Teasing: Chapter 2

More life. More love. More laughter.

I want more.

—Emmie’s Secret Thoughts

My phone rings as the door of Sugar Hill Assisted Living, the facility my father has lived in for the last six years, closes behind me. It’s as if my brother knew instinctively that I needed to hear his voice today. That I needed to borrow some strength. “Hey. Give me a sec. I’m getting in my car.”

“Lock your doors,” Camden orders, and I’m grateful he can’t see the roll of my eyes or the shake of my head.

I sigh as I slide behind the wheel, but I do lock the door like he told me to. “I’m in Sugar Hill, Camden. It’s not like I’m in Center City Philly or something. We have one cop and two deputies. No one is coming to carjack Agatha.”

“You know you’re the only person in the world who names their car Agatha, right?” He laughs like it’s the first time he’s saying this instead of the hundred and forty-first.

Okay . . . maybe that’s a teeny-tiny exaggeration. But whatever. He says it a lot.

“Listen. She’s old and sturdy and looks like an Agatha. Shush and be nice to my car.” I turn the old girl on and pray the air-conditioning kicks in before I get so hot I stick to my seat, then lean my head back as I close my eyes. “What’s up?”

There’s a long pause where we basically listen to each other breathe, and I hate every second of it. I hate how awkward things have become these past few months. I hate that I don’t know how to fix it. And I hate that I stay quiet instead of saying something . . . but that’s exactly what I do anyway.

“I think I’m coming home,” he admits hesitantly, and my heart skips a beat.

“What?” The question is out before I even process his words.

Shoot.

“Don’t sound so excited,” he mumbles, and the sinking feeling in my stomach suddenly feels like a ten-ton anchor instead of indigestion.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that . . . It’s just⁠—”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I know.”

And he does. So I’ll give him that.

“What do you mean you’re coming home? Like, to visit?” I can count on one hand how many times Camden has visited Sugar Hill since he was drafted, and I wouldn’t even have to use my thumb. I might need both thumbs if I go back to when he left for college.

“No . . . like my agent just asked me if I’d be interested in being traded to the Philadelphia Kings.” Camden’s gravelly voice sounds so cautious, it hurts my heart. “It’s not like I’m getting a ton of playing time here.”

“And what did you tell him?” I ask, scared to death to let an ounce of hope creep in. When he doesn’t answer right away, I take that as my answer. Camden doesn’t want to come home. He wants to be as far away as possible. I don’t blame him. “I guess that was a stupid question.”

“Emmie . . .” Who knew one word could convey so much hurt. “I told him to make the trade.”

His words hang between us in the thick, humid summer air, leaving me terrified to cling to them the way I wish I could. The way I’m desperate to. “It’s not a done deal yet, but the Kings just lost their backup quarterback, and their third string sucks. I doubt I’ll see much action, but I’d be close to you.”

I don’t realize I’m crying until the first teardrop hits my bare arm. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah . . . I think I’m coming home.”

It shouldn’t be like this.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

“Come home, Camden,” I whisper, trying to hold back the sob threatening to rip free. “Please.”

“Jesus, Em. Breathe.” Guess I didn’t hide it well. “You’re not driving, right?”

“Not yet.” My chest shakes as the words get caught in my throat. “I just saw Dad. I’m in the parking lot.”

“Was it a good day?” he asks, hopeful.

My heart sinks. “No.”

“You gonna be okay to drive home?” Camden does a lousy job of hiding his concern. He’s always wanted to be my protector.

Even if he couldn’t always protect me.

Even when he couldn’t protect himself.

I square my shoulders and wipe my eyes. “When will you know?”

“Soon. Probably before the end of the week.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Call me when you know, okay?”

“Yeah. Talk soon.”

“Love you,” I tell him before I end the call and toss my phone to the passenger seat, utterly and completely emotionally exhausted.

The air has finally kicked in ten minutes later when I pull into my driveway and park. I look up at the big, old, empty house in front of me and drop my head to my hands and finally cry. Today started with such hope, but the emotional rollercoaster that followed had a few too many drops and loops for my liking.

