A Wild Card Kiss

by Lauren Blakely

  I crack up. “No! Really?”

  “Swear on the Lombardi trophy. I had long hair. Kind of more golden blond, less brown than now,” he says, explaining, and this I can’t resist. I turn the call to speaker and search Google as he talks for said photos. “A sports reporter called me a beautiful lion at a charity auction.”

  My search results reveal the animalistic hottie from several years ago—Harlan sporting a tailored suit on stage, strutting his stuff. Gorgeous long locks fall on his shoulders. They’re a little lighter too. Mmm, I remember how that hair felt between my fingers. “Found the shots. And look at you. Rawr indeed,” I say, with an appreciative groan.

  “You like the King of the Jungle look, Katie?”

  I give a pregnant pause, just to goad him. “It’s definitely . . . fluffy. A little Fabio.”

  He groans. “Woman, you are the worst complimenter ever.”

  “Maybe I like Fabio.”

  I can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Ha. Said no woman ever.”

  “Said lots of women! But I would think three orgasms would be a better compliment,” I say with a defiant lift of my chin, though he can’t see me.

  “Don’t shortchange me. I gave you four. Do not retroactively remove one of the orgasms I delivered.”

  I slip back in time to the night over the summer, sensual memories flashing hot before my eyes, sending tingles shivering down my body. “Truth be told you’ve given me more than that. Let’s not forget the bathroom at the wedding seven years ago. So it’s five. Five that keep me company late at night,” I say, and maybe it comes out as a purr. Maybe because I feel all kinds of frisky for him. He’s been the star of my late-night fantasies for the last few months.

  “You’ve been thinking of me?”

  “A lot.”

  He lets out a sexy murmur. “Excellent. I’ve been thinking of you too. Also a lot.”

  I’m giddy with delight. Just giddy. My libido wants to throw off all my clothes and ask him to talk dirty to me right now. But there’s a voice in the front of my head telling me to slow down, to get to know him anew. To take my time since I refuse to be a fool again.

  “And I’ll probably jump you when I see you, so maybe we can chat more now,” I suggest. See? I can be adult sometimes.

  “Let’s do it. But I want to see you, Katie. Let’s switch to FaceTime.”

  We do, and he calls back on video. When his handsome profile appears on my screen, my stomach flips. Those cheekbones, those pillowy lips, those soulful eyes.

  He just makes me . . . melt.

  He’s all the unfair advantages in the world.

  The man settles into his living room couch, surrounded by pillows. “So, your dad lives in town?”

  I nod, relaxing into my pillows too, feeling cozy and comfy as we chat. “He remarried when I went to college and his new wife is great. They run a handful of swim and tennis clubs together. He was a competitive swimmer in college and decided to open some clubs, teaching kids, adults, and seniors. I’ve been swimming again there lately. It’s been good for me.”

  His eyebrows lift. “Yeah? In what way?”

  This feels a little like opening up. But that’s part of dating, right? Taking your time, letting someone in. Baby steps. “It cleared my head. Helped me let go. Swimming always did when I was younger, and it does again now. Along with yoga.”

  “Was that what got you through their split?”

  Damn, this man can read me like a book. “Definitely. I needed an outlet then too, because things were always complicated with my mom growing up.”

  “How so?”

  That’s a good question. And unfortunately, one that’s far too easy to answer. “She was very focused on looks. She works in advertising for beauty magazines and there’s nothing wrong with that, but I think it became her sole focus. Almost like she wanted to preserve her youth at all costs. She kept finding younger and younger men. Like her newest fling,” I say, my voice tight, as I imagine it might always be when I mention him. “He’s the youngest of all. Twenty-two years younger than she is.”

  “Whoa,” he says, his eyes popping.

  There’s not much more to say than that, though. “So, yeah, I needed yoga. I needed swimming. I needed something not to lose my mind,” I say, pushing out a needed laugh. That’s something I’ve learned in the last few months—the power of laughter to get you through the hard stuff. I learned, too, how important it is to keep focusing on others, so I shift to him. “But what about you? Are you close with your mom or dad?”

