“You found it okay?” he asks, opening the front door. Rose is sleeping on his shoulder and he steps aside to let me in.
“Yeah, I had no problem finding it.” I look around, following him into the living room. It’s a simple layout, a hall with what looks like three bedrooms, a few baths. A great room with a big, L-shaped sectional and a kitchen with a model-home version of bells and whistles. Stainless steel, but nothing state-of-the-art.
There is a big flat screen television, a bookshelf, and a sliding glass door with a small patio attached. A BBQ, a few houseplants. Regular.
“Are you hungry?” he asks opening the fridge and grabbing a few Bud Lights. “I just got pizza.”
“Actually, yeah, I’m starved.”
He hands me a beer and then lifts the lid on the pizza box. “Help yourself, I’m going to go lay her down, I’ll be right back.”
I nod, trying to figure Tatum out. I admit to doing a fair share of Googling this afternoon in between my classes. He’s an all-star linebacker and has been with the Chargers for three years. He was with the Redskins before that. Last year he was voted MVP after taking the Chargers all the way to the semi-finals.
From the sound of the articles I read, he’s LA’s Golden Boy. An all-American hero and sweetheart. A few conversations with him and I honestly have to agree. He’s almost too nice. And if I hadn’t seen some of the videos of him on the football field, aggressive and playing to win, I’d have thought him the kind of guy to be easily bowled over. But he isn’t. He’s a fighter.
Which is good. Because with Ash as his baby-mama, he’s going to need to come with guns blazing.
My sister isn’t gentle. She’s a force to be reckoned with. All my life I’ve tried to step out of her way. Still, she always manages to knock me off my feet when I least expect it.
Tatum comes back into the kitchen and I remember to get some pizza. He rubs his hand over the back of his neck and then opens a cupboard door. Grabbing a bottle of Advil, he pops a few.
“You feeling okay?” I ask.
“Just a headache,” he mutters. “Been having them a lot lately. And this new-life situation doesn’t help,” he says with a tight laugh. “God, Rose is a sweetie, but babies are a lot of work.”
“She likes to sleep through the night?” I ask before taking a bite of the pepperoni.
“Like a champ.” He gives me an easy smile. “So, Auntie, shall we look at our calendars?”
I nod, sliding onto a stool next to him as we both pull out our phones. “My schedule is very routine,” I tell him. “I’m guessing yours is more complicated.”
He looks down at his phone. “I actually have an injury. It’s keeping me from playing right now.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I bite my bottom lip. “Is it serious?”
“Nah, just a torn ligament. It’ll heal fine. It’s actually good timing. On game day, I’ll be on the sidelines.”
“How is that good timing?”
“It means I won’t be beaten up and bruised, or exhausted. I’ll be able to take care of Rose.”
I look up from my phone, having just accepted his invite to a shared calendar. I have no idea where this man gets off being so damn near perfect. What is his fatal flaw? Because right now, this is all sounding too good to be true.
“What other NFL superstar, at the peak of his career, can find a silver lining in all of this?” I ask, giving a small shake of my head.
He gives a half smile and shrugs. “Money doesn’t buy happiness and fame is fleeting. It’s not what motivates me.”
“I noticed,” I say looking around his modest home. “You aren’t flashy. Except maybe your car.”
He laughs. “I love that car. But I guess I’m going to have to trade it in for something more practical.”
Again, perfect.
“So, what is it then?” I ask, studying him.
“What is what?” he asks, resting his arms on the counter, looking at me. It sends a shiver of longing over me that I’m not prepared for. His crooked smile, all those muscles that press against his shirt, the way he looks at me like he actually cares what I think.
I shake off the feeling.
“Your motivation? What is it?”
“Oh... I guess...” He rubs the back of his neck. “Just something more...” His eyes go distant for a moment with a flash of memory, then he shrugs.
“That’s vague.”
He sighs. “I guess I’m just starting to realize that no matter how hard you work, you don’t always get what you want. Or who you want.”
