Chapter 8
8
AIDAN
My fingers twitch to pick up my cell phone, and it takes everything in me to leave it where it lays face-up on the bed. The ringer is turned all the way up, and I have Lyla set as an emergency contact, so her calls and texts will come through even when my phone is set on do not disturb during games and media.
Missing my first nightly call with Crew and breaking my promise made me feel like a shit dad, but our post-game debrief went way later than normal, and I knew he would be asleep by the time I got back to the room, which was confirmed by the fact that my text still sits on delivered two hours later.
“Dude,” Rhodes laughs. “It’s after midnight. They’re going to be fine. Lyla is one of the most responsible people I know, and you’ve already told me multiple times how good she is with Crew.”
Rhodes has been my best friend since he was drafted five years ago, and aside from his fiancée Wren and our other friend Copeland, he’s the only person I can be honest with about how I really feel. I glance up and meet his skeptical look with a grimace, shrugging defensively. “What if he needs me? And I still don’t know Lyla very well. I mean, she doesn’t even have a bank account. Doesn’t that seem a little suspicious?”
His eyes widen the tiniest bit, and my stomach sinks. Was I stupid to trust Lyla with Crew after only knowing her for a couple of weeks? Sure, I’ve been hearing about her in passing for months, and my gut tells me she’s the real deal, but Christ’s sake, I didn’t even know her name until the day she showed up on my doorstep a few weeks ago.
Rho’s heavy hand lands on my shoulder, snapping my attention to his. “I can see the wheels turning in your head, man, but I don’t think it’s as weird as you think it is. When Wren first started going to therapy again last year, Doc told her to find a hobby, and that’s when she met Lyla. Wren adopted her right away for obvious reasons, but the non-obvious ones were the tan line on her ring finger and the shadow of bruises under her collar that looked like fingerprints. She tried to hide them, but Wren and I both noticed.”
His sigh is loud in the quiet hotel room. The video game we had been playing is paused and temporarily abandoned as I hang on to every word of insight he has about the gorgeous woman currently occupying my mind, living in my house, and caring for my son.
“I just… she’s been extremely secretive about her life before moving to Charleston, but from what I can guess, it was a really bad situation. I know she’s told Wren as much, but even though they’ve been inseparable the last year, we still don’t know anything about her life before she arrived in South Carolina other than that she came from Maryland. But Aid? We trust her. Whatever is in he r past, I don’t think it was something she did. I’d bet my contract she’s running from something. Or some one .”
My heart falls at the thought of someone hurting that sweet angel of a woman, and my earlier suspicion fades away with the reassurance from someone I trust implicitly. I already submitted a background check, so I guess I’ll tone down the panic unless that tells me I have something to worry about.
Scrubbing my hands down my face in exhaustion, I glance at the clock to see it’s nearly one in the morning. “I’m gonna take a shower. Keep an eye on my phone for me?”
He smirks, giving me a faint eye roll.
I flip him off before shutting the bathroom door and twisting the lock. “Just humor me, you dick.”
My thoughts are all over the place as I step under the steaming spray, but as much as I try to keep them on other things, they keep looping back to my son’s nanny. What kind of person has a woman as gorgeous and kind as Lyla and puts their hands on her in any manner less than the reverence she deserves?
Just the thought of the stunning brunette who sleeps down the hall from me has me hardening even as guilt eats away at my conscience for thinking of her in that way again. Flashes of her toned thighs and the crease of her ass from our midnight run-in a few days ago assault my vision and I groan quietly, stroking a hand down my aching length.
There’s no harm in another silly little fantasy as long as it stays a fantasy… right?
Fuck, I’m definitely going to hell.
My imagination takes control as I let myself think about what might have happened in the darkness of my kitchen that night if we were different people.
I think about the way she stood bent over the counter, her pert ass hanging out of those adorable little cherry print shorts she loves so much. I think about the look on her face as she enjoyed her ice cream, and the sass on her pouty mouth when she told me she had a thing for cherries.