  “My mom is great. She’s my hero. She’s a baker, and that’s where I learned to cook and bake.”

  “Awww, so sweet. Is she still in Georgia?”

  “She is indeed. Atlanta. She runs her pie shop still with my oldest sister, Eva. It’s called I’m Just Here for the Pie. Even though she doesn’t need to run it to live.”

  “Because . . .?”

  He smiles softly, his eyes glinting with a touch of pride. “I did the whole bought Mom a new home thing when I got my first contract. I wanted to take care of her. Make sure she didn’t ever want for a single thing. Our parents are sort of the reverse, yours and mine, Katie. My mom’s the one I’m close with. My dad cheated on her when I was thirteen. And he took off. He left, plain and simple. Didn’t pay child support or anything. The man just abandoned his family.”

  I shudder from the awfulness of that. From the anger and hurt I can hear in Harlan’s voice. It’s one of the few times he’s ever sounded less than fine. Less than fun, flirty, or easygoing.

  “That must have been so hard. I’m sorry you went through that. Was he around at all after he left?”

  Harlan shakes his head. His jaw is set hard. It ticks as he takes a deep breath. “Nope. Not one bit. The fucker moved to Arizona with his new woman and didn’t do shit for his three daughters, his son, or the mother of his children.”

  “Wow. I had no idea.” I wince inside at my tactlessness. “I feel like a jerk for not knowing that. For kind of dumping all my stuff on you every time.”

  He sits up, instantly softening. “Don’t feel bad. How would you have known? I didn’t expect you to read my mind, and these are details that I don’t share in the press. But yes, that’s the story.”

  “Sounds like it’s real important to you to be the opposite.”

  He nods, his expression solemn. “The most important thing to me.”

  “Sounds like you are too,” I say with a smile.

  He smiles back. “I try.”

  “Did you ever miss him when you were younger?”

  “For a little while at first, but I didn’t like the way he treated my mom. He talked shit behind her back when they were together. I never thought he deserved her.”

  His relationship with his father sounds about as bad as mine with my mom. “Is he still in Arizona?”

  He points to the floor. “He’s six feet under.” It comes so evenly and surprises me.

  “Oh. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you, but he died fifteen years ago. I’m all good now.”

  “Was it hard at the time?”

  “I was in college, and he had a heart attack.” He exhales, then shakes his head like he can’t quite believe what he’s about to say. “Have I mentioned he was with his mistress when he had the heart attack? He was having an affair with the next-door neighbor and died at her place.”

  My hand flies to my mouth. “Oh God. For real?”

  “Indeed,” he says with an ironic laugh.

  “And I thought my life . . .”

  But I don’t have to finish. “I’ve got some soap opera in my background.”

  “Seems we both do.”

  “And that’s just one of many reasons why I’m determined to be the best father I can for my kid. I want to show her what it’s like when a man sticks around,” he says.

  My heart expands, doubles in size. Then it lodges in my throat. “You are pretty dang cool,” I choke out.

 
“So are you,” he says, then dials up the flirt in his voice. “And I can’t wait to see you. And tie that apron around your wrists. Third time’s a charm.”

  I murmur, my mind shifting quickly to dirty land again, and liking the return trip there. “Can’t wait either. But I think tonight was the third time. This feels like a date. A damn good one.”

  “Then I will see you soon for our fourth date.”

  And even though this time four months ago, four weeks ago, heck, four nights ago, I wasn’t ready, I am now.

  I won’t make the same mistakes.

  I’ll take my time.

  Get to know him truly.

  Take baby steps rather than run full-speed ahead.

  As long as I do that, I won’t be played for a fool again. I’ll stay one step ahead of my emotions.

  I’ve got this.

  12

  Harlan

  On Tuesday morning, Abby crunches into her peanut butter toast, kicking her purple Converse sneaker-ed foot back and forth. “What are you doing today, Daddy?” she singsongs around the food in her mouth.

  After I take the last gulp of coffee, I set down the mug. Give her a stern stare. “Making sure my little bear doesn’t talk with her mouth full.”

  She casts her gaze down, covers her mouth, chews.

