Teasing: Chapter 13

I stand in front of the coffee maker, willing it to finish percolating faster, so I can get in a cup before I shower. I slept like shit all weekend, and Monday came way too fucking fast for my taste. I can’t remember the last time I overslept, but I managed to do it today. When the coffee maker blessedly beeps, I pour a cup of piping-hot black coffee into my mug and lift it up, just as Jamie walks into the kitchen and takes it from me. “What the hell, asshole?”

“Sorry. Don’t want to be late.” The fucker smirks and guzzles the coffee, like it’s not burning his throat.

“Late for what?” He’s in shorts and a sleeveless gym shirt, barefoot. “Where the hell are you going? We’ve got camp this morning.”

Jamie hands me the empty mug and wiggles his eyebrows like a Muppet.

Dumbass.

“Sunrise yoga, man. The hot nanny is gonna help me get into downward dog.”

With my next breath, I have him slammed up against the glass doors by the throat.

Maybe if he hadn’t drunk my coffee, I’d be more forgiving.

“The hot nanny has a name.” I hold his throat just enough for his face to turn red, but this asshole’s smile only gets bigger.

“Oh yeah . . . and what’s that?” he asks, wheezing.

“Mine.” I drop my hand and glare at my best friend. Guess that was one way to tell him. Pretty effective though.

“Took you long enough, Beneventi.” Jamie grabs the doorknob, and my glare morphs to shock. “What? I’m still gonna try yoga. I’m just not gonna do dirty things to your girl in my mind while I’m doing it. Ryker says it’s done great things for his flexibility.”

“You’re not gonna think dirty fucking thoughts about Emmie ever. Got it?” I take a step toward him, and Jamie just shakes his head with his stupid grin taking up his whole face.

“No promises.” He moves outside and watches me. “I mean, have you seen what she’s wearing today?”

If I didn’t know he was trying to piss me off, I’d kill him right where he stands. But for Jamie, this is fun. Some guys play video games. Jamie stirs shit. “If you want to be able to ever see again, keep your damn eyes to yourself, or I’ll pop them out of their sockets with my fucking thumbs, Murphy.”

“Good talk.” He closes the door as bare feet slap against the slate floor, followed by four furry paws. I turn just in time to catch Rosie as she catapults herself into my arms.

“Mornin’, Daddy.”

To have an eighth of the energy my daughter has the minute she opens her eyes in the morning . . . I’m not sure I’ve ever had that kind of energy.

“Good morning, baby girl. How’d you sleep?” I slide her to my hip and pour another cup of coffee. If this morning is any indication, it’s going to be a long day.

“I slept great.” She smacks a wet kiss on my cheek and throws her little arms around my neck. “I’ve been thinking . . . I’m a big girl now, right?”

I sit her down on the counter and stand in front of her, wondering exactly where this is going because it sounds like a trap. “Big enough. But don’t be in a rush, okay? I like the age you are. The rest will come soon enough.”

She taps her finger to her lip, like she’s considering my words. The purple glitter nail polish she and Emmie painted last week is already chipping. “Okay. But I am a big girl. I’m about to start kindergarten and ballet class. I think it’s time I go to a game.”

“What game?” What I really want to ask is what five-year-old says it’s about time?

“Your game, silly daddy. I talked to Mimi last night, and she said you had a game this week and asked if I wanted to spend the night at their house.”

Thank you, Mom. “That sounds like fun.”

No fucking way am I ready to let her go to a game.

My family has a personal box that we only allow family or friends in. There’s no press. No one outside our inner circle is allowed in there. But it’s photographed. The press still get their shots from outside. We’ve been called the modern-day Kennedys. Not that any of us like that comparison. But the interest is there, and it’s impossible to ignore.

On top of that, game days are rife with things Rosie can’t have. Peanuts are sold in the stadium. Everything has wheat in it or cheese on it. My father has often reminded me that we can control what comes into the suite, but I haven’t wanted to risk it. Mom thinks I’m being ridiculous, and even Scarlet has promised nothing would come into the suite. They’ll do anything for us to be able to share it with Rosie. Football is sacred in our family. But even knowing that, I haven’t wanted to risk it.

Maybe I’m being overprotective.

Maybe it’s time.

