Playing with Fire: A Single Dad and Nanny Romance (Game Time Book 1)

by Alix Nichols

  I try to do my high-velocity spin to shake Nice’s defenders off me so I can shoot, but it doesn’t work. OK, plan B. I turn my back to the goal cage and swim toward the ball that Denis has set up for me on the surface of the water. As I grab it, I push back into the chest of the player who’s right behind me. Valentin has cleared my left flank. Spinning around as fast as I can, I slam the ball into the goal. It flies past the goalie and hits the net.

  Good.

  Our supporters roar, but there’s no time to savor the shot. Nice still leads by one goal, and for the next three minutes, I simply can’t get in a throw. Two minutes left to go and the ref calls me for an aggressive foul.

  Shit.

  The squad will have to play man-down for the next twenty seconds.

  As I swim to the ejection corner and get out of the pool, I can’t even bring myself to look at Lucas. Nice capitalizes on their advantage, and on Noah’s uncharacteristic lack of focus, and scores.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  I reenter the pool, take a shot off a dry pass by Denis and net the ball within thirty seconds. But it’s too little, too late. A minute later, the end of game horn sounds.

  We lost.

  Thankfully, our rating means the club still has a chance to make it to the finals of the Championnat de France, provided Noah and I can get our act together, which is the main topic of the debriefing that follows the match.

  “What’s the issue here?” Lucas asks, staring me in the eye. “Is playing for both the club and the national team more than you can handle in one season? Or is there something else?”

  I hold his gaze. “There’s no issue. It’s just the jet lag, what with flying in from Sydney yesterday.”

  Which was a dumb thing to say, come to think of it.

  It only proves Lucas’s point. The reason I went to Sydney was to play a world championship game as part of the national squad. I’m the only Nageurs de Paris player that was selected for the national team this season. It’s a great honor, even if it does make me travel more often and for longer periods of time than before. My current trip is the longest I’ve been away from home since Sam was born.

  Funny how my mind flashes an image of him together with Uma when I think of home…

  Anyway, if the club wins the Pro A championship or the LEN Cup, I bet more of our players will be invited to join the national team. Noah, for sure. Julien, quite likely. Hopefully, Lucas as coach, too, since the current one, Daniel, has announced his impending retirement.

  But for all of that to happen, we must win.

  A few more performances like the one I delivered today, and my teammates and coach can forget about wearing gold medals.

  “This won’t happen again.” I give Lucas an earnest stare to show I mean it.

  I truly do mean it.

  The question is if I can find enough willpower not to think about Uma all the time. Can I stop craving sex with her? Can I stop replaying in my mind the night Uma gave herself to me? It had been beyond sweet, and she’d turned out to be everything I’d ever dreamed of and more. Her beauty, her passion, the pleasure she gave me, the pleasure she took, our connection…

  Yet, I woke up the next morning with my heart heavy with regret, wishing I’d never crossed that line and knowing I’d do it again. Now that I’ve had a taste of her, I can’t not do it again.

  The other thing I fret about is the conversation I need to have with Noah. How will I tell him that the woman he might be in love with has let another man seduce her? And that I am that man.

  Correction—I am that shithead.

  What will that confession do to our friendship? What impact will it have on the squad’s ability to play as a team?

  As if all of that wasn’t enough, I also worry about the future and about the implications my sleeping with Uma might have on Sam. Now that Colette is trying to be there for him, would a relationship with Uma crush the sprouts of her maternal love?

  Do Uma and I have a relationship?

  This mess has stolen hours of sleep from me every night since I left for Australia. It’s weakened me both physically and mentally, and it won’t be easy to untangle.

  But I must.

  And I’m going to start with Noah.

  When I ask him to join me at the hotel’s bar for a chat, he gives me a strange look and nods, like he’s been expecting it.

  “I’ve been seeing someone,” he says as soon as we’ve ordered the drinks.

  Holding my breath, I wait for him to continue.

  “It’s Sophie.” He searches my face. “Are you mad at me?”

  The relief that floods me is so powerful, I need a few long moments to regroup and figure out why Noah expects me to be angry with him.

  “Of course not,” I say. “Why would I be? Nothing ever happened between Sophie and me. The whole thing was off before it had a chance to start.”

  “So you don’t mind that we…?”

  I shake my head. “I wish you two the best of luck.”

  “It may be too late for that,” Noah says with a bitter smirk. “I screwed up pretty bad, and she left me.”

  “I’m sorry, man.”

  He looks away.

  I take a fortifying breath. “I have a confession of my own.”

  “Shoot.”

  “It’s about Uma.” I take my beer from the server and train my eyes on it.

  “Something wrong?”

  “I…”

  Jeez, it’s hard to say I’m sleeping with her.

  “I knew it!” He shakes his head in disapproval. “You hit on her, didn’t you? The way you were looking at her when we all went to that bar after we won over Aix-en-Provence… It was too fishy.”

  I study my glass scrambling for a polite way to break to Noah that I’ve done more than “hitting.”

  “Is she still at your place?” he asks. “Poor thing. I’ll call her and tell her she can come stay with me if she wants to.”

