Bebe
Aaron’s going to be tall like his dad, but everything else about him is all me, even down to the way he frowns. His combination of blue-black hair and pale blue eyes means I’m going to be beating the girls back soon.
Or maybe it will be boys.
Don’t know, don’t care, as long as he’s healthy and happy. Of course I want him to fall in love, but not any time soon. For now, I’m happy being one of two strong loves in his life.
Whether it’s due to his age or the fact he’s happy to have me solidly back in his life, Aaron doesn’t mind spontaneous acts of affection from me. So I loop my arm over his shoulders as we saunter over to one of the grassy areas of the park not currently occupied by other people. It’s the last week of September and the first full week of fall, but the grass is lush and green. It’s still incredibly warm in the western Pennsylvania area and today it’s in the mid-eighties. I know we’ll treasure this weather for as long as we can take it.
“How was school today?” I ask.
“It was good,” he replies casually, never one to roll his eyes at my invasive questions or act too old to indulge his mom about her curiosities. People always remark what a great kid Aaron is, but then immediately warn me puberty will change that at some point.
I don’t necessarily believe that. Maybe I’m being naive, but I also believe parenthood is an adventure. Coming from a place just six months ago where I never thought I’d have hands-on experience in raising my kid, I’m relishing every upcoming change.
“Grandma is cooking spaghetti tonight,” I say, which is our favorite meal my mom makes. We’ll eat until we’re sick and groaning from the discomfort.
I stop walking, having reached a spacious spot of grass. Aaron doesn’t hesitate, just keeps going. We’ve tossed the football plenty over the last few weeks, and it’s our routine. He does glance over his shoulder with a grin. “Bet I can eat more than you.”
I know he can, but I take the bet. “Five dollars.”
“You’re on,” he calls before trotting a few feet away from me.
Aaron turns, positions his fingers around the laces, and cocks the football. I spread my legs a little, preparing for its flight into my arms.
It sails toward me, and I have to run a few feet to the left to make the catch. Of course, I am the most unathletic person in the world, so it falls through my hands. I was nowhere even close to catching the damn thing. It hits the ground, tumbles away from me and I run after it like an idiot as Aaron laughs.
I bend, grab the football, and turn quickly to fling it back to Aaron. Of course, it barely covers the distance he just threw it and comes up too short for him to catch. Easily scooping it from the ground, he continues jogging up to me.
“Okay, Mom… you have to hold it like this before you throw it,” he explains, then I get a lesson on proper throwing technique. He’s explained it to me on no less than four other occasions, but I listen attentively, hoping to glean new information that will make me a little bit better. He hands the ball to me, then starts to trot backward. “Now… try it again.”
I place my hand as he instructed and cock my arm back, but, before I can throw, movement to my left catches my eye.
Glancing at a park bench situated just adjacent to a cement pathway running alongside the grassy area, I have to restrain myself from my jaw dropping. Plopping down with a book in hand is perhaps one of the best-looking men I’ve ever seen in my life.
I mean… he’s probably not for every woman, but he totally pushes my buttons. For one thing, he’s big. For some reason, despite my tiny size, I’ve always loved an intimidating size. He’s tall and built with thickly muscled arms that are tattooed all the way down, encased under a tight black t-shirt. His long hair is in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck. By the length, it’s probably to his shoulders. Best of all, he’s got a beard that’s sweetly kept and trimmed and full, generous lips.
He stretches out his long legs, which are clad in faded jeans and sturdy biker boots and crosses them at the ankles. Leaning back, he starts reading a thick paperback, which makes him even more attractive.
“Mom,” Aaron calls. “Throw the ball.”
I shake my head, my face flushing, when the man’s head starts to raise in response to Aaron’s voice. Spinning toward my son, I disregard everything he just taught me and fling the ball so hard I almost throw my shoulder out.
Aaron starts laughing as it sails over his head, then takes off running after it. I refuse to turn back to the gorgeous, biker-looking dude while hoping to hell his book is more interesting than my horribly awkward attempt to play football with my kid.
I mentally kick myself for caring about something like that. A cute—okay, phenomenally gorgeous—man is of no significance to me. I’ve been given a new lease on life, so my focus and energy must go toward Aaron and my mom. It’s the only way I can be remotely deserving of this second chance.
