Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection)

by Ketley Allison

  “Does … does it kick?” I find myself asking.

  Her palm rests gently on the top of her belly, a subtle claim of ownership. And protection. “Yes.”

  I lick my lips. “How are you feeling?”

  “Why do you care?”

  I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. “I’m sorry.”

  And I mean it. So very damned much.

  “Sorry?” she says softly. Then, louder. “You’re sorry? For what, Ash? Do you regret sleeping with me? Wish you could take back that night? Are you staring at my stomach wondering how the hell we got into this situation? Wishing it were Lily inside me instead of some nameless creature with your DNA?”

  Her last words are crushing. “Sophie—”

  “No, Ash. I’m not fucking done. What you’re doing in there, hosting Lily’s party, entertaining the kids—that’s wonderful. Lily deserves nothing but love, and you, with Locke’s friends, are becoming the greatest uncles a little girl could have. Honestly. It’s beautiful.”

  Despite the heartwarming words, Sophie’s eyes well up. They turn into shining mocha pearls, and they melt into mine.

  I shake my head, altering the view so I don’t have to stare into such pain. It’s a coward’s move, but my chest hurts too much to withstand it. “Sophie, I can’t—”

  “You look happy in there, Ash. And I don’t understand…” her voice cracks, and she takes in a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t understand why Lily brings out the best in you, when the baby that’s inside me makes you think the worst.”

  “That’s not it.” This time, my head shakes emphatically. “I wish I were better at this. At explaining what’s going on inside my head.”

  “You are so goddamned frustrating!” Sophie shouts it, her hands flying out. “You’re impossible! I wish I could just—just—erase what happened between us and not have you in my brain anymore, invading my thoughts and haunting my memories—” Sophie’s shoulders cave in, and she’s gasping out the words.

  I rush over and hold the sides of her arms, words and meaning grinding out of me, my voice the invisible blades shredding the syllables. “I don’t regret what’s inside you. Okay? I don’t regret being inside you. Last time we spoke, you said I left a piece of myself behind with you, one I was willing to part with. And you think I’m parting ways because I want nothing to do with you or this baby, and that’s wrong. It’s so fucking wrong, Soph.”

  “Then what?” She tilts her chin up, her tear-filled eyes doing a better job than a sharpened knife ever could. “What about this do you think is so right?”

  My lips thin. My thoughts harden. “Come to dinner tonight.”

  Sophie stiffens. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. You wanna see what kind of father I’d be? Come to dinner with me and my parents. They’re summering in New York. Then you’ll see. You’ll see why I want this baby so far away from me, I don’t deserve to know its name.”

  “Ash.” Her voice caves in on my name. “You can’t mean that.”

  “Giving you space isn’t helping. Providing you financial support isn’t the comfort you need. Refusing to talk about it only angers you further. Leaving you alone doesn’t create the distance it should. You want answers, so, I’ll give them to you. In the only way I can.”

  Sophie’s lips part, as if she’s searching for the right excuse.

  “Closure,” I say before she can argue. “That’s what you deserve. And you can walk away knowing what’s right, if you let me give it to you.”

  Sophie’s stomach is pressed up against me. We’re so close our noses nearly touch—our breath mingles, creating another form of passionate heat.

  But when I feel it—when something nudges near my abdominals, I nearly falter. An infinitesimal kick. Sophie’s lashes flutter at the feeling. That blackened organ behind my ribcage wrenches for escape.

  My hands drop from her arms, and I step back, feeling the distance as if we were attached by a thread. One that I snapped.

  “Say yes,” I say.

  Sophie swallows.

  “Say yes,” I repeat. “Or don’t. It’s up to you. But I’m offering up all I have left to give.”

  After a breath, her eyes cut away and she says, “Okay.”

  I nod. “I’ll be doing the rest of my work in the back today. I’ve spent all the time I can at Lily’s birthday. If you want, you should go back inside. You should enjoy the time you were meant to.”

