by Sosie Frost
I found her in the hall. Squatting.
She waited for the perfect opportunity to take my night from good to…well, certainly not great.
“Uh-oh!” Rose giggled. The little toot that squeaked from her was neither cute nor a sign of pleasant things to come. “Mamamamama.”
Oh no.
“Dad, hold on!”
I ran to catch my daughter before any bombs dropped, but the fuse was already lit. Rose squealed, and I held her away from me as the first payload detonated. No crater, but we had a splatter.
Yep. There was a reason the fairy tales stopped after the wedding and skipped the wonder that was pregnancy cravings, mucus plugs, teething, sleepless nights, and, of course, wayward diapers.
Dad was still talking, and my best pair of boots needed as good a scrubbing as my kid. I jammed the phone into my ear and rushed my squirming, kicking, dripping toddler to the bathtub.
All of which, Rose decided was endless fun.
“—If the Monarchs cut Hawthorne, his career is over,” Dad said.
“Uh-huh.”
I had wipes, diapers, and emergency cleaning supplies in the hall closet, but Rose hadn’t…finished yet. I sighed.
“Dad…I’m having a bit of a diaper dilemma here. Can I call you back?”
“We’re potentially losing a million dollars with his contract, and you’re worried about diapers?”
More worried because one wasn’t on her bottom. I waited while Rose conducted her business with the utmost care and concentration—always focused on the task at hand, this one. In some ways, she was exactly like her granddad.
But at least he wasn’t making a mess in a bathtub.
“Come in to the office, Piper.”
“I can’t unless you want me to bring the baby in. But I’m listening now.”
I really regretted buying Rose her cute yellow goulashes and spending the day teaching her it was fun to stomp in puddles. I didn’t stop her in time before her foot slammed down on top of the mess in the tub.
She giggled once.
Twice.
Then slipped.
I dropped the phone and caught her before she smacked her head off the tub, but the rest of her was cushioned by the most unlikely and unsanitary of pillows.
A second passed.
Over too soon.
Rose wailed, covered in everything gross that was the makings of a toddler. Her cry blended the familiar melodies of I’m hungry and I’m bored and How could you ruin my life like this, Mother. Classic hallmarks of one particularly hellacious tantrum.
I angled the phone with my clean hand and attempted to get Rose to her feet. No dice. She was satisfied by fussing in her own filth for a moment. I scooted her back, thanked God for the mommy gag-reflex, and flipped on the water.
So we’d have a bath before dinner tonight.
Who said we had to do things on a schedule?
Well…Rose did. Insisted upon it, actually.
The bath signaled the end-times, as if I’d force her to bed immediately after cleaning her up. She bawled. I groaned.
Dad got pissed.
“Is that the bathtub?” His voice cracked in irritation. “Piper!”
“I told you we’re having a bit of an emergency. It’s not a pleasant sight right now, Dad—”
“You have twenty minutes to get to the office.”
“I would if I could, Dad. But it’s after six. I just got home. I have to take care of Rosie. Cole Hawthorne can wait until tomorrow.”
“The season starts in a week which means we have two months before the league trading deadline. Do you understand our dilemma?”
I teased Rose with a flick of water. She grumbled, but a hint of a smile broke through. “I don’t see how we’re going to work out the deal—”
“Not we. You.”
I sighed. “What am I supposed to do?”
“He only wants to deal with you, so he is your number one priority. Get him to sign the waiver before we lose out on millions.”
“He won’t agree.”
“Make him.”
“He’s already made up his mind. I can’t force him to do something he doesn’t want to do.”
“So you’d let him throw his life away? I should have expected that from you.”
Dad didn’t need to use that tone, the one that scolded me every day from the moment I told him about the pregnancy. It only got worse when I refused to marry Jasper.
We weren’t talking about Cole Hawthorne anymore.
“Piper, I’ve been lenient with you. I’ve helped you. I supported you. I let you go to college—”
“You let me?”
“I paid for it, didn’t I? I spoiled you. I indulged you when you said you wanted to read your books and study literature, even though you and I both know that degree was designed for one thing.”
“Don’t say it.”
“Finding you a husband.”
“Sound more archaic, Dad.”
“What? Is it so wrong to want to see my little girl taken care of?”
I grabbed a washcloth and tended to my own little girl, smiling and happy. “I went to school to learn.”
“And I encouraged you. Believe me, I’ve done more for you than most men would after finding out their daughters are…”
I waited for him to say it.
Ruined.
Even Dad knew when to stop himself.
“You should have married that boy.”
“I wasn’t in love with him,” I said. “I told you. He was a mistake.”
Rose buzzed her lips. I washed a bit of water over her, and she mimicked my pouty frown.
“So you’ve ruined your life for a mistake?” he asked.
“Stop.”
“You threw away all that potential when you had the child.”
“Don’t you dare,” I said. “Leave Rosie out of this.”
“That baby deserves a stable home. It was your place to provide it. I let you have college and that ridiculous major, but I hoped one day you’d get your head out of the clouds and nose out of a book. You could have learned a trade, or found—”
“A husband.”
