Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“I’ll mind my manners when you mind your dick.”
BEAU
After weeks of training in the sweltering Atlanta summer heat, I don’t even sweat standing over my BBQ Guys gourmet grill.
I set the timer for the steaks, and I sip a beer. I grin when Ruby elbows me, muttering, “Way to go, champ. I heard your touchdowns last night.”
“Shit,” I whisper. “Really?”
It’s only been me in this house. I’ve never tested the acoustics before.
“Hallelujah.” She chuckles. “I heard Blair praise God many times.”
“Sorry if we kept you up.”
“Blair left a gift bag from Delta’s in my guest room, so I had a good night, too. And I suspect it won’t be our last.”
She winks, and I wink back, intrigued by our meeting in Charleston in a few weeks. But now? I’m focused on this come-to-Jesus.
Glancing over my shoulder, I watch for the dozenth time as Blair tries not to roll her eyes at her dad.
I know she loves him. She told us she did in bed this morning. “He’s my dad. I’ll always love him,” she said, “but y’all watch out. Today, you’re about to discover why I don’t always like him.”
And we have.
Duncan Monroe entered my house like a Presidential candidate. The kind with a winning agenda, a big ego, and an even bigger mouth that won’t shut.
“Now, you let me handle this.” Blair’s dad leans back in his chair, telling her, “I know what to say to the press. They’ll listen to me.”
“Dad,” Blair sighs, “I got this. I never took your help and I’m not starting now. I’ll fix my panty problem.”
Behind his beer bottle, Colt smirks.
He sits beside Blair at my round, outdoor dining table, under the shade of my back porch ceiling with fans whirling above. My chair, on the other side of Blair, is empty. But once I’m seated between her and her dad for lunch, I’ll experience trench-level warfare.
“You and your sister are identical in every way,” he chides. “You never listen. You always have to break the rules. Don’t you?”
“Hey, Kettle,” Blair scoffs, “wonder where this pot gets it from.”
“I’m a man,” he replies. “I can break the rules. I made them.”
“Uh-oh,” Ruby mutters beside me. She’s staying out of the line of fire, too. “We’re dancing in a hog trough now.”
Non-southern translation: Get ready for some shit.
“You sure did make and break ‘em, Dad.” Blair laughs. “Like how you made holes in more than one woman and broke so many condoms, you got more offspring than you got balls.”
“Mind your manners,” he scolds.
Blair smiles. “I’ll mind my manners when you mind your dick.”
Colt spews his beer. “Oh shit,” he rushes, reaching for napkins. “I mean… sorry about that, Sir.”
“Quite alright,” Duncan Monroe drawls. “I’m used to my daughter’s drama.”
“Dad,” Blair helps Colt sop up his beer with paper napkins, “quit acting like your shit don’t stink.”
He rips the Aviators off his face. “Quit wearing dumbass undergarments while you galavant around Atlanta on the arm of NFL’s finest, acting like you have no sense. Like you’re wilder than an acre of snakes and not my daughter, who was raised better. Your mother would be embarrassed.”
“No, my mother would be proud. I did just as she taught me.” Blair beams. “My panties were cute and clean and color coordinated to match my boyfriends’ team.”
Blair jokes, but that stung.
She misses her mom. She and Colt talk about their moms a lot, bonding over them. I can tell it helps. Colt’s starting to smile about his mom again.
But I know Blair, too.
Just like in college, she jokes to hide her pain. That’s why we pranked each other. We hurt, wanting to be together, but we wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t cheat on Reese, and Blair is loyal to her core.
But this stuff about her parents hurts her. It’s obvious. It’s the reason for her snark because her dad left scars.
“Well,” he digs deeper, “I’m glad she’s not here to see your scandal. Though I’ll sure never hear the end of it.”
Blair looks exactly like her father. Same jet black hair. Same thick lashes. Same nose with a slope. Same lips, twisted in a snarl.
“Yeah, Dad, it’s all my fault.” She’s wearing a pink sundress and a playful ponytail. It’s a harmless look while sarcasm fires from her mouth like ego grenades. “My panties bring you such shame because the world holds you, your champion putter, and your purple-helmeted seed spreader in such high esteem.”
Colt spews the rest of his beer, quickly wiping it up with a napkin. At this rate, we’ll go through a twelve-pack in an hour.
“Steaks are ready!” I shout.
They’re not. We’re about to eat Wagyu beef that’s still mooing, but someone needs to stop this blood bath.
“I’ll get the potato salad.” Like a true wide receiver, Colt sees an opening and runs for it.
“I’ll help.” Ruby bails, too.
I can’t be mad. They’re supposed to look like a couple while I stand by my woman, who’s ill as a hornet.
“So, Mr. Monroe.” I set the tray of steaks down, half expecting them to still move. I sit beside Blair, offering her dad, “Congratulations on the U.S. Senior Open. Crooked Stick is a helluva course.”
Blair snorts at the pun she’s dying to make.