  “I will,” Sophie says. “Ash—”

  “Charlie will pick you up around six. Wear cocktail attire.”

  She wants to say more—ask more—but she doesn’t. Sophie looks once more to the street, then back at Apron.

  “I’ll see you then,” she says, then walks around me.

  I wait for Sophie to re-enter my restaurant, pause until I can’t see the red of her dress anymore through the windows, before stepping inside and taking a completely different route.

  Alone, down a darkened brick corridor, where no sounds of the party will escape through the walls.

  19

  Sophie

  I shouldn’t have said yes, but when it comes to Asher, he is nothing but shouldn’t haves.

  “So, I’ve been thinking…”

  Carter’s voice breaks me out of the darkness. Astor, Carter, and I are sitting at a round table, off to the side, the pristine linen tablecloths stained with what Lily affectionately refers to as “unicown poop.”

  Lily snoozes on Carter’s lap, deep in a sugar coma, her rosebud lips hanging open and a drop of drool rolling down one side. Her little, rotund torso rises and falls with her breaths, and I’ve been staring at that while attempting to decipher the cryptograph that is Asher Whittaker.

  Who, by the way, is true to his word. He hasn’t stepped foot in the party since two hours ago when he said he’d leave me be.

  “Sophie?”

  There I go again. “Sorry,” I say to Carter. “What was the question?”

  Carter’s expression takes on a worried cast, and I want to assure her—I do—but I’m so damned tired.

  “I’ve been thinking of throwing you a baby shower,” she says.

  “Oh.” I’m frozen in indecision. With all the worry, the craziness, the loneliness, I didn’t think of such a celebration for the life growing inside me. Not once.

  Guilt overflows my senses.

  “It doesn’t have to be here,” Carter says quietly. “In New York.”

  “We’ll come to Florida,” Astor pipes in. I’m glad she said something, because when she’s not talking, she regards people with such a calm, lioness stare, that it’s difficult to assume she’s enjoying the conversation.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I say automatically.

  “Don’t,” Carter says.

  I lift my brows. “Don’t what?”

  “Pretend like you’re okay.”

  “Carter,” Astor warns.

  “No, I have to say this.” While speaking in a firm voice, Carter shifts delicately, so as not to wake Lily. “I love you, Sophie. You are my friend, my world when Paige died. You took on a baby with such humorous, caring flair, and it’s still not clear what I did to deserve such transparent love at a time I needed it most. In short, you’re the absolute best.”

  “I love you, too, Carter,” I say. “But this is Lily’s day. You don’t have to—”

  “Oh, you mean the Lily that’s currently passed out on sugarness and edible finger-paints?” Astor says. “Yeah, I’m sure she cares that we want to make this moment about you.”

  I stare at Astor. This is what I mean. She pounces at any second. Whose side are you on?

  “What happened to you isn’t what anybody expected, especially you,” Carter continues. “Though, you’ve risen to the challenge. Gone to all your doctor appointments, taking your prenatal, getting your ultrasounds, making sure you’re taking care of yourself so your baby is taken care of.”

  “Well, yes,” I say carefully. “I want Cantaloupe to have the
best possible start at life.”

  “Please tell me that’s not the name you’ve chosen,” Astor says.

  This time, my stare for her contains as if.

  “One can never be too careful,” Astor mutters.

  “Physically, you’re doing perfectly,” Carter says. “No one’s disputing that.”

  “So … what are you disputing?” I ask.

  “You came into my life at my darkest hour,” Carter says. “I can never thank you enough. And when I found Locke, when I decided to make this giant move to New York, you hugged me and wished me good luck. And you visited whenever you could—”

  “—which was a lot,” Astor says.

  “—and you continued to be a good friend, despite our distance,” Carter continues. “Despite Locke and Lily’s growing pains, and anything else that’s cropped up. You have, and always will be, my friend.”

  “Of course,” I say. Now I’m worried where this is going. Especially with the look on Carter’s face. “Are you questioning that? Is that what you’re trying to ask me?”

