Page 26 of Waiting for Friday Night

Nine

Quinton wasn’t sure what he expected to happen next, but it wasn’t for Halle to call him later that night insisting they needed to speak. From the way Halle had dragged Shania out of his office and deflected during the conversation, he half expected her to ignore the issue for as long as possible. He shouldn’t have been surprised she’d taken the initiative. Halle wasn’t one to ignore a problem when it popped up.

When she’d called him, she’d already had a plan in place. “We need to talk, and it has to be someplace where we won’t be overheard. I don’t want Shania to get involved and, knowing her, she will insert herself. Do you mind if I come by your place in the morning before football practice?”

She’d spoken to him in her clipped principal voice and he’d said yes before he could think about offering a different option. He hadn’t had the time or felt the inclination to say no. Afterward, he’d chastised himself for agreeing so quickly. With a few words Halle had him following her lead. He felt like he had the first time he’d stepped on the football field in college and the coach blew the whistle. Halle was not going to be blowing his whistle.

The doorbell rang right on time at seven in the morning. Quinton ran a hand over his shirt to straighten out any wrinkles, realized what he was doing and shook out what he’d smoothed. He opened the door. Halle stood on the other side, dressed in a blue dress that clung to her full breasts and hips. Something he noticed even with the beige blazer she wore over it. She looked sexy and put together as she always did. He wished she were at his place just to see him and not because of these circumstances.

He stepped back to let her in. “Do you want something to drink? Coffee or anything?”

She shook her head. “No, this isn’t a social visit.”

“It doesn’t have to be a social visit for this to be a cordial visit.”

Halle watched for a second before nodding. “I’ll take some coffee.”

“Come on in the kitchen.”

She followed him into the kitchen. She looked around his place, which was stylishly decorated thanks to the interior decorator he’d hired, and full of mementos from his days playing football as well as pictures of his family. He liked his house and wondered what she thought of it.

In the kitchen, he went to the coffeepot and poured her a cup of coffee. He drank multiple cups in the morning, black, and didn’t bother with the single-serve machines that were popular now. He brought the coffee over to her with the sugar bowl.

“No cream, right?” he asked.

Her brows lifted. “Right. How did you know that?”

“I noticed you didn’t put cream in your coffee at one of the district trainings.”

She blinked several times. Quinton was a master at keeping his emotions off his face. Being bullied in high school followed by years of proving himself on the field trained him to keep emotions hidden, but that didn’t stop the embarrassment of admitting that he paid attention to her from churning his stomach.

She looked away and added sugar to her coffee. Two teaspoons. He made a mental note of that and then brushed the back of his neck. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Halle took a tentative sip before looking up and meeting his eyes. “We need to have another test.”

“Another test?”

She nodded. “Yes, to verify what Shania found out.”

“You don’t believe I’m her father.” Even though he couldn’t believe it, this couldn’t be a coincidence.

Halle held up a hand. “I don’t know if the test is correct or not. But before we shake things up, I think we should verify. It could be a fluke.”

“It could be.” He hesitated a beat. “But did you really get artificially inseminated?”

Her lips pressed together before she nodded. “I did.”

“Where did you go for the donation?” Could it be possible they’d gone to different locations?

“I used a private donation company. Fertile Grounds in Atlanta?” Her voice rose at the end, making the sentence a question.

Quinton closed his eyes and sighed. “That’s where I went.” He’d never forget walking into that office. The pictures of fruit orchards and vegetable fields all over the walls. They’d taken the fertile grounds name and worn it into the ground.

“What made you donate?”

He shrugged. “I needed money. A friend on the team told me that women would pay a lot of money for the sperm of an athlete.”

“And you thought donating sperm was your best option?”

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