7. June
SEVEN
June
Ryan: DNA test is done. They should have results by the end of day Friday.
Ryan: Can we meet up on Saturday? We should talk.
I stare at the message for what feels like the hundredth time today. My fingers hover over the keys, and just like this morning, like this afternoon, I type out a reply and promptly delete it. Simply replying with just okay doesn’t seem like enough, and the word vomit that comes out when I try to type anything else won’t do either.
So instead I look around the empty lobby, nod toward Tracy, the other receptionist who’s swiping across her phone screen like it’s her entire job, and text my sister.
Me: I need help. Ryan wants to meet up on Saturday and I don’t know what to say.
Poppy: Duh. You tell that hunk of football meat you’re ready for him anytime.
Me: You’re not helping.
Me: He says he wants to be involved but what if he changed his mind?
Poppy: Until you know if that’s the case, why are you worried about it?
Me: Ugh. Because I suck.
Poppy: The bigger question is ... now that you know this man’s name, have you googled him?
Me: What? No, of course not.
Dammit. Why haven’t I googled him?
Oh, yeah, I put Oliver to bed and promptly fell asleep on the couch. I woke up with the TV remote stuck to my forehead and my pajama shorts twisted between my butt cheeks. After a mad scramble to get Oliver and me ready, I had just enough time to drop him off at day care and get to work with seconds to spare.
There was lunch, but between typing up the notes from last night’s partner meeting and scarfing down the turkey sandwich my mom dropped off at my desk, I haven’t had much time.
Ugh, but I should have made time.
Poppy: You are ridiculous. I need reinforcements for this.
Poppy added Kinsley Rhodes to the chat.
Poppy: You’re not going to believe this, Kins, my big dumb sister didn’t google the shit out of her famous football playing baby daddy.
Kinsley: What? That was the first thing I did when I found out about this guy and damn, June. Were you not going to tell us how much of a hottie this guy is?
Me: How hot he may or may not be is irrelevant.
Poppy: You sure you don’t want to be a lawyer?
Kinsley: Of course it’s relevant. You’re a woman, he’s a man. Surely I don’t need to stop by your apartment tonight and tell you how all that works.
Me: I have a kid. Pretty sure I figured it out. It’s not relevant because absolutely nothing will be happening between Ryan and me.
Poppy: Not with that attitude.
Kinsley: But seriously, search his ass right now. We will wait.
Me: Are you both sitting in Poppy’s office right now?
Poppy: Yep. Perk of working in the same firm. The better firm.
Kinsley: Those fingers better be typing.
With a groan, I put my phone down on my desk and shift the mouse to wake up my computer. Ryan Devlin Football. Search .
I was not ready .
The first picture is one of Ryan in athletic shorts and a sleeveless shirt I’m pretty sure he painted himself in. Holy fucking shit. I’m sorry, I know being a mom I’m supposed to limit my swearing, but damn there are no other words. None that are appropriate.
I click on the images and scroll, my mouth practically hanging on my desk. Ryan in his football uniform ... sweating ... bent over ... his eyes burning me through the screen. There are a few more from games. Some postgame interviews.
And hello.
Here’s one of him walking into the stadium in a suit. That’s almost better than the next one of him lifting his jersey to wipe off his face, putting those muscular abs on display.
Almost but not quite.
I think I’m a football fan.
Kinsley: Did you see the one with him lifting up his shirt?
Me: Just got there. Why did I not look before?
Poppy: Must be mom brain or something.
Kinsley: Is the real thing just as good in person?
Me: It was four years ago, I hardly remember.
That’s a lie. I can vividly remember every single detail of his body, every ridge, every dip, every muscle. And I promise it was better in person. Good Lord. I may not be ready for any kind of relationship, I may not want to complicate things between us, but it doesn’t mean I’m dead. Doesn’t mean I can’t look.
So I keep scrolling, stopping at a picture of him and a young blonde, Lexie Rose. The two of them are smiling at the camera. He’s in a tux, and she’s in a beautiful green dress. He’s got his arm around her, and I ignore the little twinge of jealousy caressing my heart.
I shouldn’t click on it. His personal life isn’t any of my business ... or is it? I mean, he is the father of my child, and anyone he might be dating might come into Oliver’s life. I’d be doing my due diligence as a parent.
There’s a chance this picture could be from months ago ... years. But one little click opens up an article and my insides twist up. It was taken two months ago at a fundraiser for the local children’s hospital where Ryan is apparently a big supporter.
There aren’t any details about the girl, but there are a few more pictures of them together at the bottom of the page. There’s one of them hugging after a football game—he’s in his uniform, helmet dangling from his fingers, and she’s wearing a cute floral sundress. There’s another one of the two of them laughing at a bar. Her hand is on his shoulder, and even though they’re surrounded by people, they look like they’re in their own little world. The last one is them sitting next to each other at a hockey game, sharing one of those big bags of popcorn.
Seeing him with another woman might make my stomach bottom out and my heart seize in my chest, but it’s fine.
She looks nice.
Maybe a little too young for him but nice. It’s good, right? That he’s found someone, that he’s happy. Especially since I decided I am not dating, and I’m especially not dating him.
Me: Sorry, girls, but it looks like he has a girlfriend.
Kinsley: I saw that but I don’t know. Just because it’s on the internet doesn’t make it true.
Me: Doesn’t mean it’s not true either.
