20. 20 Nathan
20: Nathan
“ H ow was she?” I ask Evan hopefully, and he deadpans me.
“She gave him a chocolate chip cookie ten minutes before bed and didn’t even make him brush his teeth,” he responds, nodding down to Leo, who’s fiddling with his building blocks on the floor of Evan’s kitchen. “That’s not the kind of example I want set for my child.”
Evan’s search for a nanny for Leo isn’t going well—not that I had high expectations.
I roll my eyes. “Ever heard of second chances?”
He shoots me a look, and I know I need to shut this conversation down. Evan and his finding a nanny fiasco isn’t my business as long as it doesn’t affect the way he plays, and in the past few games, he’s been on top form. That might have something to do with the endless amount of coffee he drinks, though.
If he’s happy with dropping nannies after one shift, so be it. As long as Leo is cared for.
The kid turns to me with a big, goofy smile, waving his toy elephant, trying to shove it into my hand,
“Sorry, buddy,” I tell him, ruffling up his hair. “I wish I could stay and play, but I’ve got to go. Duty calls.” I turn to Evan before I leave, pointing my finger in his direction. “Find a new nanny.”
He wiggles his phone in hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ve got a list of about ten applicants who responded to the ad you and Darrell set up.”
“Good. Call them. Today.” I exit Evan’s house before he has time to argue, heading for Emmanuel’s store.
Again, I’m worried I’ve been neglecting our relationship, but he understands how busy I am when the NFL games come around. He understands how important it is to me. Or rather, my father.
As I step inside, a warm comfort envelops me. This place, filled with memories of the day I marched in with a point to prove, is engrained in me. It might seem like it would trigger some old feelings, but surprisingly, it doesn't. Emmanuel has a soothing quality—his bright smile always makes me feel safe.
“Nathan, if I’d known you were coming, I would have cleaned the place!” he hollers.
The ground is covered in cardboard boxes, and wine is stacked in every corner.
“Let me help you.”
Emmanuel’s children lend a hand with the store, but for the most part, he runs it alone. He’s not getting any younger, though, and I’m worried that one day, he’ll blow his back out lifting the heavy boxes.
“No, no.” He rushes over and snatches the box from my grip. “NFL stars do not work for free.”
I chuckle. “They do when they consider the store owner to be family.”
My remark is enough to shut Emmanuel up, and he mutters to himself humorously and shakes his head, working alongside me in silence.
I need this, though. I need to feel like I’m giving back to the man who offered me an escape from my childhood. Who cared enough to listen to a flustered and troubled kid. Who actually wanted to help me, although he didn't know me.
He’s an inspiration to me. I want to be more like him.
Help people.
People I don’t know.
Like the day Mae strolled in here, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
Paying for an expensive bottle of wine and owning up to someone’s mistake was never in the cards, but it’s very clear that where Mae is concerned, all logic flies out the window.
“We miss you!” Poppy says to the screen of her phone as she waves, and a beaming Mae sits beside her. My sister begged me to let her and Mae use my large flat-screen TV to watch a new gag-worthy rom-com film.
But am I going to watch it with them just as an excuse to spend more time with Mae? Probably.
According to Poppy, screen size and quality matter, and watching the film on her pea-sized television wouldn't do it justice.
But if my sister wants something, I usually give it to her. What sort of big brother would say no to the puppy dog eyes?
I never let anyone come to my house except Poppy, Bennett, and Evan. It’s mine—my space, my refuge. There’s something about it that feels sacred. Like it’s my space to breathe. A no-judgement zone.
But when Poppy asked if Mae could come over, mentally, I didn’t hesitate. However, I had to make it look like I wasn’t sure just to keep up the narrative that Mae and I are professional.
Except we’re not. Because there was nothing professional about the way my cock swelled for her as we locked lips, our hands exploring each other down in that basement.
But I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
“I miss you girls too!” I instantly recognise the voice on the phone as Sophia.
“How’s the Maldives?” Mae asks, voice giddy with excitement, and I can’t help but watch her from the kitchen before I tear my eyes away and begin to prep my whole chicken for cooking.
“So amazing!” Sophia responds, and I hear both girls make a collective Oooh noise as I assume Sophia shows them her surroundings through the video call. “Oh, I saw your performance the other day! Watched it online. Great work. Super proud of you.”
I can see the pride on Mae’s face. She didn’t just do the team justice, she danced her ass off on that field. To say I’d been mesmerised would be an understatement.
“Everyone was so impressed,” Poppy says before bombarding Sophia with questions about what the weather is like over in the Maldives.
No one was as impressed with Mae that day as me, though. She looked so sure of herself out there. So confident. So happy.
She looked like she belonged.
Belonged on the team.
Belonged in Missarali.
Belonged with… me .
“You like butt play or something?”
I freeze, staring at Mae standing on the other side of the kitchen island. “What?”
She laughs, nodding toward the chicken my hand is stuffed in, the lemon still in my palm. “You’ve had your hand up that chicken’s ass for the past few minutes.”
I remove it, not realising how I’d let my mind wander. “Watching me or something, princess?”
She hums, keeping her voice hushed. “Oh, always.”
And as I let my eyes flit down to her curved lips, having to resist the urge to pull her to me and tell her how fucking perfect she looks standing in my house, I realise that I’m in over my head when it comes to this girl.