And our woman says the athletic gene skipped her. Please. She has a gold-medal tongue. You can’t make a phallic reference about sticks or balls or holes without her going for the winning point against her dad.
“Why, thank you, Son.” Blair chokes on her beer. At how her dad talks like we’re married and not barely dating a month. “Twenty under par with a six-stroke difference is a record for me.”
I nudge Blair’s foot, knowing she wants to score a point with a stroke pun, too, but she holsters her pistol. I guess she won’t risk hurting me with friendly fire.
But she does clarify, “Dad, his name is ‘Beau,’ and he’s not your son. You have four of your own. Remember?”
Her dad smirks. “Well, he’ll be my son when he makes an honest woman of you soon.”
Lucky for Blair, I’m used to pressure in the pocket. Though oddly, the idea of marriage makes me happy.
But Blair runs interference, trying to protect me.
“Too late,” she sings. “I gave my flower to Bobby O’Connor in the back seat of his Honda Accord at the mall. It was real romantic. He banged me and my head against the backdoor. I was gonna save my precious gift as part of my dowry, but Bobby wooed me with a large popcorn at the movies. But hey,” she smiles, “you raised me right. I didn’t give my milk for free. I made him buy me a large Dr. Pepper with free refills, too.”
I chuckle, nudging her foot again. I’ll have to take care not to break our woman’s toes when she’s on a roll. And yes, I’ll be asking more about that story later, but her dad rolls his eyes for now. “Just don’t write another damn romance book about it.”
“Oh, it’ll be my next one,” she chirps. “The sexy alien will kidnap the sci-fi obsessed virgin from the movie theater, luring her with popcorn, before they fall in forbidden love.”
It’s a Monroe thing—the dramatic silver eye roll. Her dad does it again, so I play Switzerland.
“Why don’t we play here sometime?” I gesture to the course I live on.
“I’d be honored to show you a thing or ten,” Duncan boasts like every true pro. “But how’s the shoulder?” He also knows our greatest fear: injuries.
“Perfect,” I lie. “I think we’ll go all the way this year.”
“Again?” Not-so-subtly, he mentions our Super Bowl loss.
“Yeah… again.”
He points to Blair, not smiling. “Just don’t get distracted.”
That jab makes her twist by my side, my heart flinching for hers, so I reach for her hand. It’s so warm in my grasp.
It’s always been the little things about Blair. Her small hands. Her big glasses. Her red lips. Her tiny gold earrings shaped like books. Her evil giggle when she pranks me. Her mini vibrator collection. I’ve been so wrong because she feels so right.
“I’m not distracted, Sir,” I answer. “I’m in love with your daughter. I’ve loved her since college when she superglued pubic hair to my phone.”
“Blair Madison Monroe!” He’s shocked. He’s appalled.
“It wasn’t pubic hair.” But Blair laughs, turning to me. “It was my hair from the shower drain. I just cut it to look like pubes.”
“If it was in the shower drain,” I laugh with her, “it could’ve been from your landing strip.”
For a moment, I got lost in Blair’s eyes. I just smile at her. I just remember my sexy frenemy, the one person who brought me joy in college. Without Colt, I only survived because of Blair.
Her dad must clock it. He gets quiet, watching our laugh, hearing our connection, his stare studying my hand holding hers.
“Y’all haven’t hit the worst yet,” he warns. “By the time you reach the Super Bowl, you’ll be hunted like prey.”
“Who’s being dramatic now, Dad?”
Blair dismisses him, but her dad is right. I also warn her, but we’re too in love for her to listen.
Just in time, Colt and Ruby return and we finally relax. We enjoy our meal until Blair’s dad worries aloud.
“This, uh, Amber influencer, whatever the hell you kids call it.” He stabs his steak. “She’s raising a ruckus online. About me. About my daughter. About y’all.” He points to me, and oh shit, he loops in Colt. “My publicist is having a fit. What’s going on?”
“She’s my ex-girlfriend, Sir,” Colt answers him. On cue, Ruby caresses his shoulder.
“But something’s fishy.” Duncan asks Colt, “Why is she going after me and my daughter when Blair’s dating your best friend, not you? And why isn’t she going after her?”
He points to Ruby, and sweat hits my pits. My pulse triples. Blair’s dad may have been a horn dog, but he’s not a dumb one.
Is he on to us?
Are we that obvious?
Colt tells the truth. Some of it. “Because Blair helped me realize how toxic Amber was for me, and now Amber’s pissed about it.”
Blair scoffs, “Amber’s pissed about that and all cosmetics not tested on innocent baby bunnies. You know, to make sure her eyeshadows don’t fade.”
Ruby laughs, but Blair’s dad is not amused.
“Laugh all you want.” Duncan points his fork at Blair. “But someone like that will steal the flowers off her grandma’s grave to make herself look pretty.”
“Dad, quit talking Southern and speak plain.”
“I am speaking plainly,” he replies. “It’s universal what a woman scorned will do. Trust me, I know. Amber’s put a target on your back, and your panty stunt made it worse. You need my help. I’m gonna release a statement about this mess.”
