Page 17 of Tight End

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 thingsbetween 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.

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