“Yeah, isn’t that the truth,” I say, studying him, finally realizing his flaw. “So, who is she?”
“Who?” He frowns at me.
“The girl who broke your heart.”
“What makes you think someone broke my heart?”
I raise a brow. “I figure you have to have some damage. No one’s that...” I motion to him. “Perfect.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough. And I’m far from perfect. Just ask Charlotte.”
“That’s the girl?”
“Yeah. She was my best friend in college, and I was the fool who thought she cared about me the way I did her.”
“What happened?”
He grunts. “She literally fell for Princeton Charming.”
“Princeton Charming?” I chuckle.
“Yeah. That was the guy’s fucking nickname.”
“Sounds like a douche,” I say, chuckling.
“Right? And he was. But she fell for him anyway. They got married, had a baby...” he shakes his head, frowning, and I can sense his loss. She hurt him, and he still hasn’t gotten over it. Over her.
“They got all the things you wanted,” I say softly.
“Yeah. Shit. Not sure why I told you all that.”
“Well, at least you got the baby part,” I tease, then put my hands up when his eyes narrow. “Sorry. Too soon?”
“Maybe a little,” he laughs. “But I guess it’s better to laugh about it than cry.”
I can’t see the hulking male in front of me ever shedding a tear, but I get what he means.
“So, what about you?” he asks. “Is there a guy in the picture?”
“No, not really. I mean, I’ve been on dates, but...” I’ve been too terrified to ever put my trust in a man. That’s the truth. A truth I’ve been trying to work through. But every time I take one step forward, something or someone comes along, sending me back a dozen steps. “Just never met the right person, I guess.”
He holds my gaze, and the look he gives me is dark, intense. “Yeah, I get that.”
I straighten and laugh, pulling my gaze from his. “Okay, that got deep way too fast. How about that calendar stuff?”
We spend the next half hour working out a schedule.
“I’ll give you a key to the apartment,” he says, taking one off his key ring, then placing it on the table in front of me.
I take it, flipping it over in my fingers. “God, this is so strange. I mean we just met a few hours ago, and now...”
“Now we’re raising a kid together,” he says, those green eyes of his reflecting how I feel. Nervous and confused and completely overwhelmed.
I inhale a shaky breath. “Yeah.”
“Hey.” His massive hands are on my shoulder and he turns me to face him. “If this is too much for you…”
“No.” I force a smile and try not to notice how his touch makes sends a million little volts of electricity coursing through my body. “It’s not. It’s just a lot to wrap my head around. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
His hands are still on my shoulder, his gaze holding mine. God, those eyes. A deep, forest green with flecks of gold around the center. Like most people, there’s no wall there, and I swear I can see straight into his soul. It does something to me. Something I’m not ready for. Something I know is completely wrong.
But he smells so good, like grass and sunshine. Not like Los Angeles with traffic and smog. He smells lik
e someone from another place. Someplace slow. That isn’t scared to take its time.
“This is all so crazy,” I say, voice a raspy whisper.
His throat bobs when he swallows, and he drops his hands, taking a step back. “Yeah. The last few days have been a complete mindfuck. I still have to call my parents and tell them. But I know my mom. She’ll be on a plane to LA the moment I do. I just need some time to process it on my own.”
“I get that.” I’m worried about telling my own mom -- if she ever returns my call. Knowing her, she’ll be on the first talk show that offers her a deal, spilling all our family secrets.
Anything for money and fame.
A shiver races down my spine, as unbidden memories push their way to the surface. Dark memories. I push them back, deep down in the void I’ve contained them all these years.
“Okay,” I say, needing air. “I uh, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow when you drop Rose at the studio.”
“You can stay for a bit if you want. I was going to put on the Lakers game.”
I chuckle. “I know as much about basketball as I do football. Maybe another time.”