  Chews some more.

  A little more still.

  Finally, she swallows. She gulps loudly. Smiles weakly. “Sorry.”

  I stifle a laugh. She’s too cute when she’s contrite. I walk around the counter, ruffle her hair. “Thank you for saying so.” I park myself on a stool. “To answer your question, it’s a Tuesday, so I’m working out with some of the usual crew after I take you to school.”

  She lifts her hand, counts off on one hand. “Cooper, Chance, Jones, Jason, and Shane?” She screws up the corner of her lips, relieved. “I think I got them all.”

  I whistle in approval. “They’re not all coming today, but well done. You just named a future Hall-of-Famer QB, a World Series-winning pitcher for the Cougars, my receiver buddy, the quarterback for the city’s other team, and the All-Star British closing pitcher. You are fire, and your brain is sharp.”

  She points at me, a challenging look in her hazel eyes. “But can you name all my friends who are coming to your game next weekend?” My girl pops the rest of her toast in her mouth, waiting for me to rattle off the names of her peeps.

  “Ye of little faith. Gabriella, Caroline, and Audrey. Booyah. The Fab Four. Do not doubt me.”

  Abby giggles, then finishes her toast and smiles. “But I don’t want to watch a boring game. Sometimes football is kind of dull and if it is, we might want to watch something else instead. On Mommy’s iPad,” she says, since her mom brings her to the games when the owner invites them. “Like maybe Girl Power, that new show about ten-year-olds who have superpowers.”

  I scoff. “You might want to not come to the game and not hang out in the owner’s booth if you plan to watch your mom’s iPad. Sheesh.”

  “Or we could do cartwheels in the hall, since my new gymnastics class is awesome,” she says, and that makes me smile. The fact that she loves the class, not her suggestion of doing acrobatics at the stadium. “And I love that you love Gym Buddies. But you can’t do cartwheels in the hallway at the stadium. Got it?”

  “Got it. But maybe we’ll watch gymnastics instead. I could watch Simone Biles all day long.”

  “Understandable. She’s the bomb.”

  Abby’s all earnest as she hops off her stool and asks, “But once you’ve seen Simone, don’t you think football is boring?”

  She brings her plate to the sink, rinses it, then sets it in the dishwasher as I answer. “No disrespect to Simone, who is world class, but . . . no. Never. Ever. Football is fascinating, fast-paced, fantastic, and fabulous. And that’s alliteration. So, not only do you get sports knowledge with me, but I’m practically an English teacher too. Now, the first bell rings in twenty-five minutes, Miss I Made My Dad Cry by Calling His Job Boring.” I frown, like I’m going to sob.

  She runs the few feet to me, grabs my legs, and hugs me hard. “Don’t cry, Daddy. Football is fun. Just be careful.”

  I scoop her up, drop a kiss on her cheek. “I promise. And I’ll see if I can get over it . . . if you brush your teeth.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Fifteen minutes later, her red-brick school comes into view on the corner of Octavia Street, not too far from my gym on Fillmore. She tugs on my hand. “You never told me what else you’re doing today. After you work out with your friends. What will you do tonight?”

  I stiffen momentarily.

  This is a quandary.

  Do I bring up my date?

  She’s only six, so she doesn’t need to know.

  I’ve certainly dated here and there since Abby was born without sharing, since again, no need to. I’ve even had a couple girlfriends, but nothing that lasted too long. Dating has never been a huge issue.

  Except for once.

  During the last off-season, I broke up with someone I truly didn’t realize I’d been dating—a single mom, Cassie, who I met at Abby’s old gymnastics studio. Cassie was fun, clever, and the mom of a girl Abby liked in her class, a kid named Izzy. Cassie and I hit it off as we watched the kids cartwheel, so when Cassie asked about meeting for a playdate the next weekend at a local park, I said sure.

  We met and the girls clambered up monkey bars as Cassie and I chatted.

  She suggested we do it again the next weekend.

  Abby liked the idea, so I said yes. More swings and slides for them, then the girls were hungry, so we all grabbed lunch. Cassie got the girls their own table, and the two of us sat and ate grain bowls together.