Except, a little voice in the back of my head whispers, you deserve something for yourself, too.
I squash it, because it’s not true. I don’t deserve anything more than the beauty of my family, which I’ve thankfully been returned to.
Aaron nabs the ball from the ground, cuts a few feet to the left, and notches his arm back. He lets it go, just a little to my right this time, which forces me to chase it. I move for it, determined not to let it hit the ground again. Sadly, I’m a day late and a dollar short. I come nowhere close to making the catch. When it thuds against the turf, it does a wonky bounce and tumbles end over end, right toward the man.
“Shit,” I mutter. Watching in horror, I realize the man has been watching us when he easily bends to scoop the ball up with one hand before it bounces off his kick-ass, steel-toed boot.
As I reluctantly walk toward him to retrieve the ball, he puts his book down and stands. Up close, he’s way taller than I thought, towering more than a foot above me. His eyes—and wow, they’re green—are sparkling with amusement. He only spares me a glance before he turns to Aaron and gracefully launches the ball. It hits Aaron square in the chest in the most perfect of passes.
“Sorry about that,” I murmur, but my words fall on deaf ears. To my disgruntlement, Aaron is overjoyed at having someone who can actually get him the ball. Without even asking if it’s okay or worrying about infringing on the man’s time, Aaron lobs it right back to him.
Smiling as he makes the easy catch, the man calls. “Loosen your grip up slightly. It will help your spiral.”
“Okay,” Aaron replies eagerly, waiting for the man to throw the ball back.
I stand there, completely ignored, as this stranger intrudes upon my time with my son—while doing much better than I ever could.
I silently seethe, even though I try to be charmed that’s he’s helping my son. He’s even giving him good advice about technique, which is something I could never do.
“I’m Griffin, by the way,” the man says in a deep, rumbly voice, sounding as if he’s amused by me.
He peruses me with his lips curved upward.
“I can give you some lessons, too,” he suggests. And damn it… I ignore the tremor moving up my spine at that unintended, completely innocent, yet somehow suggestive offer.
“Um… no thank you,” I mutter.
Griffin shrugs, but he continues tossing the ball with my kid.
“Got a name?” he asks after a particularly spectacular pass.
I jolt at the request, the wariness I’d forgotten to have over the last ten minutes or so rushing over me. I don’t talk to strangers. I’m not interested in men or dating or anything that requires polishing off my trust-building skills.
Still, I find myself answering. “Bebe.”
“That’s an interesting name,” he remarks. “And what about your kid?”
“Aaron,” I reply, but he promptly ignores me to yell new instructions. “Now, Aaron, I want you to run deep a few paces, cut left, and really take off.”
“Got it,” my son calls enthusiastically. I watch in amazement as he sort of jukes an invisible opponent, cuts left, and takes off on those gangly legs of his. When he looks over his shoulder, he’s easily able to catch the ball. Aaron shouts with glee, spikes the ball into the ground, and does a dance resembling the funky chicken.
I bust out laughing, my head tipped back and my hands going to my belly.
Griffin shifts my way, and I shiver when he says, “That’s a beautiful laugh.”
I sober instantly. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Apparently very poorly if you have to ask,” he replies with a wink.
And damn it… I am charmed. I’m also equally pissed because it makes me want to talk to him. Shooting him a glare I don’t really mean, I petulantly ask, “So what… are you like a football star or something who just hangs in parks and waits until a woman comes along to showcase your skills?”
Griffin laughs, and it’s deep, booming, and infectious. I can’t help but smile.
“Now that’s funny,” he says with good humor. “And to answer your question, I played football in high school and was okay at it. And on a whim, I took my bike out today because the weather is fabulous. I came to the park to read a little.”
Bike?
I scan the parking lot on the other side of the path, spotting a sexy Harley Davidson in a flat black.
Damn it. Another button pushed.
“Well, thank you for taking the time to give Aaron some instruction,” I feel compelled to say. “He’s trying out for the rec team soon, and I don’t have the skills you do to help him. So this has been great.”
“Sure,” he replies easily. Aaron tosses him the ball, and I get unduly sidetracked by the muscles flexing in his arm as he catches it.
Griffin regards me with an earnestly hopeful expression. “Would you let me take you and Aaron out for an ice cream after we finish tossing the ball?”
