Chapter 15
Seth
I hate that name, but I don’t say anything. I have to finesse this as best as I can. If I show my hand now, she’ll slap me in the face and never speak to me again. It was a surprise to find her in my bedroom after getting out of the shower, but the way her eyes widened when she saw my naked body, you’d think she’d never seen a man and his naked dick before.
I’m comfortable being naked. I thought she would have gone screaming out of my bedroom, but she stayed. Not only that, but she also followed me into the closet and watched me dress. She wants to be repulsed by me, but she’s not. She doesn’t want to be turned on but she was.
“Here,” she says, handing me a water bottle. “Having to be nice to people like that all the time would annoy the living daylights out of me.”
“I don’t mind it.” I open the water and drink the whole thing in a few seconds. “It’s nice to be liked.” I bet she has no idea what it’s like to be a nobody. The boy whose birth mother died. The one whose stepmother left behind. The skinny lanky kid whose clothes were always too small or too short. The boy no one noticed until he showed a talent for basketball.
I bet everyone loves her. I bet her family showed up for all her special occasions. And she might not live in a great big house, but she didn’t grow up in a trailer. She had love in abundance, and she didn’t have to take care of her parents. She had several people there to take care of her.
“Well, I still don’t like you,” she mumbles, but then she laughs.
“How about my naked body? Do you like that?” I tease. Her water bottle stops halfway to her mouth. She gasps before she looks away from me, but I don’t miss the blush on her face. “No need to be embarrassed. Admit it.”
She clears her throat and says, “Oh, please. I don’t want something that everyone else has had.” She turns her head.
“Who said anything about you wanting me? I said you like my body, not that you want it. I swear, all you think about is sex. You need help.”
Her nostrils flare, and I do everything in my power to hold in my laugh. She even inches away from me, so I move closer to her and throw my arm on the back of the bench. She has nowhere else to move unless she wants to fall off.
“I need help?” she scoffs. “Me, as opposed to you?” She points to herself and then to me. “Okay, Whorekowski,” she adds with an eye roll.
“Wakowski,” I enunciate.
“Whatever,” she flicks her wrist in dismissal. “I still don’t get why you’re being so nice to me. I’ll figure it out though. Don’t you worry about that.”
“I can’t just be a nice person? Maybe your perception of me is wrong.”
She looks up into my eyes, and I want to tell her how pretty she is with her full lips and brown eyes. She has thick eyelashes and a beauty mark on the side of her nose. She makes a face as if she smells something sour. Her lips pucker, and right now they look soft and sweet enough to suck on.
I want to look away. The last thing I want is for my dick to misbehave. She’ll go screaming out of here convinced that she’s right about what I want from her. She’s partially right. I do want that, but I want so much more.
“I’m never wrong about these things.” She tosses her hair. “I’ve seen this movie before. You’re the supposed cool jock that—”
“Supposed?” I say with a laugh, intrigued by what she’s going to say next.
“Yes. Supposed. You’re the dumb jock, and I’m the smart nerdy girl that no one sees. Then I get a makeover from the popular girl, take off my glasses, and I’m seen. Then the jock wants to bang me to prove a point to his other loser jock friends.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “I’ve seen that movie too, but I’m not a dumb jock, and you’re not who you think you are. You’re a bit of a bully with a big mouth.”
“How can I bully you? You’re a hundred feet tall.”
“I didn’t say you could beat me up.”
“Don’t you need to go get Jazzy Girl soon? My mom and Donna have spoiled her rotten by now.”
I like the way she just called her by the nickname I’ve given her.
“In a few. I like sitting here,” I tell her. “I love how busy and loud Manhattan is. My hometown was quiet and dull.” I sigh as I remember my childhood.
She looks over at me and her eyes soften. I bet she’s remembering the conversation with my dad that she eavesdropped on. I’d rather she be an ass than give me that look.
“I had a great childhood,” she says. “And don’t listen to my mom about my dad. He was always there for me. Even when he wasn’t present, he never let me down. Not once.”
“Yeah? I’ll bring him a jersey too.” For the first time ever, she smiles at me.
“He’ll even take one of those giant ass shoes of yours.”
“Then let’s get him one.” I stand and offer her my hand.
In true Layla fashion, she knocks my hand away and stands up on her own.
Maybe I can alter the plan. She’s already suspicious of me, and if it’s revealed too soon, she’ll run away screaming. However, I need to move fast. I need to do this before Coach and Jeannie come back because Layla will run straight to Jeannie. Jeannie will go to Coach, and my plans will be blown to smithereens.
Time is not on my side, but I don’t want it to be seen as only transactional. I check my phone, and there’s only an email from my agent with a contract for a commercial. Jasmine’s at a playdate with the Chastains, and I’m left in this empty apartment on my own.
I look at Layla’s info and check to see where she is. It’s been five days since I saw her last. Her house was quiet when we got there. Jasmine was asleep on top of Stella. Donna was still there and was thrilled to get the jerseys.
After taking my sleeping daughter, I said goodbye and left. The last few days have only confirmed this is what I need to do, and I’m going to get exactly what I want. I’ve already figured out what she needs, it’s just a matter of when.
Instead of tracking her at home or her job, she’s at a hospital not too far from here. Before I can think it through, I call her. Her phone rings several times before going to voicemail. I hang up, count to fifty, and start to call again, but my phone vibrates in my hand.
My hopes are dashed when it’s from an unknown number, but I always answer the phone when my daughter is not with me. Call it overcompensating for my lack of parental care.
“Hey,” I say into the phone. When no one speaks, I say, “Hello?”
“This is Barbara,” a woman says.
“Who?” I ask, already regretting picking up the phone when I have more important work to do.
“Barbara Poynette,” she says with attitude. “You have my grandchild,” she states, and I stare at the sky and ask myself why the hell I have to be a responsible adult and answer the phone. Of course, it’s her. I was hoping she had gone away for good, but things hardly ever go my way.
“You mean my daughter?”
“I’m coming to get her,” she says. If she was normal and asked to come see her, I’d agree, but no one is going to take my child.
“I guarantee you’re not,” I say right before I hang up. I shake my head free of her and focus on the task at hand. I count to ten and call Layla again.
“Now’s not a good time, Whorekowski,” she says, but her voice lacks the usual fire. She even sniffles.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“Why? Are you outside my house with food again?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “Are you hungry? Is that why you have an attitude?” I’ve heard my teammates mention how their girlfriends” moods seem to change after they eat.
“Funny,” is all she says.
“Tell me what’s wrong.” I expect her to hang up on me, and if she does, I’ll only call right back. But she surprises me when she speaks.
“Gaga fell. I was supposed to be watching her, but I was in the bathroom and she managed to get away. We just got to the emergency room. Now she’s—” She stops talking and starts crying on the other line. I’m up and out the door in seconds. I don’t even put on my sneakers. I pick them up by the door and decide I’ll put them on in the car.
“It will be okay,” I say, doing my best to reassure her. “Who is there with you?”
“No one. We just got here, and I haven’t reached my mom yet.”
“I’m on my way. Text me where you are,” I order, even though I already know.
“You don’t have to—” She sniffs, but I can tell she doesn’t mean it.
“I’m already on my way to the elevator.”
“Don’t bring Jazzy Girl to a hospital, you big dummy.” I almost laugh in relief at the insult.
“She’s at a playdate. Text me. I’m getting in the elevator.”After a few seconds and a few sobs, she says, “Okay. Thank you, Seth.”