It was late, just like it is right now, but I woke up from a nightmare, thirsty as hell. Only when I walked into the kitchen to grab a water, Lyla was already there eating ice cream straight from the container. Watching the way she wraps those plush lips around the spoon nearly brings me to my knees and forces me to bite back a groan.
She’s in one of her tiny, cherry-printed sleep sets, and it exposes the clear pale skin of her shoulders and tight buds of her nipples. My mouth waters as I take in the stunning woman camped out at my kitchen island.
The fantasy starts to take shape as I slowly stroke myself, the guilt fading quickly into pleasure.
Hearing her admission about liking cherries makes me chuckle as I place my palms on the solid marble and subtly flex my arms. I watch her mossy green eyes deepen to emerald, desire flooding her heated gaze as she locks on to the subtle movement.
Leaning forward, I take the spoon out of her tiny hand and scoop up a bit of the chocolate cherry ice cream, flipping the spoon over to take an exaggerated lick.
I stay silent and wait, nearly smirking at the quiet gasp she lets out. “You have your tongue pierced?”
Nodding, I stick my tongue out so she can see the little silver ball in the center of my tongue. It’s not really visible unless you know to look for it or I make a point to show it off, which I was absolutely doing just now.
Copeland was spiraling last year after receiving yet another text from his cheating ex, and I made the mistake of getting black-out drunk with him in solidarity. The next thing I know, I’m waking up in bed with the idiot, both of us suffering from massive hangovers and throbbing tongues.
Lyla reaches up like she’s going to touch it, and even though I know she’s my son’s nanny and this is definitely a terrible idea, I can’t stop myself from gripping her wrist and bringing her finger to my mouth. Checking to make sure she’s not freaking out, I wrap my lips around her finger and suck.
I groan out loud as my fantasy Lyla moans at the contact, stroking my cock faster and slapping a hand on the tiled wall to steady myself when my legs start to shake. The pleasure is so overwhelming my vision starts to spot, but it leaves room for the fantasy to become even clearer.
“What do you think?” I ask her after releasing her finger. Her gorgeous eyes are glassy with desire.
She blinks, swaying a little so her wet finger rests against my chest. In a move I’ll likely never get to experience in real life, Lyla trails her moistened finger over my chest to circle my nipple, leaving it wet with my own saliva. She grins when I shiver, a layer of goosebumps covering my overheated skin.
“Fuuuck, angel. That feels good,” I breathe out loud. The sounds of the shower around me are loud enough to drown out my panted words, but at this point, not a single part of me cares if Rhodes hears me fucking my fist to the thought of my sexy nanny. I stroke my fist up over the head of my cock, spreading the beaded precum down my aching length.
A smug grin crosses her pretty pink lips, and with that single tilt of her lips, my carefully held control snaps. Gripping the backs of her thighs, I lift her up and drop her on the counter. The move places her at my eye level, and I’m taken aback by how sinfully hot she looks in her sleep-mussed state.
With a dirty smirk, I drag my tongue up the delicate column of her throat.“You think it felt good on your finger? Wait until I show you how good it can feel somewhere else. Somewhere more… intimate. ”
Her breaths are coming in small gasps now, but she nods, lifting her hips for me so I can slide her teeny little shorts down. Taking the spoon out of the now-melted ice cream, I tease it up her inner thigh, leaving a trail of the cold treat as I go. Offering her a heated glance, I lick a path across her velvety skin, groaning at the taste of my angel combined with the sweetest fucking cherries.
Just as her hips buck up into my mouth in the fantasy, I lose it. Cum lands in thick ropes on the floor as I quietly growl out Lyla’s name.
I enjoy the post-orgasm haze while I wash up, but the cold air outside of the glass-walled shower brings with it a flood of intense guilt over what I just did.