A light knock on my window makes me jump like a skittish cartoon cat until I look over and find my pint-sized, new neighbor.

“Hi, Emmie.” Her smile is infectious and impossible to ignore. It’s also contagious and before I know it, I’m smiling back.

“Hi, Rosie.” I wipe my eyes and crack the door open, waiting as Rosie takes a step back, so I can get out. “What are you doing out here?” I ask her as I look around for her father. If he didn’t like her in the back yard, I doubt he’d be thrilled to know she’s alone in my driveway.

“Rosie . . .” a deep baritone booms.

A different one from this morning. I look up to find the big man that big voice belongs to, and this man certainly isn’t her father.

“Over here, Uncle Jamie.” She smiles, and my shoulders shake with laughter. This kid. Uncle Jamie, who’s better known as Jameson Murphy, the Philadelphia Kings’ newest linebacker, jogs over. His strawberry-blond hair practically flows in the wind like a shampoo commercial. Women would die for that hair. He stops next to Rosie and gives me the cockiest grin I’ve seen in years.

Good lord, these men are gorgeous trouble.

And apparently, my new neighbors.

“Rosie posie. What did we say?” he asks as he squats down next to her, and my ovaries might actually throb a little.

Can ovaries throb?

“That I was supposed to wait for you. But I saw her stop her car, and she was waiting here for me to come over.” Rosie turns her big, brown eyes on me. “Weren’t you, Emmie?”

She tilts her little head to the side, and I swear she bats her lashes.

Where the heck did this kid learn to lay on the charm like this?

I giggle silently but agree—because how could I not?

“You know what? Maybe I was waiting for you, Rosie.” I reach into the car, grab my purse, and shut the door. “What are you guys up to this afternoon?”

“We’re having a party,” Rosie announces, bouncing on her toes with delight.

“Oh yeah?” I ask and look between her and her uncle. “Sounds like fun.”

“Not really a party,” Jamie interjects. “More like a get-to-know-your-neighbors dinner.”

“Oh?” It’s my turn to tilt my head and cock a brow. I’m their only neighbor.

“Well, that’s what we’re hoping, right, squirt?” He palms Rosie’s head like he’s palming a football.

The little girl nods, and her eyes dance with delight. “Right. Want to come have dinner with us?”

“Umm . . .” I bite down on my lower lip. I was just heartbroken over the thought of walking into an empty house, but I’ve got to say, dinner with strangers, even strangers on my favorite football team, wasn’t exactly at the top of my to-do list. I try to soften my voice. “I’m not so sure I’m in the mood to be around a ton of people at a party tonight.”

“Not a ton.” Jamie’s cocky grin grows, and I can absolutely imagine most women dropping their panties right about now. Shame it’s tall, dark, and grumpy that got me going earlier. Why can’t I ever be attracted to the goofy hot guys? Why is it always the broody jerks who catch my eye? “Just us and you and whoever you live with.”

Oh . . . this man is fishing.

Vivi would love him.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s just me,” I break the news, and you’d think the words wouldn’t sting the way they do, but man . . . they still do.

“Then you have to come. Ryker’s grilling steaks.” Jamie stands and scoops Rosie up and sits her on his hip. “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

I shake my head. “Ryker Beneventi?” I ask, not sure why I’m surprised. That’s Maverick’s younger brother. The first hearing-impaired defensive tackle to ever play for the Kings. He was the number-five draft pick last April. And . . . my inner football geek is showing.

“You know Ryker?” Jamie asks, suddenly less joking and maybe a little less trusting.

Jeez. These men go from smiling to scary kinda quick.

“I know of him. We’re a big football family, and Sebastian Beneventi was my dad’s favorite player. It’s kind of a small town.” I shrug and look over at their house. “How many of you live there?” I laugh to myself. “Should I expect any more giant football players to squeeze out of a clown car or something?”

Jamie’s easygoing smile slides back into place. “Nah. It’s just the three of us and Rosie.”

“And Butterfly,” she adds.

“Right,” he chuckles. “Can’t forget Butters.”

“Nope,” Rosie agrees.

