Paris
SIX
“Boys!” I yell up the stairs, my head pounding as a loud boom practically shakes the walls.
I listen for someone to start crying, but either that wasn’t a human body slamming against the floor, or it didn’t hurt bad enough to stop their wrestling match.
“I need you to wash your hands! Dinner is almost ready, and Uncle Memphis will be here any minute!”
They both cheer, their little feet thumping as they run toward the bathroom.
I chuckle to myself at how wild they are, their happy laughs making my heart squeeze in my chest. Life as the mother of two young boys—especially ones who are so close in age—is not for the faint of heart.
It’s non-stop play fighting, broken decorations, running, and screaming, but I wouldn’t change any of it.
Plus, I have a little princess, who adds the perfect amount of pink ruffles and glitter to our family.
“Your brothers are crazy,” I say to Lennon, her drooly smile contagious as I join her back in the kitchen.
She’s sitting on a blanket in the middle of the floor, brushing her baby doll’s hair, although I’m pretty sure she’s further knotting it.
Several cardboard books are scattered around, proving just how much alike we are.
My romance books may be a lot spicier than her zoo animal ones, but we both love to read, nonetheless.
I make quick work of draining the pasta, adding it to the pan of sauce on the stove.
My brother and I have made it a point to do a spaghetti dinner every Friday since I left Braxton, determined to give the kids a sense of normalcy with two supportive adults who are excited to hear about their week.
They never really had that when their father was still in the home, since he was either on work trips or just too busy to be bothered.
Memphis makes it a priority to be here unless he’s away for a road game, and even then, he still calls to check in.
I’m so grateful for the way he’s supported me throughout this entire process and given my children the attention they deserve.
He truly is the best uncle in the world.
As though I summoned him with my thoughts, the front door swings open, his loud voice echoing the moment he steps inside. “The party has arrived! Where’s the keg at?” I huff a laugh, shaking my head as Rowan and Rhys run down the stairs like a couple of whirling dervishes.
“Uncle Memphis!” they squeal in unison, and without even looking, I know they’re jumping all over him.
He missed dinner with us last week because the Gladiators had a game in Milwaukee, so they’ve been counting the minutes until he arrived.
I’m sure they’re eager to catch him up on their week at the Renegades facility daycare, since it was a pretty fun one for them.
Even Rowan had a good time, which he finally admitted to me last night after trying to play it cool for several days.
“There’s my favorite girls,” my brother says as he trudges into the kitchen, Rowan on his back and Rhys wrapped around a leg. I roll my eyes, a smirk tugging at one corner of my mouth.
“Liar,” I quip playfully. “Lennon, maybe. But we all know Oakley comes before I do in the ranks.” They’ve been best friends since elementary school, and while he says he’s never seen her as more than that, I’m not convinced.
He’s had a handful of girlfriends, all of whom were promptly shown the door the moment they questioned his relationship with Oaks.
I don’t blame the women at all, since the two act more like an old married couple than best friends, but that’s how they’ve always been, and I don’t think it’ll ever change. “Where is she, anyway?”
Rowan slides off his back, and Memphis leans down, scooping Lennon into his arms and planting kisses all over her face.
She laughs, curling in toward him when he tickles her belly.
“Out with her co-workers. They’re celebrating some huge deal, I guess.
She wanted to come, but she’s up for a promotion and didn’t want to look like she’s not a team player. ”
“I’ll make her a plate,” I reply, pulling the garlic bread out of the oven and setting it onto the cooktop. “You can drop it off on your way home. How was practice today?”
“It was practice.” He shrugs, lowering Lennon into her highchair. “Enough about me, though. How was your first week at work?”
I smile whimsically. “Really good. Everyone there is so nice. Sydney—the team owner’s daughter—is who trained me.
Although I think we did more laughing and walking around the facility than anything else.
She took me down to the practice field today, where I met some of the players’ wives and girlfriends.
It’s been a lot of fun. They even invited me to join them for girls’ night next week, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to go. ”
He sits down at the table, crossing his arms over his chest as an easy grin plays at his lips.
“You should. You need friends you aren’t related to.
” I level him with a narrowed stare, and he laughs, holding two cautious palms up.
“I just mean that you never let yourself have a night off. I understand it’s hard with the kids, and it’s not like their other parent actually helps, but I’m more than happy to hang with them.
And if I’m gone, Oakley will do it. She gets out less than you do, unless it’s to go on a date, but they’re all losers anyway. You’d be doing her a favor.”
I click my tongue. “You know, you’re really starting to sound like a jealous boyfriend. Either let that poor girl find her Prince Charming or step up to the plate.”
