Teasing: Chapter 7

What . . . ? I drink water. There are ice cubes in my coffee.

—Emmie’s Secret Thoughts

The house is back to its normal empty silence by the time I get out of the shower the next morning. Camden has always been an early riser. He can’t stand to be late. Was always the first guy to be at practice and the last guy to leave. Like he had something to prove, but it wasn’t to everyone else. He was proving it to himself. I guess some things never change.

Me, on the other hand, I was born two weeks late.

I’m pretty sure I’ve never been on time for anything in my life.

Which is why I’m rushing to get dressed and out of the house at the moment.

Pretty sure the snooze button is the devil luring you to the dark side, but I still hit that sucker a few times this morning.

With wet hair and absolutely no makeup on, I slip into a cotton sundress and grab the bag of goodies I put together last night. A quick glance at the clock has my stomach groaning.

Please let them have a coffee maker because if I make my iced coffee now, I’ll be late . . . Later than I already am.

Shoot. Guess I’m foregoing caffeine. Never a good way to start the day.

With nervous excitement, I hurry through the damp grass and dart across both yards, and okay, maybe I have a Mary Poppins tune or two playing in my mind as I get ready for my first day as a nanny. I may have gone a little overboard with my plans for today, but in all fairness, there’s so much Rosie and I can do. We’re going to have a fantastic summer.

At least I hope we are.

Maverick’s massive black double doors are slightly intimidating with their blurred windows and wrought-iron accents. Their thickness dulls the music slipping through them, but it’s there, and I can’t quite place the beat as my excitement turns to butterflies . . . just a little.

It’s not the idea of spending my summer with Rosie, or of working with her allergies, or even the idea of the incredibly famous family she comes from that has me anxious. Nope, it’s the idea of seeing her father again. Her standoffish, sometimes jerky, overbearing father.

The one I kind of wish I disliked. I mean, it’s not like he isn’t a little intimidating, and I don’t intimidate easily. Vivi made sure of that. She refuses to let us believe there’s anyone we should be intimidated by. Especially no man. She’s always been good at that. Better than me. But there’s just something about this man. He’s so darn grumpy. Like it’s his job in life to resist smiling unless he’s looking at Briar Rose.

I’ve decided it’s going to be my own personal mission to get him to loosen up and smell the roses a little. I smile at my own little play on words then laugh at myself. I’ve definitely spent too much time alone, but that doesn’t change the fact that life is too short to spend it pissy, and it’s definitely too short not to soak it all in and enjoy. Jamie and Ryker don’t seem to have any problem calling Maverick out on his attitude, so maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to work a different angle.

I’m determined to make this happen, whether he wants it or not.

Pep talk done, I raise my hand just as the door opens, and a smiling Jamie steps aside. “Hey’ya, Emmie. Come on in.” His eyes trail over me as his lips tip up in a devious smirk. I don’t know him well, but even I can tell he’s up to something. “You look tired. Late night?”

“She looks late, period,” Maverick grumbles and shoves Jamie out of the way. Another worn gray t-shirt hugs his broad shoulders, and basketball shorts that would probably be loose-fitting on someone else stretch around ridiculously muscular quads.

My goodness . . . am I drooling? New mantra—Do not drool around your boss. “Come on. Let’s go into the kitchen. I want to go over a few things before Rosie gets up.”

“Yes, sir.” I smile and don’t miss the way Maverick frowns back at me like I just poured orange juice in his coffee.

Ohh . . . Coffee. I can smell it.

There’s definitely coffee brewing somewhere.

“You don’t have to call me sir,” he grumbles and grabs a three-ring binder from the kitchen counter. “Here. Take this.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to yes, sir him again, but I bite it back down. No need to purposely annoy him before I’ve been properly caffeinated. It’ll probably happen accidentally soon enough anyway.

“I know we talked about Rosie’s allergies the other night, but they’re all detailed in the binder.” He nods toward the purple plastic folder in my hands, like I’m not sure what in the world he could be talking about, and I bite my tongue. This is his daughter, and if he needs to give me written instructions to feel better about leaving her with me, I can understand that. But as he reaches over and opens it—as if I’m incapable of following along—my understanding wanes. “The first tab is Rosie’s allergies.”

This poor little girl. Her list is so long.

He flips to the next tab, and my attention catches on the intricate tattoos on his hand and the way they move with his muscles. They’re beautiful.

“Emmie—” My eyes snap up to his. “The next tab is all the important numbers. Mine. Jamie’s. Ryker’s. Obviously, if you need Ryker, text him. My parents’ numbers are listed, as well as my aunt, Scarlet Kingston-St. James’s. She runs the Kings. If you need me and can’t reach me while I’m at practice or a game or anything football-related, she should be your last option. But she’s an option. Her phone is permanently attached to her hand, and that’s her personal number.” His pointer finger slides further down the page, as if he didn’t just give me the private cell phone number of one of the most powerful women in the country. My head throbs the slightest bit as my brain threatens to explode.

The differences between his family and mine are staggering.

