by Penny Reid
I stiffened, whipping my head over my shoulder at the sound of my name, my mouth going completely dry.
Bryan.
I could have said, Hi, Bryan.
I could have.
I could also have given him a smile of greeting, or maybe even a little wave. Both would have been acceptable.
But, no.
No.
No.
Instead, I stared at him, freshly showered, still wet hair, a white towel hanging low around his hips, baring his luscious thighs. The towel was entirely too small. It might as well have been a postage stamp.
And that tattoo . . .
This wasn’t the first time I’d seen him since Saturday. Today was Tuesday, and I’d given him two massages in the gym, safely surrounded by all his teammates and coaches. We hadn’t spoken much, only about his knee and how he was feeling.
But he’d texted me earlier in the day about getting together again.
* * *
Bryan: When can I see you and Patrick?
Me: I’ll get back to you with a time for this weekend.
Bryan: How about after work one day this week?
* * *
I hadn’t responded, mostly because I hadn’t had a free moment to think all day. Skipping lunch, I’d been rushing from one appointment to the next. Therefore, all thoughts of Bryan had taken a back seat to work.
But now he was in front of me and I was a little afraid I’d just drooled on myself. This time it wasn’t just his body or the memory of our night together that turned my insides to mush. It was that I knew him now, he wore a housecoat and drank mint tea and had to wear reading glasses. He’d saved me from a cockroach and shared one of his most embarrassing stories in order to make me feel better.
And it was the memory of how kind and understanding he’d been when I told him he had a son. And how he already loved Patrick. And how he’d helped with the dishes and touched my neck and called me beautiful.
No.
He didn’t call you beautiful.
He called your hair beautiful.
He’d called me beautiful before, but that was because Bryan had always had a thing for redheads.
I shook myself—quite literally—and forced my eyes to his face, feeling a rush of heat flood my neck and cheeks.
“Hi,” I said on an exhale, ripping my gaze away and turning my back on him, because, A) I was tremendously embarrassed by my unprofessionalism—i.e. blatant ogling, B) the reminder of Bryan’s penchant for redheads had me remembering the morning and months after our one night together, and C) when I’d glanced at his face he was smirking.
And it was a knowing smirk, like he knew how the sight of him affected me.
He’d said nothing as I’d ogled him, nothing at all. Just stood there silently, almost as though his postage-stamp towel had been planned for my benefit. I covered my face with my hands, pressing my cold fingers to my cheeks.
“Sorry,” I said to the room, shaking my head as I stood from the bench. “I didn’t know anyone was in here. I was, uh, just waiting for William.”
“Don’t apologize.”
I jumped and turned as he spoke because his voice was surprisingly close. Sure enough, Bryan was standing just three feet away, his massive arms crossed over his impressive chest.
Massive, impressive, enchanted.
Resisting the urge to hold my hands out between us—to warn him off—I clenched them into fists at my sides. Plus, he was still smirking. His full mouth curved to one side, his eyes hooded, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other.
“I had fun on Saturday,” he said, his voice low as his eyes skimmed over my face, dipped to my neck, then rested on my lips. “When can I see you again?”
“Uh.” Crackers. “Sure. Yes. Of course. I know Patrick would enjoy it. Let me ask Sean when he’s free this week.”
Bryan’s eyes cut to mine, narrowed slightly. “Why do you need to ask Sean?”
“So we can . . .” My mind went blank, and I tried to swallow. I’d like to think it was because of the way his jade-green stare was focused on mine, like a probing, unrelenting drill of suspicion.
But, no.
It wasn’t his eyes.
It was his proximity. And the fact that I could smell his soap. And the sexy tribal tattoo covering his arm and shoulder. And his straining towel, holding on to his hips for dear life, a single gust of wind would be enough to blow it away and leave him completely naked.
WHY OH WHY IS HIS TOWEL SO SMALL?
Oh no, my thoughts were in capital letters.
THIS IS VERY BAD!
“We don’t need Sean there.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he shuffled a step closer.
“I’d-I’d like Sean to be there.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to confuse Patrick.”
“Confuse him how?” Bryan cocked his head to the side, taking another step closer and forcing me to retreat until my back connected with a locker.
“You’re the first man I’ve introduced him to.”
Bryan stood a little straighter, and his eyes warmed at this news, his mouth once again curving with a smile.
“Have you taken the DNA test yet?” I crossed my arms, lifting my chin.
“No. I think I know my own mirror image when I see him.” Bryan huffed an amused laugh, but didn’t advance any closer.
“You should take the DNA test, then we’ll talk about setting up a schedule.”
His frown returned. “A schedule?”
“Yes. For you and Patrick.” I faltered, finding the words difficult to say. “Once you take the test, we can have the solicitors work out the details.”
Bryan stiffened, and scowled, rocking backward on his heels. “Solicitors? Why would we use solicitors?”
His defensive posturing actually made me feel more at ease. “It’s for your benefit, Bryan. To make sure your rights are protected. I know you-you’ve missed out on the first years of Patrick’s life, and that’s my fault. You should talk to a lawyer and discuss your options.”
God, that was painful to say.