This morning, my publicist called about Blair’s viral panties. I put her on speakerphone with Blair, and we made some plans to spin it positively. My idea of a book signing for Blair became part of the play. And, of course, Blair had the idea to take it to the next level.
But still, Amber’s on a witch hunt for Blair.
So, we spend the next hour trying to convince Blair’s dad to leave Amber alone. Blair starts a long chat with him. “Dad, sometimes saying nothing says everything,” she explains while my eyes signal Colt to meet me inside.
We clear a few plates, dropping them in the sink. I aim for the walk-in pantry, and Colt follows, letting the door swing closed behind us.
“We’re fucked,” I mutter. “Blair’s dad is a loose cannon.”
“He’s just protecting his daughter.”
“She can protect herself,” I answer. “And the last thing we need is to fan Amber’s flames. It’s exactly what she wants.”
“I know.” Colt leans against the pantry shelf, guilt sagging his shoulders. “I’m sorry. It’s like I regret every woman I was with until Blair.”
“Bullshit.” I laugh. “All that pussy? You can’t regret it.”
“Yeah,” he crosses his arms, “sometimes I do.”
“Well then, let’s just focus on the one we love. Go out there and tell Blair’s dad you’ll call Amber. You’ll kiss her ass and eat crow and try to get her to stop. And I’ll play the good boyfriend. I’ll try to calm down Blair’s dad.”
“Good luck with that.” Colt chuckles. “Blair riles him up. Her offensive lines are hilarious. He needs the ego check.”
I chuckle too, “Purple-helmeted seed spreader,” repeating one of our girl’s zingers.
That just makes us laugh.
“Shit,” Colt tosses his chin up, “is that what they look like? Our dicks? Purple helmets?”
“Nah.” On instinct, the image of his is instant. The urge and memory make me reach for his waist, pulling him near. “Yours is pink.”
“Pink?” He grins, all sexy, moving his lips toward mine. “Wanna know what color yours is?”
“Big and beige.” I tease my lips over his. “And getting bigger.”
“Is that so?” Colt taunts before his kiss.
He grabs the back of my neck, his whiskers brushing mine, his tongue searching, taking me too. It’s always been like this, magnetic the way we’re drawn together. The pull Colt has over my heart, my body. The way we ease and soothe and take each other.
“Tonight,” I demand over our kiss, “it’s your turn. I’m fucking you in the shower.”
Our moans get loud, mingling with our mouths, sealing the promise until…
“Is that so?” A deep voice snarls, and we snap our shocked stare at Blair’s dad, slamming the pantry door open, his glare ripping down us. “Does my daughter know you’re fucking him in the shower tonight?”
I stagger back from Colt. He does the same, crashing into the shelves behind him and knocking over jars and cans.
I exclaim, “Mr. Monroe, it’s?—”
It’s what? Not how it looks? Not what he obviously overheard? Not my dick hard in my shorts for Colt and Colt’s is the same? His long Johnson points proud and my way.
Fuck it.
“Blair knows,” I answer him. “She’s with us.”
“The hell she is!” His face, handsome for a man his age, any age, fumes angry and red. “You’re not using my daughter. You’re not dragging her into this! You’ll ruin her life.”
“It’s my life, Dad.” Blair’s voice sounds behind him.
He whips around, pointing at us but shouting at her in the kitchen. “You knew about this? You knew they’re gay?”
“They’re not gay,” she answers. “Though if they were, that would be beautiful, too. They’re bisexual like me. We’re together. The three of us. We love each other.”
“And his girlfriend?” Duncan asks about Ruby. “You’re lying to her?”
“She knows,” Colt answers him. “She’s my friend. Our friend. Ruby’s helping us with the public part of it.”
“Public?” He mocks. “Men like you can’t be public. You’re athletes. It’s not right. It’s not traditional. It violates all morals and ruins lives. Careers. Everything.”
“So you get to be public and proud?” Blair goes right at him. “Men like you get a pro career and a back-slapping ‘attaboy’ when you go from woman to woman, making more babies than you can raise like a true father? You know, like being there at night when we cry or packing our lunches? You know the stuff real dads do? You can abandon mother after mother and kid after kid and that’s moral? That’s tradition? That makes you a man?”
“I provided for you,” he snarls. “I provided for all my kids.”
“We didn’t want your provisions, Dad. We wanted your love. We wanted our father. And those two,” she points at me and Colt, “are real men. They don’t abandon the ones they love. We’re not distractions to them. We’re a family.”
Colt coughs like something’s strangling him, and I feel the strain, too.
“Mr. Monroe,” I control my fury, “I’m trying to show you respect, Sir, for Blair’s sake. But by God, you will give it to us, too. We’re not ashamed of our love—me and Colt, us and Blair. So accept it and respect it, or get the fuck out of our home right now.”
“But you can’t come out,” he pleads. “You’re NFL players. You’ll lose everything, and so will she.”
“We know the world we live in,” I answer. “And together, we’ll figure it out.”