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

by Alix Nichols

  “Then why are you leaving?” I asked. “Don’t you want… more of it?”

  She gave me a sad smile and turned to stare at the fluffy clouds beneath the plane, leaving me to manage my distress.

  I had thought… I’m not sure what I’d thought, but I’d been convinced Uma enjoyed being with me. I’d anticipated she’d be glad for the opportunity to stay in Europe, first in Malta and then back in France, so we could continue seeing each other. I didn’t expect her to choose to return to Nepal and face the music.

  Maybe she doesn’t like me as much as I thought she did. As much as I like her.

  “Mom and Dad wondered if they could sit through your practice session,” Lucas says.

  “Of course!”

  “It’s a privilege.”

  “No problem at all,” several men say at once.

  Lucas’s dad smiles. “We’d watched our fair share of scrimmages and games back in the day when Lucas played, but we were curious to see him coach.”

  “He isn’t tender,” Valentin says, winking at them. “And he doesn’t always watch his language. I bet you’ll discover a whole new side to your son.”

  I bet they’ve been discovering new sides to him ever since he woke up from his coma with no idea of who he was.

  It must suck to be in Lucas’s shoes.

  How do you call someone “Mom” or “Dad” if you have no childhood memories of them? How do you hang out with old friends you don’t recognize? How do you rebuild your life using photos and other people’s memories?

  “OK, enough small talk.” Coach motions his parents to a bench before turning to the guys. “Into the pool! Chop, chop!”

  For the next two hours we train, focusing on shooting, sprints, and game tactics. Lucas has me spend some time practicing the lob shot and the backhand shot, which he believes are my weakest. He’s right. The reason I favor overhand and push shots is because they’re easier. But you don’t win gold doing only what’s easy.

  On the way home, I anticipate how the evening will go.

  Uma will give me an account of Sam’s afternoon and retreat to her room to work. She won’t come down to dinner, claiming she had a bite just before I got home. If I allow myself a bit of down time in front of TV after Sam’s in bed, she won’t join me as she used to. Her course at Ecole Lesage has gotten too intense, she says. Uma works every evening now, stitching and revising at her desk. She’s determined to leave France with her certificate in her pocket.

  Which is, after all, why she came here in the first place.

  While Uma is in her room, Colette joins me sometimes for a bit of late-night TV. She’s been showing up with increasing regularity of late, claiming she was in the neighborhood or that she was feeling a little down alone at home. I’ve told her she doesn’t need to invent excuses to spend time with her son. I’ve also told her she should try to arrive earlier so she can play with him and not just kiss him goodnight.

  She says the shop where she works stays open until eight, so nine is the soonest she can be in Inry.

  While we chat in front of the TV, I’ll offer her a glass of wine and tell her about some of the funny things Sam has said or done. After I’ve sent her on her way, I’ll knock on Uma’s door and climb into her bed. We’ll kiss and pet each other and have sex. I’ll savor her taste, all her tastes. We’ll fall asleep with her sweet little ass against my loins, and my hand on her mound.

  Our routine hasn’t changed after the Malta getaway—and yet it has.

  Whether we’re having a demure conversation in the kitchen or clinging to each other in the bedroom with my cock buried deep inside her, Uma won’t look into my eyes.

  It makes me feel wretched.

  It fills me with anger.

  On a couple of occasions, I almost took her face between my hands and ordered her to look me in the eye.

  God help me, I’m losing it.

  EIGHTEEN

  Uma

  Both Sam and Zach had insisted I come to this game. I caved in against my better judgment and because Zach is convinced I bring him luck. Nageurs de Paris has won every single game I attended.

  Colette is here, too.

  “I had to take a day off so I could attend,” she says to Sam for the third time in the past thirty minutes.

  Zach had been apprised of the magnitude of her self-sacrifice at least a dozen times before the game started.

  Sam ignores her comment and turns to me. “Ready for the wave?”

  He’s wearing a sweater the same color as Zach’s team jacket with a big number three on its back. I found it on eBay back in October as a cold-season alternative to his favorite jersey.