But it was also the right thing to do.
Bryan’s eyes flickered over me, assessing, deliberating. Abruptly, he said, “What do you want?”
I answered without hesitation. “I want what’s best for Patrick.”
A small smile hovered over his lips and behind his eyes. “I do, too,” he said softly, taking another half step toward me. “But that’s not what I meant. What do you want?”
My eyelashes fluttered of their own accord, betraying my confusion. “What do you mean?”
“What’s best for you, Eilish?” he whispered, his gaze blazing a trail from my forehead to my chin, again coming to rest on my lips. “Who’s taking care of you?”
“I am.” Again, I responded without hesitation, a tremor of unease running down my spine.
“Really?” he drawled, biting his bottom lip and drawing it between his teeth in a distracting movement. “You can’t take care of all your needs.”
“Yes, I can.” The tremor became something else—steel and resolve—and whatever sexy, voodoo spell Bryan had been so expertly weaving with his tiny towel and chiseled abdominal muscles and handsome face and love for my son quickly vanished.
Bryan’s smirk returned, and quite abruptly I no longer felt flustered by his proximity. Standing up for myself while putting my foot down was an art I’d mastered over the course of my childhood.
With his eyes on my lips, he placed a hand on the locker behind my head, caging me in on one side. “I’d like to help.”
“I don’t need your help,” I said flatly, drawing a wider grin from his gorgeous mouth.
“Let me rephrase that. I’d love to help.” His gaze drifted back to mine and held, his meaning clear as he whispered, “I’m desperate to help.”
Really?
REALLY?
My cheeks were red again, but this time for an entirely different reason.
“What are
you proposing?” I ground out, irritated with the small part of myself that wasn’t angry, the small part that was wondering if I could install a stripper pole in my bedroom before the weekend. It was also excited and completely on board with the idea of Bryan lending desperate help.
But mostly I was angry. Even worse, I’d skipped lunch, so I was both hungry and angry. Or hangry. Because, really? We had a child together—a child he didn’t remember making—and now he . . . what? Wanted to hook up?
What. The. Hell?
“I could help you relax.” He trailed a finger down the side of my throat to my collarbone, sending traitorous goose pimples racing over my skin, and he leaned closer, his big frame making me feel petite. “I could make you feel good . . .” He bent his head, brushing his cheek against mine. “So good.”
I swallowed stiffly as he placed a scorching kiss on my neck. Actually, it wasn’t scorching. It was butterfly light, but it burned like a brand.
Bryan lifted his head and our eyes tangled. His were dark with desire and the moment gave me an intense feeling of déjà vu. I could taste his minty breath, the warmth radiating from his bare skin. My heart betrayed me, racing like a lunatic. My hormones also betrayed me, heat and heaviness pooling and twisting low in my belly.
But my brain didn’t betray me.
It knew better.
It remembered being forgotten.
“No, thank you,” I said, slowly and carefully through gritted teeth.
Bryan’s eyes twinkled as they moved between mine. “No, thank you?”
“Thanks for the offer, Bryan. But I assure you, if I required assistance in that department, you would be the last person I’d ask.”
“Oh really?” He looked amused, delighted, gazing down at me with a big, cheeky grin and a devilish glint.
“Yes.”
“And why is that?” He sounded like he was trying not to laugh.
I scowled at him, knowing I needed to make a choice. Should I make something up? Bluster my way through this? Or should I be honest? Allow myself to be vulnerable to this man who’d rejected me?
Except, I didn’t want anything from him. Not really. Other than for him to be a good father to our son and to be fair in his dealings with me.
Being an adult, I decided to go with honesty.
But, being a petty adult, I decided to go with brutal honesty.
“Because I’m not so sure you’d remember me the next morning.”
Bryan flinched, the amusement falling from his face as his eyes moved between mine searchingly. “Eilish,” he breathed, a frown of concentration wrinkling his forehead. “I’m not that person anymore.”
“No. You’re not,” I conceded softly. “But you didn’t want anything to do with me until you found out Patrick is your son. So you’ll have to excuse me if this,” I waved to the tiny towel and the rest of his torso, “this act falls on deaf ears and indifferent hormones.”
As I spoke, his eyebrows jumped in surprise. “Is that what you think? That I only want you because of Patrick?”
“Yes. Of course, Bryan. I kissed you and you told me that you weren’t interested.”
“That’s not what I said. Of course I was interested! I’d have to be a bloody eejit not to be. I said I wasn’t any good for you, that you were a nice girl and—”
“Saying I’m a nice girl is the same thing as giving me the brush-off,” I scoffed.
“You are a nice girl,” the side of his mouth hitched, his eyes infinitely cherishing. “You are the nicest girl. And the cleverest girl. And the most beautiful. And the strongest. And—”
“Stop. Please stop.” I shook my head, closing my eyes against his handsome attack and repeated what I knew to be true. “I’m forgettable to you.”
“Oh, Eilish.” He sounded tortured. “I was drunk. I was an arsehole. I’d say it was the worst mistake of my life, but it gave us Patrick.”