  “God, no,” Carter breathes. She leans forward as much as she can with a forty-pound baby in her arms. “I’m saying it’s my turn. All this time, I’ve assumed your strength. That despite Ash’s despicable decision, if you weren’t going to rise up against him, then neither was I, because I want to respect your choice.”

  “My offer’s still on the table,” Astor says, before taking a long sip of wine.

  “But it kills me to see your light dying inside you,” Carter says. “And it’s flickering out, right now, and I’m breaking inside because I haven’t been doing what I should.”

  “Are you kidding?” I’m genuinely shocked. “Carter, I call you almost every day freaking out about not feeling a kick for a whole two seconds. I’ve asked you a million questions, from what the fuck swaddling is to when I can jam a pacifier in a newborn’s mouth without looking like a bad mom for shutting them up. You’ve taken all my concerns in stride. You’re the reason I can walk out of my bedroom every day and not curl up under my covers and never come out.”

  “Sure, I answer your questions, but I’m not taking care of you.” Carter puts a warm hand on top of mine. “And it’s high time I do. I want to throw you a baby shower. I want to celebrate the second heart that’s beating beside yours, instead of figuring out all the ways to kill Ash without leaving behind any evidence.”

  “She’s serious,” Astor says. “I may or may not have a file on my laptop regarding proper stranglehold methods. And … I care about you, too. We need to start focusing on you instead of our anger, which is why we’re cornering you at your most vulnerable moment at a two-year-old’s birthday party.”

  I sniff, and that’s when I realize my cheeks are wet. Damned hormones. “You guys.”

  “We know,” Astor waves me off, but not before I catch the shine in her eyes. “Let’s all move forward and focus on the next ankle-biter to grace our floors. You’ve shown a lot more decorum than I would, and it’s time we follow suit.”

  It’s at this point, with both friends regarding me with such love and respect, that I decide not to tell them about the dinner tonight. I don’t know what answers I’ll receive from this night, or if it’s even worth it. I’m shamed over the idea that these girls think I’m so strong, when I’m just as weak as the next woman standing in front of the man she cares about.

  Yes, I still care about Ash, and I’m terrified to say it out loud.

  There’s a suffering behind his expression he doesn’t allow many people to see. I believe I only witnessed the weakness because I was looking for it, outside these doors, in front of his restaurant’s facade.

  And, God help me, I want to understand more.

  “You know what, I would love that,” I say to Carter and Astor. “I think a baby shower is a great way to kick off Cantaloupe’s existence.”

  “I’m still so terrified that’s what you’ve named it,” Astor says.

  At the seriousness of her expression, Carter and I burst out laughing.

  “Don’t put it past her,” Carter admits.

  “Just think, you can call it Cant for short. Isn’t that your favorite word?” I say to Astor, smiling.

  The tug on my lips, the warmth on my soul, is so familiar and foreign at the same time that I fumble. It lasts for mere moments. I won’t allow further insecurity to sully this moment, surrounded by people I care about and a slumbering baby I love so hard, it hurts.

  I look down at my stomach with a small smile. Make that two slumbering babies.

  “Actually, my favorite word is win. There you go, call the thing Winnie,” Astor says.

  And just like that, I’m laughing and chatting as if all is right in my world.

  Ben and Astor drop me off at Astor’s place early in the evening. They don’t stay and being around a bunch of cute toddlers must’ve done something to their gonads, since they can’t stop violating each other with their eyes.

  I leave them be, exiting the car and waving goodbye, wondering if Lily’s party has made them want to have sex without consequence (because thank God none of those kids are theirs), or the exact opposite.

  Astor’s keys rattle as I unlock her apartment and step into cold darkness. Entering the expansive hallway, I’m glad she spends most of her time at Ben’s now, since this apartment has more air taking up space than furniture.

  Flicking on the lights, I make my way to her bedroom, where my suitcase is propped open in the corner. Hands on my hips, I regard the haphazard clothes I’m always too lazy to refold into the luggage and think, Nah.