  “Ready?” he asks me again.

  “Aye, aye, captain,” I say, glancing at the pool.

  Noah must have just blocked a shot because he has the ball in his hand and is surveying the field for a wing player to pass it to. Whoever he picks, it’s likely they’ll pass the ball to Zach so he can shoot.

  Positioned outside of the two-meter line, Zach looks both alert and self-possessed. He always looks like this during games, despite all the opposing players crowding his personal space.

  If Zach nets the ball, Sam and I will grab each other’s hand, stand up and do the wave, after which I’ll throw some confetti.

  It’s our tradition.

  When I glance at Colette, her expression is gloomy.

  Guilt pricks my heart.

  Zach has chosen to give his ex a second chance. I have chosen to decamp so the three of them can make a go at being a family. That means I should be consistent and support Colette’s efforts to bond with her son. Zach believes she’s trying. It’s my duty to help her, even if doing so will sever my own bond with the boy.

  Move over, Uma. It’s time to let go.

  “Hey, buddy!” I give Sam a sunny smile as if I’m about to offer him a treat. “Why don’t you show your mom how to do the wave?”

  “Would you like to try?” he asks her.

  She nods.

  I hand her my confetti bag.

  Sam shows her our routine. “OK?”

  “Piece of cake,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “We do the wave every time Dad’s team scores,” Sam explains, “and when Noah blocks a shot.”

  Colette peers at the players in the pool. “Which one’s Dad’s team again?”

  “White caps.”

  The audience cheers, and I turn toward the pool.

  “Marseille’s hole set converted the penalty!” the commentator shouts.

  Marseille finds itself up 2-1. They manage to maintain their one-goal advantage throughout the game. But the Parisians refuse to capitulate. They catch up a minute before the buzzer, after white cap two—I think it’s Valentin—delivers a ball that Zach instantly shifts into the net. Sam and I scream our heads off. Colette stares at us like we’re savages.

  Marseille attacks, but Noah blocks their hole set’s powerful shot. He swims forward and passes the ball all the way across the pool to Zach, who volleys it into the goal… only to see it hit the crossbar.

  With the clock marking fifteen seconds to the final horn, and Marseille attacking again, Zach abandons his position to join Noah’s defenders and make sure the opponent doesn’t score a decisive goal.

  The tension is palpable as the audience and the commentator hold their breath.

  “Marseille is racing down the pool,” the commentator says, “They’ll try to score for the win. Otherwise, the game will go into overtime.”

  There’s a scrimmage involving several players. White cap five emerges from it with the ball in his hand.

  “Great movement from Paris! Cordier steals the ball, passes it to hole set Monin,” the commentator says before adding, “with just five seconds to the end of the game.”

  I clench my fists. Zach has no time to turn around and swim back toward Marseille’s goal.

  “Monin shoots backhanded from half-court!” the commentator yells.

  The arena grows sile
nt as everyone follows the trajectory of the ball, mesmerized. It flies over the staggered goalie’s head and lands inside the goal cage.

  Zach’s team won! They’re going to the finals!

  After the game, the squad and their wives, girlfriends, and children—as the case may be—head to the usual cafe to celebrate.

  In Zach’s case, it’s the child, the nanny and the child’s mom.

  He plonks himself onto a chair at the long table. Sam jumps onto his lap. Colette sits down next to him. I press my purse to my chest and open my mouth to say goodbye and leave.

  “Uma,” Zach gives me a pleading look. “Please, stay.”

  I wish Noah was here so I could sit next to him, but he rushed off immediately after the game.

  Zach pats the empty chair on his left.

  “Would you like me to take Sam home in an hour or so?” I ask, sitting down. “That way, you guys can stay as late as you want and celebrate properly.”

  Colette leans around Zach. “That’s a great idea! Thank you, Uma.”

  Zach frowns, visibly conflicted, when Lucas raises his glass. “To the best squad in the world and to the hero of this game, Zachary Monin!”

  A lengthy session of cheering, glass clinking, and shoulder slapping ensues.