Dad didn’t even apologize. “Yes.”
I huffed. “I wanted more than that life. More than being someone’s wife. More than a business degree and my weekdays stuck in a cubicle.”
“Well, now you have it. And this is the best it’ll get for you unless you can get Cole Hawthorne to listen to reason. You can’t lose this opportunity.”
“Why?”
“Because if Cole doesn’t agree to the trade, you won’t have a job with this agency anymore.”
I sunk onto my heels. Rose handed me a fistful of bubbles.
“You’d fire me because of Cole Hawthorne?”
Dad didn’t apologize. “It’s for your own good. You said you wanted to do it by yourself, so I have to treat you like any other employee.”
“Dad—”
“Get Cole to agree within the week, or don’t bother coming into work Monday.”
“But I can’t—”
Dad hung up.
Rose clapped, splashing bubbles and water. She grinned at me.
How was I supposed to make Cole Hawthorne agree to this trade?
This was just like Dad. He invented nefarious ways to negotiate, especially when none of the options were in his favor. He’d fire me—only because he believed it’d force me to accept Jasper’s proposal. Dad didn’t like him, but I knew he had spoken with Jasper multiple times since Rose was born. They conspired to wear me down because, according to Dad, I’d give in eventually…once I saw how hard it was to raise a baby alone.
But nothing in this world would have me marry the oafish asshole who sweet-talked me into bed. It was a stupid, regrettable moment of trust that he immediately destroyed by regaling his fraternity brothers of his conquest. The laughing stopped when I told him about the baby.
But I deserved better.
Rose deserved better.
I rested my head on the edge of the tub. Rose leaned over, giggled, and scrunched her lips for a kiss. A kiss was easy. A good life? That was much harder.
But I’d do it for her. Anything. And if that meant forcing a tantruming, frightening, unbelievably sexy linebacker into a trade he didn’t want…fine.
I’d get the waiver, take my cut of the contract from Dad, and then I’d find a way to make the life I wanted.
I wasn’t afraid of Cole Hawthorne. He should have been afraid of me.
Cole
I dropped the remote before I pitched it through the last operational TV in my house.
Sports Nation was the country’s number one sportscast, and they made their headlines by turning me into the league’s whipping boy. I was a masochist for their daily defamation.
It was reporter Ainsley Ruport who decided I was the cause of the game’s ethical and moral failings, but the slimy bastard caused more drama in the association than any of my late hits.
His smug grin filled the screen with a row of white teeth, too perfect for his graying hair and perpetually arched eyebrow. I’d have bet money someone once clocked him good and knocked out every last tooth in his head.
I’d have shaken the hand of the son of a bitch who did it…then paid his bail.
The show blinked with a highlight reel of my best hits of last season. “With two days remaining until the season opener, it looks like the Atwood Monarchs will be starting their All-Star outside linebacker, Cole Hawthorne, despite rumors of an altercation during practice this week.”
Was it really a rumor if Sports Nation had played the clip of Coach Scott reaming me out on loop for the past three days?
“This latest confrontation is just another example of Hawthorne’s troublesome record on and off the field. My question for the panel today: Is Cole Hawthorne the dirtiest player in the game?”
Fucking bullshit. It wasn’t the first time someone accused me of it, but I’d never wanted to believe it. I’d ignored the nagging voice in my head, warning me that the league was justified in their punishments.
A dirty player wanted to hurt other people.
That was never my intent.
On or off the field.
“This game is plagued by enough men of ill-repute—mostly in the form of trouble-makers, womanizers, and Jack Carson,” Ainsley said. “But is the association disregarding the safety of the players by allowing a man like Cole Hawthorne to play? It isn’t a question of if but when he will seriously injure a hundred-million-dollar quarterback. And, mark my words, President Frank Bennett will be held accountable when it’s revealed that he refused to handle the Hawthorne problem.”
I readied to hurl the remote into Ainsley’s sweaty face.
He was saved by the knock at the door.
I hadn’t bothered repairing the doorbell. I didn’t get visitors. No friends. No family. No teammates. My maid cleaned while I was at the field, and my private chef delivered meals for the week on Tuesdays.
No one was dumb enough to drop by for a visit.
Except her.
I paused the newscast. No use ignoring Piper—the woman probably came equipped with a police battering ram to get inside.
She waited at my front door, casting a practiced smile with a pocket full of confidence or pixy dust or whatever the hell gave her the courage to face me.
“Mr. Hawthorne, I hope I’m not interrupting your evening.”
“If I said you were; would you go away?”
She thought about it for all of a split-second. “Probably not.”
“Let me know what I can do to make it a certainty.”
Piper sighed. “So I take it you’re going to be difficult?”
“I’ll make you earn your commission.” I glanced her over, admiring the way her skirt clung to those swaying hips. “Think I get a discount for having a pint-sized agent?”
Piper drew herself up to her full-height, a scrape over five feet. “The best things come in small packages, Mr. Hawthorne.”