He nods and walks me to the door. “Hey, tomorrow I have to go shopping for some more baby gear. A stroller and crib and I don’t know what else. I could ask Jessica to come but--”
“No,” I say, cutting him off. “I’ll come.”
He smiles effortlessly, his lips so damn kissable I wish we had met under any other circumstance.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Chapter Seven
Tatum
“Okay, let me get this straight,” my brother Ellis says into the receiver. “You knocked up the chick from The Twins Next Door, and now the other twin is going to help you raise the kid?” He whistles. “Man, you are so screwed.”
“I don’t want you telling Mom and Dad. Not yet.”
“It’s not like you can keep this a secret. The press is going to be all over it when they find out.”
I rub my temple, and tell him, “Until we figure out where Ashley went, we’re going to try to keep it out of the media.”
“Good luck with that. Christ, Tatum, what were you thinking?”
“I don’t need a lecture.”
“At least tell me she was a good screw,” he chuckles. “Shit. I remember jerking off to pictures of those two when I was a teenager.”
“Can you not be a dick for one second?” My head is throbbing and I’m already regretting telling him about Rose. “I don’t know why I called you.”
“Okay, sorry. But damn, the Ryan twins? They were hot.”
Aria still is, but I don’t tell him that. Or about the way I haven’t been able to get the woman off my mind. Which just adds one more complication to this already messed up situation.
“So, which one is the baby mama?” Ellis asks.
I let out a sigh before saying, “Ashley.”
Through the line, I can hear him typing, before he whistles again. “Shit. Have you googled her?”
“No.” I haven’t had any time. And part of me doesn’t really want to know the truth about her.
“You definitely picked the bad twin,” Ellis says. “Jesus, the girl had two DUI’s before she turned eighteen. And she got picked up for shoplifting multiple times…”
“That’s not helping.”
“I’m just saying, she doesn’t have a clean record. The first thing I’d be doing is getting a paternity test done.”
“Rose is mine,” I say defensively.
“Sure.” There’s doubt in his voice, and it pisses me off. “But before you go getting all attached, you might want to have something on paper that proves that. Especially if she comes back, demanding the kid.”
I drag my hand through my hair and sigh. “Yeah. You’re right.” But I don’t have even the slightest idea of how to go about doing that. “I’ll make a call to my lawyer in the morning and see if he can set something up.”
When I hang up, my head is throbbing worse than usual. I know I should try to get some sleep. God only knows what time Rose will wake up. But Ellis got me curious about what’s on the internet about Ashley and Aria.
A quick Google search tells me that Ellis wasn’t exaggerating. But I don’t want to spend my night dwelling on Ashley's past. Rose starts crying, and I know it’s time to live in the present.
* * *
When I pick Aria up the next afternoon at her dance studio, her best friend Cleo comes out to see Rose in the car.
“No Porsche today?” Cleo says, sliding into the back seat to take a good look at my daughter. She acts like we’ve known one another a lot longer than we actually have. But I don’t mind. She’s quirky and I like her, mostly because she really seems to care about Aria.
I’m not sure why that matters, but there’s something in me that wants to make sure the woman is safe. Protected. Maybe it’s because we both got screwed over by her sister.
“I borrowed my buddy’s Suburban,” I tell Aria as she climbs in the passenger seat. “Thought it would fit the gear more easily.”
Aria nods approvingly. “Smart thinking. I made a list of what the internet calls baby essentials.”
“So, did I,” I say, relieved that Aria is taking this as seriously as I am.
Cleo sighs dramatically. “Okay, I’ve never been a baby person -- but she is so cute.”
“I know, right?” I say, turning down the music as the ladies chat about how adorable my daughter is. It’s hard not to stare at Aria. Damn, she looks so beautiful today. Her hair is swept up in a bun and she’s in cropped, pale pink sweats and a snug black tank top. She isn’t curvy -- she has the body of a dancer -- long and lean and yet, absolutely delicate.