I look between the two of them and smile. Something I wasn’t sure I’d be capable of after this crap day. “Well then, how could I say no?”

“You can’t,” Rosie claps, and I swear her excitement is a breath of fresh air.

“What can I bring?” I ask.

“Just yourself. Rosie has some food allergies, so we’re really picky about what food comes into the house,” Jamie assures me as Rosie nods again in agreement with her uncle. “We’ll eat in about two hours. Sound good?”

I guess I really shouldn’t tell him it sounds more frightening than good. Dinner with perfect strangers . . . Sure. Why not? “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

“Bye, Emmie.” Rosie waves, and my goodness, Jamie grins again.

“Yeah. Bye, Emmie. See you soon,” he adds before he carries her across the yards and back into the house.

I pull my phone from my purse as I walk into my dark house a minute later and call my sister.

Her voicemail picks up again.

“Vivi . . . you would not believe the day I’ve had.”

Maverick

I watch Butters chase Rosie through the backyard and shove my hands in my pockets to control the urge to reach out for her. She’s gonna fall if she runs any faster.

My mother’s voice bounces around in my head . . . She always says you’ve got to let her fall so she learns to pick herself back up.

Doesn’t matter that I know she’s right, but the urge is still there.

Ryker moves in front of me to get my attention. “She is fine.”

My brother lost his hearing almost a decade ago, and I swear his already incredible ability to read a room dialed up to a never-before-known frequency to make up for the loss. He can read our parents and me in a way no one should be able to.

I look him in the eye. “I know. But the creek is right there, and it’s new.”

“You need to replace Mrs. Page. Has the agency sent you any new nannies yet?” he asks and waits for my answer.

“Nobody good enough to spend my time interviewing,” I growl. “None of them even know ASL,” I admit, frustrated. “And that was a requirement.”

He shrugs and flips the ribs next to the steaks, then turns back around. “Rosie doesn’t need ASL to communicate, Mav.”

“But you do, and Rosie communicates with you constantly. You live here. So yeah, they need to know it.” I lift my beer but freeze when Emmie walks through the trees separating our yards.

My God . . . An ankle-length white sundress catches in the breeze and dances around her long legs, nearly glowing against her tanned skin. Her hair is up in another one of those soft-looking bun things with thin braids intertwined that’s supposed to look easy but take my cousins forever to do. One gold chain sits tight around her throat, and another hangs lower, bringing my eyes to the swell of her breast, and I bite back a curse.

She looks like a sexy fucking fairy goddess, as the twinkling lights framing the patio glint off her skin like magic.

And the second she crosses into my yard, Rosie changes direction and runs right to her. “Emmie. . . what’s that?”

She points to the flowers in Emmie’s hand before the woman holds them out for my daughter. “They’re for you, sweet girl. A rose for a rose.” She lifts her eyes and finds mine, and something tugs deep down in a place I prefer to ignore. “If your dad says it’s okay, that is.”

I nod, and Ryker laughs, then turns back to me with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Dibs.”

“Like fuck you do, little brother,” I groan and push him back to the grill. “Nobody is calling dibs on our new neighbor.”

This complete stranger lets my daughter take her hand and walk her over to where Ryker and I are standing on the patio without hesitation. And just seeing a stranger holding Rosie’s hand has me on edge. “Daddy, look at my roses. Aren’t they pretty?”

“Very pretty.” I force the words out, but what I want to really say is get the hell away from my kid. “How about you put them in the kitchen and wash your hands for dinner, okay?” I tell her as she vibrates with the kind of pure joy only Rosie is capable of, while beaming up at this woman, who seems to fascinate my daughter.

Rosie dashes off without another word, and I let myself focus on Emmie.

Mistake.

Big fucking mistake.

This woman is a goddamned smoke show, wrapped in a big red ribbon with trouble written in giant black block letters.

“Thanks for inviting me for dinner,” she says sweetly, and even her voice is pretty.

“Thank my brother, Ryker. It was his idea.” I say and sign, watching her eyes get big for a moment before she smiles and shocks me.