Maverick keeps going, “The pediatrician. The stadium is at the bottom with specific instructions on how to get through to me if I don’t have my cell phone on me because I’m on the field. Again, my aunt is your last resort, but don’t hesitate to call her if you have to.”

Maverick doesn’t bother pointing out that 911 and the number for poison control are both listed on the bottom of the page as he flips again. This time the tab is orange. “Color coded. Color me impressed,” I giggle, but the big grump just shakes his head.

“This is her schedule. Rosie’s generally up by seven and typically ready to take a nap between twelve and one, but she’s been hit or miss on whether she wants naps this summer. I don’t force it if she isn’t feeling it. Use your judgment.”

“Got it, boss. Don’t force a nap.” He raises his eyes to the ceiling, and I watch as his throat forces down a swallow.

Umm . . . should that be hot? Because it is.

Wait—how many tabs are there?

A list of Rosie’s likes and dislikes sit at the top of the next page, followed by approved foods, meals, and recipes. “Wow. You are seriously thorough.”

His dark-blue irises deepen before he clears his throat and looks away. “When it comes to Rosie, I have to be. It could be the difference between life and death.” He drags his hand down his face, then reaches for the binder. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

I rest my hand on his. Mistake number one. An electric current shoots straight through me like I’ve touched the raw end of a live wire before I pull back, shocked. “It wasn’t a bad idea,” I say softly. “I’ve got this. Rosie and I are going to have a great summer, and I will follow every single instruction down to the very last letter. I was just teasing. I guess I’m a little rusty.” I hug the binder to my chest and look up at the seriously sexy giant.

Wait—not sexy.

My boss.

My bossy giant.

I mean . . . that could be fun too.

Oops.

“I promise you, we’ll be fine, and I’ll take incredibly good care of Rosie.”

Maverick swallows, and I watch his Adam’s apple work. “She’s my world.”

Cue melting. Like, into a legit puddle.

Is there anything hotter than the way this man loves his little girl?

Not hot. Fatherly. He’s a good dad.

Maybe a little hot.

A teeny, tiny, little ember kinda hot.

The ones you don’t even realize are still smoldering until they light the whole darn forest on fire.

I put out my imaginary fire and focus on Maverick. “And while I’m here, she’ll be my world. I promise.”

It takes a minute, but that seems to satisfy him. At least a little.

After what feels like half a lifetime, he nods. “Do you have any questions?”

I look around the kitchen and sigh with relief when I find the coffee pot. “A few, actually. Is the coffee fair game?”

Maverick’s head shakes the slightest bit. “I figured you’d want to know how to work the EpiPen.”

“I told you the other night, I know how to use them. My sister is allergic to bees. I’ve given her shots twice. And I know to use two if we need to. Better to not risk it.”

His jaw tightens, clearly not convinced. “Any others?”

I lay the binder carefully on the dark granite counter and run a hand over it before looking back up at him. “I know you said you’re extremely protective of Rosie’s identity. What am I supposed to tell people who ask who she is?”

His dark-blue eyes narrow and harden. “Why will you be around anyone who’ll need to know who my daughter is?”

“Well first, you agreed I could take Rosie to my father’s assisted living facility.” I lean back against the island and mirror his stance. Of course I’m an entire foot shorter and miles less intimidating than my new neighbor. “They’re going to ask who she is as soon as I show up with a child at my side. I’m not trying to be pushy, but I need to know how you want me to answer that. I’d also like to take her on some fun adventures around town.”

Maverick eyes me skeptically.

“Calm down, Cujo. I was thinking strawberry picking or peach picking, or maybe to the farmers’ market to pick out fruit for an allergy-friendly pie she can help me bake. There’s no reason she needs to be cooped up in her castle like Rapunzel all day.”

The muscle in his jaw pulses again as he thinks about that. “I’d rather you not give her last name, but if she introduces herself, you don’t need to stop her. It’s not that I’ve tried to hide her existence. It’s just . . . my family is high-profile. Both the Kingstons and the Beneventis are. I never wanted the world to invade my child’s privacy. When you’re a professional athlete, the world thinks you owe them something. Everyone thinks they’re entitled to the details of your life. And I don’t want that for Briar Rose, just because she happened to be born to a football player or a Kingston or a Beneventi. It’s not fair, so I’ve avoided it. But I’ve always tried to do it in a way that wouldn’t make Rosie fearful or unwilling to make friends.”

And there he goes, being an incredible father again.

Yup. Still swoony.

“That makes sense.” I dare to hold his stormy stare for a moment. “I’ll try to avoid using her last name and just introduce her as my friend Rosie when I have to introduce her.”

That seems to soothe some of his concern momentarily. But then his eyes narrow, and my skin prickles. “My turn. Who was at your house last night?” Maverick straightens and waits while I process his question.

“Excuse me?” I almost laugh in his face. There’s never anyone at my house.

“The car was still there this morning. It was the first time I’ve seen it,” he grumbles.

Oh. I forgot that quickly. He means—wait . . . “What do you mean, you’ve seen? You’ve been watching my house?”

“You’re fucking right I have. If I’m trusting you with my daughter, I need to know you’re not going to bring assholes around her.” His voice booms off the vaulted ceiling, and my stomach knots.