Maybe I’ll give in for an actual regular season game. Starters don’t get much game time during preseason. They can’t risk us getting hurt. We rarely play more than a series or two, and then they pull us for the backups. Preseason is for second and third string. If I’m going to let her come to one of my games at some point, it’s at least going to be one where I play.

“So can I go?” She reaches over and grabs a banana out of the bowl. “Please? I’ll be real good. I promise. And Emmie can come with me. Camden plays on your team too. She said he’s her brother.” She takes a bite of the banana and kicks her legs out, nearly nailing me in the balls. “Did you know that? That he’s her brother, and he’s on your team? Mimi didn’t know that.”

Oh, baby girl. Your grandmother most certainly knew.

My mother has been the executive vice president of player development for the Kings for over a decade. She’s been in charge of the salary cap for even longer. Eleanor Kingston Beneventi knows every stat of every player to ever step foot on the field wearing Kings black and gold. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever known, even if she doesn’t flaunt it.

Preseason is for the Camden Monroes.

The guys who’ll barely touch the field during the regular season.

I turn Rosie’s legs to one side and move the other way. It’s too early for a junk shot. “I do know Camden is Emmie’s brother, sweets. But you can’t come to my game this week. It’s away.”

She looks disappointed for a half second, then takes another bite of the banana. “Can I stay here with Emmie?”

“For my game?” Emmie and I hadn’t planned for that this week because I knew Mom wanted to take Rosie. “I can check with her, but she might have plans.”

“I’ll be her plans.” My kid beams, and I laugh. I hope she never loses this kind of self-confidence. I’m convinced you can’t teach this. I’m also convinced Rosie will rule the world one day.

“I’ll see what I can do, okay?” I hope she uses her powers for good instead of evil when that day comes, or we may all just be screwed.

When I come downstairs after my shower, Emmie is standing in my kitchen with Rosie on a stool next to her. Her hair is pulled back, and her smile is beautiful. Their matching aprons are back on, and the pair of them are washing the whisk of a pink KitchenAid mixer. Whatever they’ve already got in the oven smells delicious, and I’m going to blame the knot growing in my stomach on that and not at the sight of them together. I ignore the tug in my chest. “Ladies . . .” I step closer. “When did we get a pink mixer?”

I drop a kiss on Rosie’s head and press my palm quickly to the small of Emmie’s back before removing it just as fast, but I still catch the quick intake of breath at the contact.

Mine. Even if she’s not ready to admit it yet.

“You didn’t.” She turns that dazzling smile on me, and any lingering concern about her throwing up a wall between us after Saturday night vanishes. I’ll do whatever it takes to make her see what I do when I look at her. “I do. I brought it over with me. We’re making blueberry muffins.”

“Smells great, ladies,” Ryker tells the girls as he walks into the room.

“We made plenty, Uncle Ryker.” Rosie beams with pride, then licks a spoon covered in batter.

“Hey.” I tug on Emmie’s hand and pull her into the other room. “How was yoga?”

She plants her hands on her hips and shakes her head. “Pretty sure I caught you watching, Mav.”

“Had to make sure Jamie was keeping his hands to himself,” I murmur as I lean in closer, pulled into her orbit. “Has Rosie hit you up about my game yet?”

“Oh yeah.” She bites down on her lip. “As soon as I walked in the door.”

“You don’t have to stay with her. My parents offered to have her spend the night with them.”

“It’s not a problem. I was just going to watch the game on television that night anyway. So I sleep here instead of my house. No biggie.”

It might not be healthy the way I want this woman sleeping in my house.

In my bed.

I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, and the golden flecks in her eyes appear almost molten. Yeah . . . the woman belongs in my room. Just not until she’s ready. And she’s not ready. Not yet. “We’ve got a guest room⁠—”

“I figured . . .” A pretty flush claws its way up her neck. “I mean, I didn’t think⁠—”

“No. Of course not.” What the hell is wrong with me? “The game’s in Buffalo. We’ll be leaving Wednesday afternoon, and we’ll be back late Thursday night. You sure that works for you?”

She steps into me, and my hands move to the back of her head, forcing her to look up. “We’ll have fun, and I’ll text you the whole time. You have nothing to worry about. I promise.”

And the funny thing is, I’m not worried.

The funnier thing is it just feels right.

When the hell did that happen?