson wearing this in the ‘Thriller’ video,” I tell Fia, not that she understands me.
I stand over her, hands on my waist, staring down at this tiny person. She looks out of place in my room, which has one lamp, a desk and chair, and a bed. The walls are pretty bare except for a few plaques I’ve earned while on the team—mostly stupid stuff, like most push-ups or biggest biceps. Coach gives them out at the end of each season at our banquet. The real trophies go to the guys who play in almost every game and bring the wins. My first two years, I was basically a bench player. I played just a little. Last year, Coach said I was ready to be in the starting lineup, and I played like a god. Until I didn’t.
This is my fourth season, and I have to play like a god the entire time, or I’m done. No team will draft me.
“What am I doing, Fia?” I ask her. “I should be getting my head straight, not playing daddy.”
I dig my cell from my pocket and dial Marli again.
Voicemail.
“Marli, come on. You gotta call me back. You can’t just abandon your baby like this. Call me.”