  “She isn’t… upset with me,” I finally manage.

  There’s a long silence before Noah says, “Don’t hurt her, Zach.”

  “I would never hurt her,” I say before adding, “not intentionally, at any rate.”

  “It’s the unintentional hurting I’m worried about.”

  For a moment, we just stare at each other.

  Then Noah leans in. “I’m asking you not to take advantage of her.”

  My mouth goes dry. “I already have.”

  “Jesus.” Noah closes his eyes and runs his hands over his face. “Since when?”

  “Two weeks now.”

  Silence.

  “Do you realize what you’ve done?” he finally says, a vein pulsing on his neck. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “I know.”

  “No, you don’t.” He glares at me. “She won’t be able to marry her Brahmin suitor when she goes back to Nepal.”

  I force myself to look into his eyes. “She said she wasn’t interested in marrying anyone. She wants to focus on her craft and start a business.”

  “How very like her to make it easy for others at her own expense,” he says with a smirk.

  “What do you mean? Did she lie about what she wants?”

  “No, she definitely does want to become a top-notch embroiderer and gain financial independence. I know that for a fact. But I also know how much she dreams about having a family.”

  “And she won’t be able to have one because of what happened?”

  He nods. “Unfortunately, that’s how things work where she’s from. In her culture, a young woman must be chaste to enjoy the regard of her community and find a husband. Especially, a woman in her situation.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Uma is a Dalit. That’s the lowest caste in Hindu society. They have nothing. Uma’s virginity—her honor, as they see it—is her main asset. Trust me, her high school diploma and her pretty face are useless without it.”

  I clasp my head with both hands, feeling crushed.

  Noah sighs.
“She’ll never tell you this, but she’s no longer marriageable, at least not to anyone remotely worthy of her.”

  In all those hours I spent worrying about how my sleeping with Uma would affect Sam, Colette and me, it didn’t occur to me to consider what it would do to Uma’s marriage prospects. To her life back in Nepal where she still seems to be keen on returning because that stupid workshop she attended convinced her she can’t make it in France.

  My selfishness has jeopardized her future.

  I’ve turned her into spoiled goods.

  SIXTEEN

  Uma

  “This Venus would’ve stood eight feet tall before she lost her upper half.” Our smiley guide points to the fragment of a female statue from the waist down.

  Unlike the other chubby prehistoric statues of Venus I’d seen in Parisian museums over the summer, this one isn’t naked. She wears a pleated skirt. Considering how much of her ample thighs are revealed by the garment, I conclude it wasn’t the beatniks of the sixties that invented the mini. The revolutionary style was pioneered by the mysterious civilization that built Stonehenge-like temples in Malta several millennia BC.

  As evidenced in by the Venus in front of me.

  The guide steps aside to let us take photos of the Stone Age fashionista.

  “I wanted to show you the Hypogeum,” Zach says after I snap a pic with my phone. “It’s an incredible underground burial complex not far from here. Lucas had arranged for the team to visit it when we played in Malta last year. But it’s closed for maintenance now.”

  I pat his arm. “Don’t worry. I have more than enough to gawk at, even without the Hypogeum.”

  “The Tarxien Venus represents the Earth Mother or the Great Goddess,” our guide says. “She’s also a symbol of fertility.”

  “What happened to the civilization that built this temple?” a tourist in our group asks.

  “My favorite theory is that it disappeared following the planetary cataclysm that sank Atlantis,” the guide says before waving for us to follow him out of the temple.

  I squint in the bright sunlight as Zach and I trek back to Valletta—the small capital of this tiny European country. It’s hard to believe how warm and summerlike this place is compared to the incessant rains and cold winds that have taken hold of Paris. The only way to know it’s already December is by the occasional Christmas carol that streams from a shop or a loudspeaker on the street.

  OK, more than occasional.

  The Maltese must love their Christmas carols.

  Zach came home from Nice last week and announced he was taking me on a weekend trip to Malta. As Colette was unavailable to look after Sam on such short notice, Zach took him to Arles to stay with Grandma and Grandpa. I had suggested we take Sam along, but Zach said he wanted us to be alone to discuss something.

  I’m trying not to drive myself crazy guessing what it is.

  Has he brought me here to declare his feelings? Or is this a goodbye gift before he breaks up with me to reunite with Colette?

  If he doesn’t talk soon, I will go crazy.

  “How do you like Malta?” Zach asks as we stroll down one of the central streets.

  “Very much.”

  “Do you think you could live here for a few months next year?”

  I frown, taken aback by the question.

  “I’m asking that because residency is a requirement to get a Maltese passport,” Zach says.

  I stop in my tracks and turn to him. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “I was wondering… I thought…” He shuts his eyes as if to collect his thoughts.

  My heart races.

  Zach opens his eyes. “You shouldn’t go back to Nepal after what happened between us.”

  I don’t respond, processing his words.

  “I was too stupid and selfish,” he says. “You being a virgin at twenty-three should’ve raised a red flag about how big a deal chastity is in your culture.”

  “So you regret…”—I look down—“sleeping with me?”