Banging on the door distracts me from the lingering shame of my new favorite fantasy, and I open it to see a panicked Rhodes holding up my phone. “It rang as soon as I heard the shower turn off, so I rushed over here to get it to you. I know I told you they would be fine, but Crew is crying!”
Normally, I’d laugh at Rhodes’ inability to handle tears of any kind, but my focus immediately sticks to the fact that my son is crying. Snatching the phone out of my best friend’s hand, I bring the screen to my face in a panic until I see both Lyla and my boy giggling in a dark room, their faces lit up by what I’m assuming is the TV.
She snorts, waving a hand. “Sorry, you guys are too much. I was trying to explain to Rhodes that Crew is fine, but he started to panic, and then everything went blurry until he handed you the phone.”
I hear her words, but I don’t think they fully register until I see with my own eyes that my son is okay and sitting on his nanny’s lap. There are tear tracks on Crew’s cheeks, but his eyes are dry, and he has a happy look on his face. “I’m okay, Daddy. I had a bad dream, but Miss Lyly helped.”
My heart swells with renewed attraction when I see the look of adoration Lyla holds for my son, and I know without a doubt that when it comes to her, I’m screwed six ways to Sunday.
My heavy duffel bag drops to the wood floor with a thud, and my shoulders sag in relief. The awe and gratitude I feel coming home to this house hasn’t worn off in the three years we’ve lived here, and I’m not sure it ever will.
If anything, it might be even more since Lyla moved in and made our lives so much brighter. The smell of coffee permeates the early-morning air, making me groan. I’m so damn tired, and I still have a full day of work to do at the stadium.
Following the aroma of the freshly-made Holy water, I stalk into the kitchen and pour myself a massive cup before making my way outside to the back porch .
Lyla sits in her new favorite spot, tucked into the corner of the large porch swing. A surprised smile lights up her sleepy face when I emerge through the sliding-glass doors.
“Aidan! I didn’t know you’d be home so early. Come, sit!” She pats the cushion next to her.
I sink down with a moan, dragging a hand down my face. “I’m only here to drop off my bag and get my caffeine fix, unfortunately. Someone thought it would be a great idea to schedule a full day of press today, so I’m due back at the stadium in an hour.”
“Oh.” Her face falls. “So you won’t get to see Crew until tonight?”
My heart drops, and I shake my head. “Don’t get me wrong. I love playing ball, and I know I’m so privileged to live the life I do, but sometimes the schedule really grates on me. I miss my boy, and I feel like a half-assed father being away from him so often.”
Lyla’s soft hand slips into mine and squeezes tightly, surprising me. I don’t move an inch, too afraid she’ll let go. “Aid,” she huffs. “No offense, but that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
I turn to her, my brows raised in surprise.
She rolls her eyes, an exasperated smile tipping her lips. “Crew worships you. To him, you’re super dad who can do no wrong. Sure, he misses you, but he also thinks you’re the coolest person ever because baseball is what you’re paid to do every day .”
Something in my chest settles with her reassurance. I still feel like I need to apologize to Crew, but knowing Lyla doesn’t think less of me for being gone so much lifts a burden I’ve been struggling with for a long time.
Taking a chance, I lace our fingers together and scrunch down to lean my head on her shoulder. A quiet intake of breath is her only response, but she doesn’t stiffen or move away.
“Thanks, Ly.”
Her body melts into mine, and for the next half hour we drink our coffee in silence, simply enjoying the feeling of not being alone.
Happy giggles and the smell of sugar and chocolate emanating from the kitchen catch my attention and pull an exhausted smile to my face.
I can tell they were busy while I was gone because the house is spotless, save for the enormous blanket fort currently engulfing my cream-colored couch.
“I was gonna take it down before you got home, I swear! But Crew begged me to keep it up, and he just loves it so much that I figured maybe a few more days living with the mess wouldn’t hurt.”
I know before I even turn around that Lyla is wringing her hands together in a panic, and I’m not wrong. I turn to face her only to see her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. She stands in the entry to the room, her pale arms crossed over her cherry-print apron.