“Why can’t you just let this be?” I pleaded. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because you are not forgettable.” His voice deepened and sounded gruff with frustration. “I can’t have you believing that. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since Will’s birthday party, and trust me, I’ve tried. I have a spider plant at home that is very much alive as proof.”
“Spider plant? What are you talking about?”
“You’re all I think about,” Bryan threaded his fingers into my hair, tugging me forward with a subtle movement, “And I know you think about me.”
I couldn’t deal with this, with him and his. . . words. My heart was on a rollercoaster, bouncing between hope and levelheadedness.
“I don’t trust you,” I admitted, opening my eyes but unable to lift them past his neck.
He hesitated, then said, “What is it going to take for you to give me a chance?”
“It’s too late.”
“Why? Why is it too late?”
I shook my head once, about to cave in, about to say, I don’t know, when William Moore opened the locker room door.
Bryan straightened immediately. It took William a moment to spot us, but by the time he did, Bryan had separated us by three steps and had crossed his arms over his chest.
I took a deep breath and attempted to find my wits, stumbling over my words. “William, I’m so sorry. I was running late and—”
“Don’t worry about it.” The big American smiled at me, which I understood was a rare occurrence, and stepped completely into the room. “Are you sure you still have time?”
Again, William Moore was just the nicest guy ever.
The. Nicest.
“I do.” I faced him and nodded. “Sean picked up my son, so I have until eight.”
I felt Bryan’s gaze move between us, but I ignored it. I ignored him and his . . . offer. If I dwelled on our conversation with him so close—and wearing so little—I would become weak again. I might even give in to him, and I couldn’t do that. I needed to stall, I needed time to think. Thinking clearly in his presence was impossible, and I was upset with myself for still wanting him.
Yes. I still wanted him. My hands were shaking and I vibrated with how badly I wanted him. But our first time would be our only time because I would never make that mistake ever again.
“Oh.” William nodded, looking thoughtful as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You should go home; we can reschedule for another time.”
I tried to focus on William’s words but I was too distracted by my torrent of emotions. I wasn’t stupid, not anymore. I knew what I’d felt for him all those years ago hadn’t been love. It hadn’t even been infatuation.
It had been lust.
Just lust.
Lusty lusting mclusterston lust. And that’s it.
Lust was empty, and it left you cold, forgotten. It could also leave you with superpowers in your uterus.
And that’s all you’re feeling now. So, lesson learned, moving on.
“Wait a minute,” Bryan cut in, drawing William’s attention to him. “Wait a minute, are you two . . .?”
It took William longer to catch on than me, and in those precious seconds I made a decision. Was it a good decision?
Hard to say.
Actually, no.
It was a bad decision.
But I made it nevertheless.
“Yes. We are.” I nodded fervently, glancing to sweet William and begging him with my eyes to play along. “We’re dating. William and I are dating.”
Oh my God oh my God oh my God! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
. . . dun dun DUN!
William’s large eyes moved from me to Bryan and then back again, his mouth opening, then closing. A small sound escaped his throat and I winced, crossing to him with quick steps and taking his arm.
To his credit, William didn’t move away and he didn’t contradict. But he did stare down at me sharply.
“We are a couple,” I squeaked, then cleared my throat. “We’d like to keep it quiet if you don’t mind, as it’s all very new.” Des
pite my preventative throat clearing, my voice was still strained and cracked.
“It’s really new,” William said flatly, glaring at me. Something in my eyes must’ve won him over because the big guy sucked in a large breath, wrapped his arm around my shoulders and faced Bryan, saying, “And we’d like to keep it between the two of us.”
Something passed behind Bryan’s eyes, some emotion I couldn’t quite read as he stared unflinchingly at his teammate. Bryan’s glower was menacing and the air began to press heavy, thick with unsaid words.
William stared back. The tense moment caused a twisting achiness in my chest and a spike of nervous sensation to alight along my skin.
Eventually, Bryan glanced away. His lips twisted in what looked like a bitter smile. “Well, that’s nice,” he said, making the words sound like an insult. “You two have plans for tonight?”
“No,” I answered for both of us, guilt—always guilt, for the lie, for pulling William into my drama, for just everything—carving out a hollow space in my chest. “Not tonight.”
But I need time to think! Away from Bryan and his tiny towel of doom.
Dun dun DUN!
Unexpectedly, William volunteered, “Friday. I’m taking her out Friday.”
I nodded unnecessarily.
But before I could say anything, William added, “And, you know, lunch tomorrow.”
I glanced at the big guy, startled, certain both question and confusion were etched on my forehead.
William turned a wry smile on me. “And maybe Thursday, too,” he shrugged, his smile warming, “if I’m lucky.”
* * *
“I am so sorry,” I blurted, sliding into the seat across from William.
He lifted his brown eyes to me, wide with surprise, presumably at my sudden appearance, and then finished taking the sip or gulp of his drink.
It was lunch on Wednesday. William had left a message for me to meet him at a pub across the street from the complex. I had no chance to apologize the night before, since roping him in to playing my pretend boyfriend.
After making my false announcement, I’d left. I’d gone home and tucked Patrick into bed. And then I’d lain awake half the night fretting, growing angrier at Bryan, because how dare he!