  Hmm.

  It felt a little too date-y for my taste, but maybe that was a normal parents-after-a-playdate activity.

  And again the next week. The girls were hungry, we went for Thai food, and while we waited, Cassie was flirty, and handsy, and all kinds of suggestive.

  At the end of the night, she asked if I wanted to come over once the kids went to bed.

  Whoa.

  I said no thanks, but I was happy to help the girls get together.

  Cassie said I was a dick.

  Then she added that she didn’t want the girls to have playdates again. A few days later, Izzy told Abby she didn’t want to hang out with her anymore because her mommy didn’t like her daddy.

  Abby decided she didn’t want to run into Izzy again at gymnastics, so she stopped taking classes over the summer, and was, admittedly, a little bummed about both the classes and Izzy de-friending her.

  Maybe it was my mistake, or maybe it was a tangled mess of hurt feelings.

  But I don’t want to fuck up again, especially now that Abby has found Gym Buddies and is having a blast there.

  Dating and single dad-dom aren’t easy to balance. Hell, some days, finding an opening in the secondary is easier than figuring out modern dating.

  So, I’m not sure if I should tell Abby I’m seeing someone tonight.

  Weirdly, I kind of want to.

  But it’s probably too soon.

  “Seeing the guys at the gym, then we’ve got game film at the stadium and a team workout,” I say. I give her a kiss, we say goodbye, then I take off for the gym.

  I run at a light jog to Fillmore, wincing only briefly when my hamstring protests. I should have stretched better.

  Once I reach the gym, I hit the mats on the floors first, stretching out my creaks and sore muscles. Not everyone’s here today, but it looks like we’ve got a foursome. Cooper warms up on the treadmill. Jason racks weights.

  When Shane fills his water bottle, he strolls past me, arching a brow, his blue eyes doubtful. “Tell me something, mate. Is it tough getting old?”

  Kids today. They think they’re so clever. “Yes, Shakespeare. Something you’ll find out eventually too,” I point out, though it’s a way off for the Brit. I’ve got ten years on the guy.

  “No
t for a long time. Nor for Jason, for that matter,” Shane quips, gesturing to the boy-next-door twenty-five-year-old quarterback for the Hawks, the city’s rival team.

  “Hey! Don’t pull me into your chest-beating battles, Shane,” Jason says as he sits on the bench.

  I stretch my back. “Let’s not forget I have something neither of you have.” I waggle my right hand, showing off my two rings to those whippersnappers. “When you win your first World Series, Shakespeare, drinks are on me. Until then, I’ll enjoy these benefits of age. Same for you, Jay.”

  The QB nods solemnly. “Of course, Harlan. I’m all about honoring my elders,” he deadpans.

  I roll my eyes. Sheesh. Can’t win. “You two ducklings are in rare form today.”

  “Why do you wear those to the gym? Your rings. Don’t they, I dunno, get in the way when you work out?” Jason asks me as he lifts the bar, almost like he’s mocking me for wearing them.

  But I have my reasons.

  Damn good ones.

  I catch Cooper’s eye as he steps off the treadmill and makes his way to us. “Coop, can you please remind the kids why we wear our rings to the gym?”

  My good friend flashes a smile, showing off his twin rings too as he scratches his jaw. “Gee. Could it be because we have them . . . and they don’t?”

  I sit up and smack palms with my quarterback.

  As Cooper and I move to join Shane and Jason in the weight area, the conversation quickly segues to evening plans. Tuesday is usually date night in the NFL—since game weekends are tough for going out.

  “I’ve got a busy night of hanging out with my three favorite people—the wife and kids,” Cooper says, a proud, married dad.

  Shane’s blue eyes glint. “I have fantastic plans with a fetching woman.”

  I turn to Jason. “And you, kiddo?”

  The All-American guy shrugs sheepishly as he presses the bar. “I met a cute guy the other week. I’m seeing him again.”

  I nod approvingly. “Good for you. Anything serious there?”

  He smiles, resetting the bar as he sits up. “We’ll see. We’re going to work out and get boba at a new place in Hayes Valley.”