Yeah. In them—and on their ass, tits, and face.
“I guarantee you’ll be satisfied with my services,” she said.
“In that case, I’ll have a beer, a massage, and head—you pick the order.”
“If we’re wishing on a star, I’d love to have a full eight-hours of sleep tonight.” Piper arched an eyebrow. “But we can’t always get what we want.”
“Then I’ll just take the head.”
She hummed. “I hope you never propositioned my father like this.”
“I’m a bit more discerning than that.” I had no idea why I was smiling, but she was fun to tease. “I have a taste for the beautiful ones.”
“So charming.”
“I’m serious. I play defense—I don’t know the meaning of a quick score.”
“Fortunately for me, I’m no longer flattered by men with slick tongues.”
“If they’re just flattering you, your men have been doing it wrong.”
Her eyebrow quirked. “May I come in?”
Piper tried so hard to be professional, but I wasn’t conducting business without a little pleasure first.
She wasn’t getting an inch unless she took all nine.
I kicked the door and let it swing behind me, wide open. “As much as I love a good house-call…”
“I aim to please.”
“I know why you’re here…and it’s not for the dirty things I’m imagining.”
Piper sighed. “It feels so nice to be respected.”
“I can make you feel better than respected, beautiful.”
“You could offer…” she said. “And I’d most definitely refuse you.”
“You’d try.” I shrugged. “But you know my record, Miss Madison. I’m a born winner. When I want something, I get it.”
“I think we have more in common than you believe, Mr. Hawthorne.”
Piper dared to take a step inside without permission. Then another. And another. She brushed past me, invading my house.
My home.
My sanctuary.
Foolish little girl.
“You know why I’m here,” she said.
Enough of this bullshit. “You know what I’m going to say.”
Piper wasn’t listening. Her gaze drifted past me as she studied the decadent, unsightly décor of my family’s mansion. Her mouth dropped open. I guessed this prison was something impressive.
The foyer’s ceiling rose two stories above. The entry was crowned with sculpted columns and the light from the towering plate window. The marble suited her—a pale coldness against the warm heat of her hazelnut skin.
“Wow…” She whispered.
She hadn’t even seen the best parts of the mansion. The kitchen. Wine cellar. Pool. Gardens.
My bedroom.
I didn’t invite many people into my home—and I definitely hadn’t welcomed Piper inside. But there she stood. Trespassing, staring, speaking. Breaking my silences.
“Well…” She forced a smile. “I get it now. I wouldn’t want to leave this place either.”
“It doesn’t matter to me.”
“This is…an amazing house.”
“Just some walls. A ceiling. Somewhere to sleep.”
“That’s a lot of room for a bed.”
“At one point I thought that’s all I needed to make it a home.”
Piper peeked further into the hall. “It’s not?”
Why the fuck was I talking? “Look, it’s great that you stopped by to get in my way—”
“I’m trying to help your career.”
“It doesn’t need help.”
She could see past my shoulder and glanced at the wall-sized television in the den. It paused on the worst headline of the newscast.
Cole Hawthorne – The League’s Dirtiest Player?
“Oh, sure.” Piper nodded. “Your career has never been better.”
“Tell me, beautiful.” I crossed my arms. “Do you know anything about this game?�
��
“Enough.”
“Really? Is the Monarch defense 3-4 or a 4-3? Do I play nickel on third downs? Am I a better pass rusher or blitzer?”
Piper quieted to hold my stare. “Will any of it matter if the Monarchs’ cut you?”
“I’m not signing a damn thing.”
“And I’m not leaving until you do.”
Stupider words had never been spoken.
“Wanna run that by me again, little girl?”
She stood her ground. Maybe she wasn’t brave, just foolish. “I’ve been very patient with you, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“Don’t I pay you?” I edged closer to her. “Maybe it’s time you realize that I’m in charge here. This is my choice.”
“With all due respect—”
“—You’re giving me none—”
“This deal is important to both of us. I’d advise you to listen to reason.”
Piper couldn’t intimidate me, but her beauty would stop my heart. Not much to pump when it all pooled below the belt.
I shouldn’t have liked her game, but I was never one to back away from a challenge.
“And if I refuse?” I asked.
“Then I will just wait here until you come to your senses.”
And with that, her feet planted. Not like I couldn’t rip the little daisy out of my foyer, but she wasn’t leaving without a fight.
What the hell was happening? Did I stroke out during practice? It had been a hot day.
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You’re going to stay here?”
“That’s right.”
“In my house?”
“Yes.”
“Until I surrender to this deal?”
“You got it.”
I’d never heard anything so fucking ridiculous in my life. “You realize I could pick you up and toss your ass outside?”
Piper cleared her throat. “I will concede that it is a possibility.”
“And what if I don’t kick you out?” I lowered my voice. “What if I take your offer? Keep you here?”
“I’m not your type.”
“Didn’t say we were picking out rings, beautiful. Just a good ol’ pre-dinner fuck.”
Piper wasn’t swayed. “You chose me to act as your representation.”