My entire body flushes with mortification when I realize I’m being asked on a date. Sure, he’s included Aaron, but I can tell by his appraising eyes it’s really about me.
I love and hate it at the same time, because I haven’t been asked out in over ten years. For seven of those years, I was in prison. The three prior, I was busy being a mom and a master criminal.
“Actually, my mom’s cooking dinner. We have to be going soon to make it.” Then I decide to turn him off, thinking it’s the best way to shut him down. “We live with my mom, actually.”
His expression softens. “That’s cool. I love my mom to death, and I wished I lived closer to her.”
Damn it.
“Here’s another suggestion,” he continues. “How about you let your mom feed Aaron tonight, and I’ll take you out to dinner.”
Okay, perhaps what he’d offered before wasn’t actually a date, but this most certainly would be.
“Um… well,” I stammer. “It’s um… spaghetti night. My mom’s gone to a lot of work, and it’s my favorite.”
He hesitates before giving a slight nod of understanding. “I can see that would be important. And you don’t know me well enough to invite me to your house for a home-cooked meal, so how about you let me take you to dinner tomorrow night?”
Gah… why does he have to be so charming on top of fantastically gorgeous? “Um… you see… the problem with that is—”
“Hey,” Aaron exclaims as he comes barreling toward us. My face burns with the knowledge we’ve been soundly ignoring him. “Are you going to throw the ball again?”
Griffin smiles at my kid, sticking his hand out to shake. “I’m Griffin, by the way. You’ve got some natural talent, kid.”
“Thanks,” Aaron replies with a deep blush. He shakes Griffin’s hand like a man, and I realize my kid just grew up a little on me.
I use this moment to make our break. “Honey… you need to thank Griffin—”
“It’s Griff, actually,” he butts in. “My friends all call me Griff.”
I ignore the pointed remark, which says he very much wants to be my friend, but I’m betting in ways that aren’t rooted in friendship. I hate it makes butterflies zoom in my belly.
Inclining my head in acknowledgment, I turn my attention to Aaron. “Thank Griff for helping you out, but we really need to head home. Grandma will be expecting us soon for dinner.”
“Thanks, Griff,” Aaron says with a big grin. “That was awesome.”
“Be glad to help you anytime, kid.”
“Tomorrow?” Aaron blurts out.
“No… wait,” I exclaim, realizing if I don’t shut this down, this man will stay in our life. I truly don’t want that.
“Sure,” Griff replies, sliding a well-intentioned smirk my way. “How about ten AM? Your mom can sit her pretty butt on that bench over there and read a book. I’ll toss the ball around with you for a while.”
Oh no, you don’t buddy. I’m not about to have you force me into something I don’t want.
“Grandma can bring you since I have to work,” I tell Aaron, which isn’t true, but I’m not going to let Griff one-up me. Shooting a simpering smile at Griff, I say, “I’m sure you two will have a great time without me, and my mom loves to watch Aaron play.”
Challenge flashes in Griff’s eyes, and my belly gets the butterfly zoomies again.
Griff leans slightly toward my son. “I know your mom is probably not going to like this, because she’s doing her best to resist me, but I happen to have three tickets to the Steelers game on Sunday afternoon. Would you and your mom like to come with me?”
My eyes widen at his audacity, even as I vaguely hear Aaron hooting and hollering over this offer, jumping up and down like a mad man with excitement. Griff gives me a triumphant look.
“That was low,” I hiss, but I can’t hold back the tiny smile threatening to break free. That was well played, and I could never deny my son the opportunity to see a professional football game. He hasn’t been to one before, and he’s adopted the Steelers as his favorite team now that we’ve moved here permanently.
“We’ll meet you at the stadium,” I say, cutting off any attempt he might make to try to pick us up.
“Fair enough,” Griff says, then tosses the ball to Aaron. Giving him a soft clap on his shoulder, Griff bends to look him in the eye. “You did really great today. I’ll show you some new stuff tomorrow, okay?”
“Yeah,” Aaron blurts out, his eyes sparkling with glee. “That would be great, Griff.”
Griff gives him one last smile before shooting me a wink. “See you Sunday, Bebe.”
I glare at him. Inside, though, I might admit to smiling a tiny bit.