  “Just look at you,” Jean-Michel says to Zach in the middle of the brouhaha, “You used to be this lone wolf, never to be seen in the company of a woman… And now you’ve got not one, but two gorgeous girlfriends, a blonde and a brunette. Lucky bastard!”

  I glare at him.

  “Shut your stupid mouth,” Zach hisses, more furious than I’ve ever seen him.

  Colette chuckles.

  If I linger for another minute, I might melt down and cry.

  “I rescind my offer,” I say to Zach. “Got a headache.”

  “Uma, don’t—”

  I stand up. “You guys have fun.”

  Zach moves to grab my hand, but I draw back and nearly run out of the cafe.

  As I ride the métro back home, my forehead against the window, I tell myself that things can only go uphill from here. Because “here” has become hell. Even suffering my parents’ disappointment and anger when I tell them I’m not marrying Giriraj will be easy compared this agony.

  One day, I’ll get over Zach.

  I’m strong.

  And I’m not alone.

  Marguerite has made peace with the fact that Noah and I aren’t in love. Once she did, she hailed my decision to return to Nepal. If my parents cut me off when I tell them I’m not marrying Giriraj, she’ll take me in. She’s even willing to offer me a job at her charity if I have no luck with designers.

  Marguerite is so much more than a mentor to me.

  She’s my rock.

  That said, I still don’t approve of her interfering with Noah and Sophie’s relationship. The way she arranged for Sophie to learn the truth about Noah was too brutal. So brutal that the poor girl flew back stateside and won’t return Noah’s calls.

  He’s putting on a brave face, but I know he’s heartbroken.

  Ashamed as I am to feel this way, I envy Sophie. Noah may have messed up and hurt her, but their relationship has always been more than just sex for him. It’s obvious from the way he talks about her. Besides, he recently hinted he was about to do something crazy for a chance to win her back.

  Zach was prepared to do a crazy thing for me, too, but for the wrong reasons. What moves him isn’t love but a mixture of lust and guilt.

  And pity.

  I don’t want anyone’s pity. Especially his. I want him to be free to do what he thinks is right for him and his boy.

  God, I’ll miss them!

  But I must make room for the woman whose rightful place I’ve been trying to usurp. The whole thing has gone too far, and Jean-Michel’s comment is just another wake-up call. Mathilde was right. I should’ve been more careful, guarded my heart better. Instead, I let Zach and Sam take root in it.

  Now I have to rip them out.

  NINETEEN

  Zach

  I’m driving to the Charles de Gaulle Airport with Uma in the front seat. Her two roller bags are in the trunk, and her huge backpack is on the back seat. Sam stayed at home with Colette at Uma’s insistence. She wanted to spare him the long trip in congested traffic, so they said their goodbyes right after breakfast. The little man hugged her. He cried and asked her not to leave. Uma cried too. For a moment there, I allowed myself to hope she would change her mind.

  But after she wiped her and Sam’s eyes and helped him blow his nose, she just kissed his cheeks and said she was sorry.

  Then Colette arrived, acting all jittery. It’s no wonder. She’s never been alone with our son before. When she agreed to babysit him, I explained exactly what to do in the unlikely event Sam has a seizure.

  But Colette doesn’t think she’s ready, and I no longer think she’ll ever be.

  At some point last night when I was hugging Uma to my chest between two bouts of desperate lovemaking, a lightbulb went off in my head. For the last few months, I had obsessed that Sam shouldn’t grow up knowing his mother rejected him. I had worn my obsession like a blindfold. I was all too quick and too eager to believe Colette had discovered maternal love and wished to become part of her son’s life.

  That was never her intention.

  All she ever did since she dropped her initial hint about second chances was to try to spend time with me. Poor Sam! His mother clearly doesn’t need his love. She isn’t looking for redemption. She’s out to seduce her ex who’s grown considerably richer since she left him.

  I’m done encouraging her.

  As far as I’m concerned, she can go jump off a cliff.

  A scene flashes in my mind’s eye. This morning when Uma was packing a few remaining items upstairs, Sam and I hung out in the kitchen. He gave me a look full of such desperation that I picked him up.