I give her a soft smile to show her I’m not angry, doing what I can to disguise the way my entire body tenses when I see the fear radiating from her in near-tangible waves.
She had been doing so well overcoming her fear around me, but it seems like the idea of leaving the house messy might be a trigger for her. I fucking hate that thought. Kids are messy, and I don’t expect her to constantly keep the house spotless.
Glancing over the fort again, I inspect it thoroughly before turning back to her with my hands out in a placating manner. “Lyla, I promise I don’t care about the mess. If it makes him happy, leave it up as long as he wants.” I look over just in time to see her shoulders drop in relief. “Plus, I’m kind of impressed with the structural integrity you managed to pull off only using sheets and clothes pins.”
The panic in her eyes fades, and she shakes her head with a small smile at my attempt at levity.
“Lyly! I got some dough on the fridge!” Crew’s voice rings out from the kitchen, making me snort. Of course he did.
I follow a now much-calmer Lyla to the kitchen and come face to face with an absolute disaster. My eyes don’t know where to look first, but my kid is standing on a stool at the island, and the second I catch sight of him, I break out into raucous laughter.
Crew is covered head to toe in flour, and his lips and the tips of his fingers are stained bright red. I bite my fist to calm the laughter and hear sweet giggling at my side.
When his big blue eyes finally land on me, he gasps and nearly face-plants in his haste to get down, making me lurch forward in a panic. Dropping to my knees, I let him barrel into me and take the opportunity to squeeze him as hard as I safely can. I was only gone for three days, but with every fresh inhale of his watermelon shampoo, the bridge of my nose burns hotter with impending tears.
A quiet sniffle reminds me we have an audience, but the shame that would usually come from openly showing emotion like this in front of anybody but Crew is suspiciously absent in the presence of the angel standing behind us. Placing my hands on the shoulders currently digging into my ribcage, I push him back with a hum of amusement to assess the damage.
“Raptor, did any of the dough actually make it into the oven?”
He giggles, showing me his red fingers. “We made them special for Miss Lyla’s birthday next week, Daddy! Cherry cookies with chocolate chips! Did you know me and Lyly have the same birthday?!”
Lyla freezes halfway through pulling on the oven mitts, with a look of chagrin aimed our way. “Crew-bug, that was supposed to be our secret,” she murmurs, a blush lighting her cheeks. “You’re turning six ! That’s a big deal! We don’t need to do anything for me."
My eyebrows nearly touch my hairline as this new information registers. “Your birthday is on the 15th, too?” I ask quietly.
She nods slightly before turning back to her task of pulling some delicious-smelling cookies out of the oven. Outwardly, I keep my expression blank, but in my head I’m doing a fist pump. I’m thrilled to get another small piece to the puzzle that is Lyla Taylor.
I don’t know if her birthday is another trigger for her like loud noises seem to be, so I decide to tread carefully. Ruffling Crew’s flour-dusted locks, I encourage him to go pick out jammies and bubbles so I can get him clean for what I hope will be an early night. I’m beyond exhausted. We won both of our games, but they were hard-fought, and we almost didn’t.
Copeland has been having trouble with his throwing arm, and it’s driving the rest of the team out of sync. Our guys were making rookie mistakes, missing simple pop- flies in the outfield, and being too slow to tag out a runner before they get on base, even if they already had the ball in their possession. We weren’t working as a cohesive unit, and Coach reamed our asses for it, too.
Because of the way we played, the press interviews we had today were actually just thinly-veiled interrogations about our roster and strategy for the season.
Turning to Lyla, I offer a gentle smile. “Would you mind hanging out with him a bit longer so I can run to the market? I was going to stop on my way home but got too excited about seeing my boy.”
The bright smile she had on her pretty face earlier slides back into place at my change of subject. “Of course! Why don’t I take care of his bath so you can go now and be back for bedtime?”
I thank her and grab my keys to make the quick trip to town. I have another birthday to plan.