“Want to do a background check too?” I close my eyes, wondering what he’d think if he examined my life. What would it look like on a page?

“Emmie . . .” His voice is strained, like this is a hard conversation for him, and I want to laugh. If he only freaking knew.

“You don’t have anything to worry about. You’re going to meet my new houseguest today at your practice. When you do, make sure to say hi for me. He might be a little confused though because I didn’t tell him about Rosie. I wanted to talk to you about it first.” My words are cold and condescending. I don’t like that he was watching my house or that he thought I’d bring bad men around⁠—

Little feet slap against the dark slate floor as Rosie runs into the kitchen. “Emmie. You’re here.”

I squat down in front of her. Her dark brown hair shoots up in every imaginable direction, and a pillow crease is imprinted on her cheek. Definitely signs of a good night’s sleep. “Why, good morning, little rose. I am here, and I have all sorts of fun planned for us today. Do you want to have some fun?”

She nods, her eyes growing wide before they swing her father’s way. “Morning, Daddy.”

Maverick looks from her to me, then grumbles something about being the first person she should say good morning to before he kisses the top of her head. “I’ve got to get dressed for work, sweets. Listen to Emmie and help her make your breakfast, okay?”

“Sure.” She giggles as she takes my hand in hers.

Maverick’s eyes stay locked on that one simple movement for one beat, then two, before walking out of the room.

“Okay, kiddo. First things first. Can you help me find the mugs? I need coffee.”

Maverick

“I swear to fucking God, man. That woman is either going to be the death of me or⁠—”

“Or what?” Jamie interrupts. “She’s your nanny, dude. She’s there to help with Rosie. So let her fucking help.”

When I don’t say anything, the asshole laughs. “What? You want them to stay cooped up inside all summer? So what?” he pushes. “Let her have adventures. Let her have fun. Maybe you should try to have a little fun too. You can trust her, you know. Not everyone has shitty motives.”

Can I?

There are so few people I trust with my daughter that trusting this virtual stranger should feel wrong. And what’s worse is that it actually doesn’t feel wrong. I want it to, but it doesn’t—because for some fucked up reason, I do trust her or I wouldn’t have left Rosie with her. I’m screwed, and I know it, even if I can’t put my finger on why.

“All right, men.” Coach Declan Sinclair takes the microphone behind the podium at the front of the room. “If you’re all done gossiping like a bunch of little girls, it’s time to get to work,” Coach calls out into the largest of the theater-style seating classrooms the team has at our practice facility.

Still feels weird to have Declan standing there as head coach after having played for his dad for so many years. Cancer is a bitch, and Dec stepped in when his dad was diagnosed last year.

But the Kings are a family. We protect our own. And with or without Joe Sinclair on the sidelines, he’s always got a place here with us.

“We’re going to break you down into groups. We’ve got conditioning testing up first. Make sure to give it your all, men. I want to see who’s been putting the work in and who’s spent their summer fat, drunk, and happy.” He slowly looks around the room, examining the rows of hopeful players filling the seats. Most of them I know. A few I don’t. There’s a face or two I wasn’t expecting, but that’s not surprising. That’s just another sign of a new season. Ninety guys fill these seats today. Fifty-three will fill the roster by late August.

“A lot of people counted this team out when I stepped in to this position halfway through last season. And a lot of people were wrong. They assumed we weren’t ready. That I wasn’t ready. That you weren’t ready. They thought we’d crumble. Well, they were all wrong because they didn’t know how hungry we were, and hungry dogs fight harder. Now, you better be ready to fight even harder this season than last because, if you thought switching up coaches put a target on your back, you’re about to see just how big that target gets with a Superbowl ring on your finger and a Lombardi trophy in your case.”

Jamie elbows me and lifts his chin toward Coach with a smile. “Still so fucking weird, seeing him up there.”

“Shut the hell up,” I whisper.

He’s not wrong. Declan Sinclair is my godfather off the field. He and my father spent their careers playing side by side on this team. I grew up at his house, and my dad saved Declan’s wife, Annabelle, a lifetime ago. But the minute we step inside this building or onto that field, all that’s forgotten, and he’s Coach.

Yeah, it was weird during my first season when he was the quarterback coach, but now Lilah’s dad has taken over that position . . . Now, this is the new normal. Now, it’s just like any other day.

“Today is day one, gentlemen. If you want to see day two, forget about last season. Forget about whatever team you played for and whatever accolades you had. You want a position on this team? My team? You’ve got to earn it. And that starts today. No one cares what you’ve done for me in the past. It’s what you do for me today and in the coming weeks that decides who goes on that roster at the start of the season. You want a position? Show me you put in the work. You want a position on my team? Fucking earn it.”

My smile is slow and brutal. I never stop working. I work as hard in my offseason as I do during the season. Nobody likes camp. We’re weeks away from a game. Weeks away from walking into a stadium on Sunday, feeling like fucking gods. This is the paying your dues part. It sucks, but I love it—because nobody’s taking my fucking position.

Let them come.

Let them try.

Watch them fail.