I don’t mean to play comparisons, but Charlie, the girl who broke my heart, was the kind of girl who could play flag-football and dance hip hop at a kegger.
And Aria? She’s a ballerina, held together with a simple grace and strength. The kind that leaves me speechless. That leaves me wanting things I have no right wanting.
God, I am so fucked.
“So, you ready to head out?” I ask Aria.
“Can I come? Please?” Cleo pleads exaggeratedly.
Aria looks to me as if asking for my permission.
“Uh, sure,” I say. “I don’t mind.”
I catch Cleo’s grin in the rear-view mirror. “Good. I need to find out if my best friend has agreed to co-parent with a crazy-pants baller.”
“Crazy-pants baller, huh?” I pull out of the parking lot and head toward the highway.
“Cleo,” Aria laughs. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Come on, you know you need back-up. When is the last time you hung out with a guy one-on-one? It’s literally your least favorite thing.”
The comment tells me two things. Aria didn’t tell Cleo that we hung out last night and that she has serious guy issues. Duly noted.
“No, I’m glad you’re here,” I say. “My list is pretty big.”
Cleo laughs. “Your list or your--”
Aria twists around smacking her friend. “Cleo, chill out.”
Cleo snorts. “Okay, sorry. I’ll play nice. So, tell me, Tatum, how big is your list?”
Just as I’m about to give her a smart-ass reply, the Bluetooth picks up my phone and a call comes through. “Hello?”
“Hey man,” Knox says through the speakers. “Dude, my balls fucking itch. Did the team change the goddamn laundry soap? Something is effing with my--”
“Uh, man, you’re on speaker phone.”
“Fuck,” Knox chuckles. “You could have cut me off sooner, you know.”
Aria and Cleo laugh, and I ask Knox what the hell he’s up to, besides complaining about his goddamn ball sack.
“I’m starving. Want to get dinner?” he asks.
“Actually, I’m running an errand in east LA with Aria and her friend Cleo.”
Knox cuts in. “Perfect. Call me after. I’ll meet you guys at that new spot, T-Jam. It’s ou
t in that area.”
“Not sure that vibe will work,” I say.
“Why not?”
“I have Rose with me.”
“Shit. Sorry. No, that’s cool. We can go to Malone's. I think they have highchairs and shit.”
I don’t bother informing him that Rose isn’t sitting yet. Instead, I tell him I’ll text him later. After I hang up, I say, “Sorry about that. That was just Knox, acting in typical Knox fashion.”
“You mean he always talks about his balls?” Cleo asks.
“He’s a football player. We aren’t known for our class.”
I see Aria and Cleo exchange a look as we pull up to the baby emporium. “What?”
Aria shakes her head grabbing her purse. “Nothing.”
Cleo seems to have no problem filling in the gaps though. “Just, it’s weird to be doing this with pro athletes, is all. Aria and I are just... let’s just say we’re not the groupies you’re used to.”
I look at Aria as she reaches for Rose’s car seat, her body stretching to lift the infant carrier from the car. Her body looks like an instrument. Not like the way I use mine, to fight, to run, to play ball. She uses her body to tell a story.
Cleo’s right. She isn’t like any groupie I’ve ever met.
Aria isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met.
Chapter Eight
Aria
The store is overwhelming, to say the least. Eventually, we just text one another the items we need, and each grab a cart. It’s like a baby-Costco and by the time I have a full cart, I’m starting to feel delirious. As I’m reaching for a package of bottles, Tatum texts me.
Tatum: SEND HELP. AISLE 14
Pushing the cart, I move toward Tatum. I see him before he sees me. A salesperson has strapped a baby sling to his enormous frame and Rose is resting against his chest. If that doesn’t make my ovaries burst, I literally have no idea what would. He’s test driving a stroller that is all black and is practically as big as a golf cart.
When he finally notices me, he grins. “I can’t choose. Will you test drive a few? I can’t decide.”
Game Day Baby Page 4