“Baseball puns?” he replies, raising a brow. “Original. Anyway, Oaks and I aren’t like that. We’re just fr—”
“Just friends. I know.” Scooping some pasta into the bowls I set out earlier, I change the subject, knowing that I’m basically talking to a wall when it comes to my brother and his friend. “Maybe I’ll tell them yes. It would be nice to have conversations with people my own age once in a while.”
“Good,” he says with a nod, standing from the chair and heading my way.
He picks up the baking sheet of garlic bread with his bare hands like the heathen he is, piling it piece by piece onto the platter that sits on the opposite end of the counter.
“Did you get a chance to meet Austin? I figured he’d drop in and say hello, since he was the one who threw your name in for the job. ”
I swallow, my brain conjuring up his face, just like it has more times than I’d like to admit over the last five days.
In my defense, Austin Baker has to be one of the sexiest men on the planet.
He’s got this sharp jawline that’s covered in just the right amount of stubble and a head of sandy-brown hair that any woman with a pulse would love to run her fingers through.
He’s taller than me by nearly a foot, and the way he wears his clothes—so they cling to every defined muscle in his body—makes it hard not to stare.
In fact, he should probably come with some kind of a warning label.
Caution: Do not operate heavy machinery or ovulate while looking at this man. Doing so may result in injury or spontaneous pregnancy.
“Yeah,” I reply with a shrug, clearing my throat nervously as I focus on the rest of the bowls in front of me.
I’m thankful he’s not close enough to feel the heat that’s radiating from my skin at the mere thought of his ex-football player friend right now.
I’m just going to blame my body’s response on the fact that I haven’t been properly laid in…
well, ever. The sex Braxton and I had while we were married was absolutely nothing to brag about.
I just didn’t realize how boring it was until I started reading books where the men would do anything to show their partners pleasure.
I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t settle for anything less than that in my future relationships, not that there have been any.
I’m guessing that’s why the back of my neck is dotted with sweat while I try to downplay my reaction.
He stops in his tracks, a slice of bread hovering over the platter as he looks at me with a raised brow. “And?” he implores. “What did you think?”
He’s hotter than any human man has a right to be, let alone one who’s over ten years older than I am.
His biceps could crack my head like a walnut, and I’d thank him for it.
I came home the first night and Googled Is there a Mrs. Austin Baker? three times because I’m a sexless, delusional creep.
“He’s nice.” Is what I go with. “He brought me coffee every day this week.” Not just any coffee, either.
The best caramel cappuccino I’ve ever had.
I’m convinced that Brew-La-La patrons have been gatekeeping for years to keep the lines short, because that place isn’t talked about nearly enough.
Granted, I’m used to the lukewarm bean water that my Jurassic-era machine makes, but still. It’s been a life-changing experience.
“Did he now?” he tosses back with a grin. “Sounds about right. The guy is a caretaker to his core, always going out of his way for everyone. The goofy fucker probably enjoyed every second of it, too. I’m convinced he gets off on doing nice things for people.”
My cheeks heat. I know it’s a figure of speech, but my brain can’t seem to decipher a metaphor from the real thing…
and now I’m thinking about what this poor, innocent man looks like when he comes.
Is he silent, lowering his head for privacy as he quietly grunts out his release the way Braxton used to?
Or is he unbridled, his face twisting in ecstasy while he grits out filthy words like the men in the books I read.
I can’t even imagine the latter after so many years of doing it in the dark, the sounds of labored breathing filling the otherwise quiet room, but I’d certainly love to be on the receiving end of it if Austin were involved.
God, Paris. You really need to get a grip. He probably loves his unproblematic life as a bachelor. You’ve got three kids and more baggage than any twenty-six-year-old woman should. Stop fantasizing about the poor guy.
“Yeah, he seems very kind. Everyone there loves him.” It’s not a surprise with how warm and approachable he is with them.
Sydney told me that he even watches the players’ homes and dogs while they’re away, meaning that they trust him wholeheartedly, despite not knowing each other for all that long.
According to her, Austin moved to Cleveland four years ago when the Renegades were added to the league, and immediately became a member of their tight-knit friend group.
I love how close they all are, taking one another in, even though they come from different walks of life.
I’d give anything for a support system like that. Instead, I have parents I barely talk to now, an ex-husband who I have to beg to call his own children on their birthdays, and a brother who thankfully picks up the slack.
If it weren’t for Memphis, I’d be a mess.
Hell, sometimes I get so sad at how my life’s ended up at such a young age that he has to drag me out of bed and remind me to be kind to myself.
I owe him everything for getting me out of the toxic cycle I was living in, and for believing that I deserved better than what Braxton was willing to give.
It’s lonely right now, but hopefully someday, it won’t be.
I left an unhappy marriage to rebuild, so maybe I should take these new opportunities and make the most of them.