  He takes my hand. “I don’t. I can’t. It’s too good.”

  I look up.

  “Sex with you blows my mind, chaton,” he says. “Every single time.”

  Who knew it was possible to experience two opposite emotions at the same time? What he said about the sex with me makes my chest swell with joy and pride. What he didn’t say about his feelings makes me choke on swallowed tears.

  I shrug. “What will happen in Nepal is not your problem.”

  “I respectfully disagree.” He attempts a smile. “There’s no way I’m letting you suffer the consequences of the pleasure you gave me—of the pleasure you’re giving me—while I carry on with my life.”

  I sweep my hand at the buildings along the street. “What’s Malta got to do with any of that?”

  “Malta is a member of the European Union,” he says. “It has a program that allows foreigners to acquire citizenship through residency and investment. A Maltese passport will give you the right to work and live in any EU country including France.”

  This is so far-fetched I don’t even know what to say.

  “That’s why I brought you here,” Zach says. “I wanted you to see the place and decide if you like it enough to live here for a while.”

  “Doing what?”

  He shrugs. “Chilling. Embroidering. Showing me around when I visit.”

  “What about Sam?”

  “I’ll bring him along when I can.”

  “I mean, who’ll look after him?”

  He sighs. “Mathilde. Me. My parents. Hopefully, Colette.”

  “Or you could get a new au pair,” I say with a smirk.

  “Uma, please.” He cups my face, a pleading look in his brown eyes.

  “Colette was never interested in Sam,” I say. “Why would she be now? What gives?”

  “When Sam was diagnosed, she didn’t expect him to make it. The doctors told us he might be too seriously handicapped to have a normal life. I chose to fight. She chose to withdraw to spare herself future pain.”

  “Future hassle, more like,” I mutter.

  “That too.” He strokes my cheek. “I’m not trying to justify her, but… I’m trying to understand. Now that he’s doing so much better than everyone expected, she wants a second chance.”

  I give him a hard stare. “She doesn’t deserve it.”

  “You’re right,” he says. “But I’m going to give it to her, anyway. For Sam’s sake.”

  Are you also going to let her back into your life and your bed while I’m “chilling” in Malta?

  But I don’t dare to ask that question, too scared of what he might say in response, honest as he is.

  “OK,” I say. “Let’s imagine for a second that I went along with your madcap idea. What about the cost? If I don’t have a job, I won’t be able to pay rent, and even if I find a job, I won’t be able to make the investment you mentioned. How much is it?”

  He knits his brows. “Who said you were going to pay for anything?”

  “How big is the required investment, Zach?”

  He rubs his forehead before muttering, “One mil.”

  My jaw drops. Unless he’s talking rupees and not euros, the amount is obscene.

  “I’m selling my company,” he says, “It’ll fetch at least half the money. Noah will supply the other half from his trust fund.”

  I lift my eyes skyward. “You’ve lost your mind—both of you—if you think I’ll accept that kind of sacrifice.”

  “It’s no sacrifice! I’ll start a new business, and with the experience I have now, it won’t take me more than a year to make it profitable.”

  “And what would you and Sam do during that year?”

  “We’ll live on my savings and water polo salary.” He arches an eyebrow. “See? I’ve thought this through. No sacrifice.”

  “I’m grateful, Zach,” I say. “I truly am. For this weekend and for your generous offer. But I’m going to say no.”

 
He begins to protest, so I put my hand over his mouth to shush him. “I want to go back to Nepal. I may not look like it, but I’m strong enough to pursue my own path over there, regardless of what society expects of me.”

  “When did you make that decision?” He knits his eyebrows. “Last time I checked, your big dream was to work for a Parisian haute couture house.”

  “I changed my mind while you were in Australia.”

  He narrows his eyes, still unconvinced.

  “I already bought my plane ticket,” I lie. “My parents are expecting me back in three weeks, as soon as I graduate.”

  He looks crestfallen.

  As I draw away and start walking, I tell myself Zach will appreciate what I’m doing later, when his lust for me wears off, and he reunites with Colette. I hope she can make him happy.

  I hope she can find it in her to be the mother Sam deserves.

  SEVENTEEN

  Zach

  Uma is leaving in two weeks’ time.

  By choice.

  That’s all I can think of as I exchange pleasantries with Coach’s parents who’ve come by the pool to say hello to Lucas and his squad.

  It’s been a week since she hit me with the news, but I still can’t wrap my head around it. I spent the entire weekend in Malta trying to persuade her to return her ticket and accept my offer, or at least agree to consider it. I kept telling her there’s zero sacrifice in me selling an online business or in Noah dipping into his enormous inheritance to spare her needless hardship. Hardship that she wouldn’t be facing if I hadn’t been such a self-centered asshole.

  But nothing doing.

  “You didn’t force me to sleep with you,” Uma said on the flight back to France. “You didn’t sweet-talk me into it. You even asked me to stop and think.”

  “Desire impaired your judgment. I should’ve waited to be sure you weren’t rushing into it.”

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t rushing into anything. I’d thought hard and long about it for days. I made up my mind when I took that midnight walk through Inry. I have no regrets.”