  “What is it, buddy?”

  “I don’t want Uma to go.” His big eyes began to water.

  “You always knew she’d be gone by Christmas.”

  He choked back a sob. “Why can’t she stay? Daddy, please, can you ask her to stay?”

  I stroked his soft cheek. “Mommy will be here soon. You can ask her to read you the same books Uma read for you. And she can play the same games with you if you teach her.”

  “She won’t.” Sam sniffled. “I want Uma. Why can’t she stay?”

  Why, indeed?

  I ask Uma that exact question at the bustling Terminal 2C just before she checks in her luggage.

  “We’ve been over this, Zach,” she says. “I won’t have you and Noah pay so much money to make my staying in France possible.”

  “There’s another solution.”

  She puts her hands on her hips and arches an eyebrow.

  I stare into her eyes. “You could marry me.”

  “What?”

  “Marry me.” I smile, trying to make light. “That way, no one will have to pay anything, and you’ll get an EU residency permit.”

  She blinks.

  “And I’ll get to keep you in my bed,” I add.

  She surveys my face for a long moment. “How is fake marriage with you better than arranged marriage with Giriraj?”

  “It won’t be fake.”

  Uma presses her palms to her eyes.

  Will she say yes?

  My heart races, and my hands are clammy with sweat. I don’t think I’ve felt so anxious in my entire life.

  “What about Colette?” she asks. “Weren’t you giving her a second chance, welcoming her back into Sam’s life?”

  “I was,” I say. “But I no longer will.”

  “I don’t want your sacrifices.”

  “What sacrifices? It’s you who’d be making a sacrifice if you marry a single dad with a sick kid.”

  “I love Sam,” she says, “with all my heart—”

  A uniformed airport employee plants himself next to us. “Which flight, please?”

 
“Kathmandu,” Uma says.

  “You have to check in right now, Madame, or your plane will depart without you.” He motions her to one of the counters before shouting, “Anyone else for Kathmandu?”

  Uma grabs one of her roller bags and rushes to the smiling check-in lady.

  “Fuck the plane,” I say, hot on her heels with her second bag and backpack.

  She doesn’t turn around. In fact, she doesn’t so much as glance at me until her luggage is checked in and she’s told to hurry to her gate.

  She practically runs to it.

  I stride beside her until we reach the corded lane leading to passport control.

  “Uma, please.” I grab her shoulders and spin her around. “Give me one reason why you won’t marry me.”

  She looks down, refusing to meet my eyes.

  I wait.

  When she finally looks into my eyes, hers are filled with something… a question… an expectation… Hope.

  Say it, man.

  Open your mouth and make the confession you’ve been wanting to make for weeks now. The confession you’ve had tucked away into the deepest recess of your heart, too chicken to voice it. Too scared to even acknowledge it.

  The tension on Uma’s face gives way to profound sadness. “Good-bye, Zach. Thank you for everything.”

  Before I can stop her, she whirls around and flashes her boarding pass to the security man who lets her pass.

  “Wait, Uma!” I try to run after her, but the man blocks my way.

  His voice is cold and official when he says, “Your boarding pass, please.”

  “I don’t have one.” I step aside, scanning the crowded lane for Uma’s petite figure. She couldn’t have gotten far.

  There she is, just a few meters away.

  “I love you,” I say, my voice cracking.

  She doesn’t turn around.

  “I love you!” I cry out.

  Can she hear me? There’s too much noise in this damn place.

  “I love you, Uma,” I yell. “I love you!”

  Where has she gone, for Christ’s sake?

  I holler at the top of my voice, “I love you! I love you! I love you!”

  Nearly everyone turns their heads to look at the dork who’s picked the world’s least romantic place for a love declaration. Except Uma. I spot her in front of the passport control booth. She pushes her papers through the slit in the glass and waits for the guard to scrutinize them. She won’t turn around. A moment later, the guard hands her passport back to her and says something with a smile. Probably, bon voyage. She sticks the documents in her purse and dashes behind the booth.