15. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Brynn
"Dada!" Salem claps and squeals at the sight of Leo running drills on the field of the training ground.
"That's right, ladybug. There's your daddy." I point to him and then to the other players. "And there's Uncle Alex, and Roman, and Harley. They seem to be doing something very important with those orange cones right now."
The little girl in my arms wriggles until I set her down so that she can press her nose against the glass window overlooking the turf.
Apparently, Leo didn't trust me enough to look after her at home today, so he's set us up in the clubhouse where he can shoot anxious glances at us every 3.5 seconds. Even after a very intense six hours of learning everything there is to know about caring for a one-year-old yesterday, he doesn't deem me ready enough yet to utilize my knowledge unsupervised.
"Are you ready for a snack?" I ask, and her blue eyes brighten in excitement.
"Okey dokey." I lift her under her arms and settle her into the highchair, complete with a little tray for bitesize food and toys. "Do you want to face out the window so you can still see Daddy?"
She doesn't answer me, of course. She probably doesn't understand a word I'm saying, but I position the chair for her anyway and pop some sliced grapes onto the tray.
She's barely lifted her hand to her mouth when my phone chimes.
Leo: What is she eating?
Our eyes catch through the glass. He's standing at the edge of the field with a water bottle in one hand and his phone in the other. Sweat drips down the side of his face, despite the freezing January air, and my tongue darts out mindlessly to wet my lips at the sight.
Brynn: Pizza.
Brynn: Getting her to try it was my top priority.
Leo: Make finding her a new nanny your next priority.
Brynn: Calm your tits, Daddio. They're grapes.
Brynn: And before you have a stroke... yes, I cut them up before I gave them to her. Into quarters. Lengthwise. Just like the American Academy of Pediatrics says to.
Through the window, I watch his shoulders sag in relief. He really is the epitome of an overbearing father, but I think it's cute, which is a shock because I never thought I'd find any part of Leo Sullivan cute, but here we are.
I guess it's more than that, though.
His protectiveness and borderline neuroticism are simply the way his love manifests. And Salem deserves a parent who would take on the whole world to keep her safe and make her feel loved. Every child does.
Without responding to my message, he tucks his phone into his bag and jogs back to join the rest of the guys kicking balls at a target.
"Isn't your Daddy funny?" I coo to Salem, who giggles as she shoves another fistful of grape slices into her mouth. "He loves you so much, you know that?"
She replies by dumping the rest of the grapes on the floor.
Apparently, she considers this the most efficient way to communicate that she's done with her food.
"Maybe we can try keeping the grapes on the tray next time, huh? I'll know you're finished, I promise."
Another grape slice slips from her fist.
"Okay, cool, we can start on that tomorrow, then."
After cleaning her up and getting her out of the highchair, I settle her in a Pack ‘n Play and pat her little belly until she falls asleep.
And that's how Salem and I spend the next few hours. She sleeps soundly in the crib beside me while I pretend to answer emails from my manager when actually I’m watching Leo workout on the field outside the window.
When he tips his face to the sky and I catch another glimpse of the sweat rolling off his skin, I almost combust.
I can hate him but still find him hot, right?
I'm not doing anything wrong, just appreciating the male form. Like the other guys... Harley is hot, in a boyish, TikTok-thirst-trap kind of way. He’s incredibly tall, and I have a sneaking suspicion that the size of his enormous hands and feet correlate to the size of something else too.
Theo is cute too, especially if you grew up playing with Ken dolls.
And Arun, with his dark features and perfectly sculpted jawline, is the kind of beautiful that belongs in magazines. That campaign he did with Diesel recently? Stunning.
So really, I'm just looking.
It doesn't have to mean anything.
Then why do you only get butterflies and wet panties when you look at Leo?
Ignoring that unhelpful thought, I turn my attention back to my phone and pray to God that the flush will fade from my cheeks before the man himself comes to find us.
If he caught wind of my mild yet incredibly inconvenient crush, his ego would triple in size. And I fear Seattle just isn’t big enough to support it.
"So, how was it?" Leo asks as he drives us back to the apartment in his SUV that has no business being so fancy. Though, it isn't half as ostentatious as my brother's car, so more power to him for that.
In the back, Salem babbles to herself in her car seat.
"It was great. She has terrible table manners, though."
Leo snorts beside me. "Sounds about right."
"She did a lot of eating, a lot of clapping, a little bit of napping," I say, staring out the window at the city blurring past. I've been having a hard time meeting Leo's eye since his practice ended. "Honestly, I was expecting it to be harder, but Ladybug is an angel."
"Don't be fooled. She can be a menace when she wants to be."
The thickness of affection in his voice makes it impossible to stop myself from looking at him. And I regret it the moment I do.