  I barely have maternity clothes as it is. There’s no way a cocktail dress is hidden within that mess. I could raid Astor’s closet, but anything owned by her would be both too big and too small at the same time. The girl is way taller than me.

  The Dame will have to make do with the red dress I have on.

  Eleanor’s face floats behind my vision. I remember our meeting clearly, such as it was, and I don’t have high hopes this one will be any better.

  First, I have no idea if she even knows I’m pregnant.

  Second, I have no idea if she knows it’s Ash’s.

  Third, Ash’s dad will be there, a man Ash can’t or won’t talk about, and who’s most likely the catalyst to Ash not wanting to be an involved father.

  All three revelations acquire their own shiver of dread.

  Rise up and be strong, my ass, I say internally to Carter and Astor, as if they’re still here. More like sink down into the snake’s den.

  After a deep, cleansing breath, I head for the shower, thinking I can at least smell less like unicorn poop and more like a classy, pregnant, soon-to-be mom in front of the high-brow Whittakers.

  I take the time to wash my hair and exfoliate. Shave my legs while I can still reach them. Too soon, I’m out of the hot spray and into cold reality. My naked form catches my attention in the giant bathroom mirrors, and, dripping wet, I cradle my body and envision Cantaloupe, a habit becoming more frequent lately.

  Will it have Ash’s eyes, or mine?

  His soft waves, or my tight curls?

  I have the aching vision of Ash’s mirror image, starting first as a beautiful baby, then growing into a tall, determined, successful man.

  Snap out of it.

  I do. A quick blow dry, some makeup, and I slip back into my red dress.

  Astor’s buzzer sounds off exactly at six.

  “On my way down,” I say through the speaker to Charlie, then shut and lock the door to Astor’s apartment.

  When I reach the lobby, then the outside, I find Charlie, waiting at the curb beside a black McLaren. I scan the interior, half-hoping and mostly dreading that Ash is in the car, but it’s empty.

  “Here you are, Miss Addison,” Charlie says as he opens the back door.

  I slide in, the fabric of my dress sticking against the leather as I adjust. “Where are we headed, Charlie?”

  “Upstate. Bronxville. The Whittakers ha
ve an estate there.”

  “Oh.” The inside of my thighs are already sweating. My underboob is about to join. “We’re definitely going to have stop for pee breaks.”

  Charlie tries to stifle his smile as he gets ready to close my door. “Already in the GPS, miss.”

  20

  Ash

  I pace the great hall of my parents’ mansion. If I were a nervous man, I’d be doing something with my hands, chewing on my cuticles, shoving them in my pockets, twisting the ring on my middle finger.

  But I do none of that.

  I’m fucking annoyed.

  Sophie’s on her way, and the instant that text hits my phone, I second-guess allowing Sophie a glimpse into my family life.

  Will it get the point across? Oh, yeah. But it’s like throwing her into a saltwater pond containing two nasty crocodiles, who eat not because they’re hungry, but because they can.

  I learned from the best, after all.

  It’s amazing, how I feel my guilt will be staunched by proving to Sophie I’m no father. That the sucker-punch feeling every time the girls and my guys look at me will somehow be lessened by submitting Sophie to my parents.

  See the assholes I come from? You think I want my kid to be like them? Like me?

  I rub at the scruff on my chin—the only nervous tic I’ll allow myself.

  “She’s late.”

  Mom’s voice curdles against the wainscoted walls before reaching my ears. I halt my steps. “Not her fault. Traffic is a bitch to get up here from the city.”

  “Don’t curse in front of your mother.”

  I don’t apologize. I don’t even turn around.

  “It’s about time you introduced her to us, Asher.”

  Itching for a drink, I start to walk past my mother to the bar in the sitting room off the main entrance.

  “Ah-ah,” she tsks, then points to her cheek. I lay a dry kiss on her powdered, crepe-like skin and keep going.

  “You’ve met her once already, I heard,” I say with my back to her as I clink ice into a crystal glass.