“Thanks for the invite,” she says and signs, and I just about swallow my fucking tongue.

“You know ASL?” Jamie asks as he joins us on the porch and offers our guest a beer.

She scrunches her nose. “No, thank you. I’m not really a beer girl,” Emmie continues to sign and angles herself so Ryker can see her lips. She knows what she’s doing. “And yes, I know ASL. I took it as my language elective all four years of high school.”

“Are you even old enough to drink?” I push, looking for a flaw in the pristine image she’s presenting because flaws are easier to handle.

When her eyes lock with mine, something uncomfortable passes between us.

But if you held a gun to my head, I wouldn’t be able to tell you what it was.

The fuck?

“According to my license, I am. Would you like to see it?” She looks up at me through her lashes, and I get a flash of her looking at me like that from her damn knees. “I just don’t like beer.”

“We’ve got wine,” Jamie offers. “A whole wine cellar, to be exact.”

Fucking Jamie.

“Maybe another night. But thank you.”

“So, Emmie . . . You live alone in that big house?” Jamie asks her, and I look over at her house. It’s an older farmhouse, but it’s well-kept with white siding and black shutters. A porch wraps around the entire first floor of the three-story house, and colorful flowers line the bed beneath it. It’s a big house. Not as big as mine but big for just one person.

“I do. I’ve lived here for a while.” She accepts the bottle of water Ryker offers her with a pretty blush on her cheeks, and I kinda want to kick his ass.

Not a fucking clue why. But I do.

Not looking too hard into it either.

“What do you do?” I know the words sound almost accusatory, but I don’t know this woman, and I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t prove themselves trustworthy first. When everyone looks at me like I’ve lost my fucking mind, I grind my teeth. “For work, I mean . . .”

“Oh . . .” She cracks the lid on the water bottle as Rosie comes back outside with Butters trailing lazily behind. “Well, I teach ballet at a studio in Kroydon Hills.”

Of course she teaches at Hart & Soul.

It’s the only damn studio in Kroydon Hills.

And my own damn godmother owns it.

“Ballet?” Rosie immediately spins around like a baby ballerina wannabe. “I’m going to take ballet classes this year.”

Rosie’s been asking to take classes for the past two months, but right now, I don’t even have a damn nanny lined up for when preseason starts. I can’t even think about anything further down the line than that.

“Maybe I’ll see you there.” Emmie has no problem giving Rosie her full attention, and Rosie eats it up like she’s starving for it. Which she’s not. This kid lives like a rock star. She’s the center of so many lives.

“That’s a big house for a ballet teacher.” Fuck . . . I know it’s a shitty thing to say, but something about her rubs me wrong. Or maybe it’s right. Hell if I know.

“Dude,” Ryker groans, and I know if he’s calling me out, it was a really shitty thing to say.

“That’s okay,” she tells him before turning her attention on me. “It was my family’s house.” She doesn’t add anything else, and I decide not to push it. Not yet. Even if I want to know what that means.

I want to know everything about her.

It’s my job as Rosie’s father to know about the people who are going to be in her orbit.

At least that’s what I’m going with.

“This is my family’s house,” Rosie tells her so damn innocently that I feel like a shit, until Rosie takes Emmie’s hand again like she’s her new favorite toy. “Want to see my room?”

Emmie looks at me for approval, which I appreciate and wonder if she realizes she’s creating a monster by agreeing to do everything my daughter asks. She’s good at getting what she wants. “I’d love to see your room.”

“After dinner, Rosie.” I press my palm to her back. “Grab the napkins and plates to help me set the table, okay?”

“Sure, Daddy.” She scampers off to grab the napkins and paper plates. We’re not big on dishes. Sue me.

“Be careful with her. You keep agreeing to do what she wants, and you’ll have a little terror on your hands,” I warn, and the beautiful brunette laughs.

Pretty golden-green eyes look around at me and the guys. “Sure. I’m the one she’s got wrapped around her little finger.”

Her soft laugh is musical and grates on every fucking nerve I have.

Because I don’t want this woman to be beautiful.

Or kind. Or sweet.

Because I don’t want this woman.