Because the man is a study in swagger. And usually, that word makes me cringe, but there is no other way to describe him right now. In a white Henley with the sleeves pulled up to expose his tan forearms, he rests his elbow on the door frame as he steers the car with one hand. My eyes trace the veins down to the watch on his wrist and the strength of his hand on the wheel, then up to the backward baseball cap on his head.
No wonder he got a woman pregnant.
I could get knocked up just from looking at him.
"Have I got something on my face?" he asks, glancing at me through the corner of his eye with a knowing smirk on his lips.
"What?" My gaze flies back to the window, but I've already been caught.
"You're staring."
"I was just wondering if you're wearing the hat to cover your bald patches."
He actually has great hair. Dark, thick, and just the right length for a woman to run her fingers through while his head is between her thighs. But I'm having fun giving him a complex about it. Who ever said gaslighting isn't a healthy form of entertainment?
But he just rolls his eyes. Apparently, two days in my company is enough for him to get used to my incessant jibing.
It's a shame, really.
Not getting a reaction really sucks the fun out of things.
Snatching the hat off his head, I set it on my own instead. His scent assaults me instantly, woodsy and fresh, flooding me with nostalgia of hiking the forest trails in the Olympic mountains with my brother every weekend before life became too busy. How it manages to make me feel both homesick and horny, I'll never understand.
"Hey." He scowls. "That's mine."
"Finders keepers."
Looking down at my phone to block out his glare, I upload a random photo from my camera roll to my Instagram stories. It's one of me and Isabella standing on a beach in Bali, scantily clad in bikinis with our arms reaching to the sky.
"What are you doing? Is Salem in that picture?" The car swerves as Leo tries to catch a look at my phone.
"Eyes on the road, Daddio."
"Brynn, seriously, if you just uploaded a photo of my daughter onto the internet, I'll—"
"First of all, I would never post a picture of Salem without your permission. It was a photo of me and a friend in Bali, because it’s hard as hell to make content when you’re looking after a one-year-old," I interrupt. "And second, you shouldn't snoop at someone's phone. It's rude, and you almost just killed us."
"Okay, fine." He blows out a breath of relief. "I just don't want you posting photos of my baby girl just to get crout or whatever."
"Crout?" I frown in confusion. "Like sauerkraut? I don't have a sponsorship deal with any fermented food companies, if that's what you're worried about. Are you allergic or something?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" His hands flex on the steering wheel as he gives me a side-eye cold enough to spark an ice age. "I meant Instagram followers and shit."
I laugh as understanding dawns on me. "I think the word you're looking for is 'clout,' my guy."
"Whatever." I'm awarded yet another scowl, his lips turning sharp.
"Jesus, it's like you were conceived in the baby boom."
"I'm twenty-nine," he grits out. "It's not my fault you're a fucking teenager."
"I'm twenty-four, actually. Don't get pissy just because I was born in this millennium."
"And yet, you have the maturity level of a pre-pubescent."
"Okay, boomer."
The dude looks like he's about to combust. And here I was thinking he'd learned not to take the bait. God, the man is so easy.
Rubbing his hand over his face, he pulls the car into the underground parking garage of the apartment complex. He doesn't say a word as he climbs out, taking Salem from her car seat and holding her to his chest to shield her from the cold. He doesn't even check that I'm out of the car before he locks it.
Evidently, his age is a soft spot.
Tension crackles between us as we ride the elevator up to his floor in total silence. Salem, though, is none the wiser. Cradled in her father's arms, she blows bubbles from between her bowed lips, laughing hysterically every time one pops.
The sound is musical.
So sweet, so innocent, so infectious.
Even the grumpy asshole holding her isn't immune to it. With every one of her giggles, his lips tip farther upward at the corners until he finally blesses me with a smile just as beautiful as his daughter's. His dark eyes sparkle golden with affection, his usually stern face consumed completely with love.
He goes to so much effort to act cold and detached. It's like he has a thundercloud following him wherever he goes, making sure he never shows too much of himself or, God forbid, allows himself to feel happiness.
But Salem is able to cut through all that bullshit.
She forces him to love with an intensity that he is clearly not used to.
And it's beautiful.
The way he looks at her, like there is nothing in this world more precious to him. The softness in his touch when he has her in his arms. The gentleness of his voice when he speaks to her.
It's through his interactions with her that I'm able to see him. The real man, not the asshole.
The Leo I see in these moments is a good man. One who cares deeply, who feels more emotion than he would ever admit to, and who is so clearly capable of an epic romantic love—if only he opened up his heart to it.
It's infuriating.
Yet, I understand it perfectly.
Because as hard as it is to admit to myself, I do the very same thing.
Sometimes, life is just easier when you're wearing a mask.
And maybe, just maybe, the only reason I hate him so much is because looking at him is like looking in a mirror. No one likes to see their flaws, yet I see all of mine in him.