Poppy: Mom is rubbing off on you. We need to get you out of that law firm.
Me: I’m teaching a class this afternoon. Does that count?
Poppy: No.
Kinsley: I’ll be there. Mr. Reynolds just told me he’s planning on retiring in about six months and I have a lot of stress to work out.
“Getting a lot of work done?”
I nearly drop my phone as my mom’s voice cuts right through me. Her heels click on the marble behind me, and I quickly close my football search and turn over my phone. “Didn’t expect to see you out here this early.”
Or anytime today.
She’s supposed to be in back-to-back meetings all afternoon, but I should’ve known better. It’s Thursday, the one day I leave early to teach yoga at my new studio just south of downtown.
It’s also the one day my mom will make a casual appearance right around the time I need to head out. Usually she has a list of things that need to get done ASAP, and apparently no one else in the office is capable of doing any of it—doesn’t matter if she has her own secretary .
Doesn’t seem to matter that I don’t work here on Fridays either.
“I had a cancellation. It’s fine. Were you looking up football players? I hope you’re not interested in Mr. Brooks. The man is barely a step above a Neanderthal, and I’m sure the rest of the team isn’t much better. Honestly, I don’t understand the hype. It’s just a bunch of grown men knocking each other around. If you ask me, that sport is simply barbaric.”
Well, it’s a good thing no one asked her.
She’s also apparently never seen them in their uniforms.
If she’s not a fan of football players now, then she’s going to love it when I tell her I found Oliver’s dad and all the nitty-gritty details. She already read me the riot act when I told her I didn’t know who he was. But that’s next week’s problem. I’m not having that conversation until I know for sure that Ryan wants to be involved.
My phone vibrates a few more times, and after a text comes through from Poppy, telling me to quit, I flip my phone over. No need to add fuel to the fire.
I take a deep breath and spin around to face my mom, making myself smile until I see the stack of books in her arms. “What’s all this?”
“Consider it a very early birthday present.” Her smile is tight as she dumps the books in my lap and smooths out the invisible wrinkles at the front of her black blouse. “It’s never too late to start studying for the LSAT. You’re not getting any younger, June, and Oliver is old enough for you to consider going back to school. Look at your sister, your younger sister, already graduated and practicing law. Even if it is corporate law.”
Her tone is scathing, making sure her disapproval is loud and clear. I’m not sure if it’s the corporate law she disapproves of or that she’s working with our father. My guess is both, but that’s one can of worms I’m not opening. Especially when she’s already trying to dictate my life choices—something she’s been doing since I moved back to Nashville to have Oliver.
It started out with simple things, going to the doctor she handpicked, moving into an apartment complex closer to her than to Dad. And then there’s the biggest mistake—coming to work at her law firm.
I’m positive she wanted me here so I’d fall in love with law, follow in her footsteps like Poppy, but it’s their thing, not mine.
Sure, my major set me up for law school, but after having Oliver, my life and what I thought I wanted took a left turn and headed in another direction. I was a brand-new mom with extra weight I couldn’t seem to get rid of, and depression that would have me struggling for days. I did what needed to be done—I took care of my son—but at the end of the day, I wasn’t happy with myself.
That’s when I found yoga.
I didn’t know Kinsley very well at the time, but she caught me outside my apartment one morning and practically forced me to go with her. I fell twice, but after class I felt more relaxed than I had in ages. I went back every weekend I could, even bribed Poppy into watching Oliver with baked goods from her favorite bakery.
Eventually I managed to convince the owner of the studio to let me lead a class. She said I was a born teacher, and while I was up in front of that class, something clicked inside me. I loved it. I’ve been teaching classes for the past two and a half years, and last month—with the help of my father, Poppy, and Kinsley—I signed the lease on a building and opened my own studio, Hot 4 Yoga.
My following is still pretty small, but I’m trying to build up my brand, my business.
Of course, my mom thinks it’s a waste of time, a venture that will fail by the end of the year. Hence the LSAT books.
“You look tired. Are you not getting enough sleep?” She props her hands on her hips, staring down at me, her shrewd brown eyes assessing every inch of me. “It must be all the time you’re wasting with that little yoga studio. There’s no shame in quitting.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I don’t bother telling her I have no intention of taking the LSAT or giving up my studio—there’s no point. She’s got a severe case of selective hearing. If it involves work, she’s all ears, but if it’s anything that goes against what she thinks, nothing.
She glances at her watch, and I slide the books on top of my desk. “Got to run. Think about what I said.”
“I sure will.”
She tosses me another smile and turns, making her way back to her office. I roll my eyes and pick up my vibrating phone. Instead of firing off another message to my sister and Kinsley, I pull up Ryan’s text.
Me: I’m teaching a yoga class Saturday morning. It gets out at ten if you want to meet me after. I usually take Oliver to the park up the street.
Ryan: I’ll be there. Maybe not for the yoga, though. I’m not sure my body can bend like that.
And now I’m thinking of all the different ways his body can bend ... and the different ways I can bend around him. Nope. Not helpful. He probably has a girlfriend, and I am not looking to date .
It’s not happening.
So tell me why I pull up that picture on my phone and save it. You know the one. The abs .
Then before I can force myself to delete it, I shove my phone in my purse, grab the books I won’t be reading, and run out of the office before my mother has the chance to show back up.
I’ve got a class to teach and a mind to clear.