Page 19 of Tight End

I’ve got a class to teach and a mind to clear.

EIGHT

Ryan

It’s beentwo days since I saw June outside the football stadium with Oliver. Two fucking days and I’ve done nothing but jump down the rabbit hole, watching old talk-show clips, ones where guys freak out over paternity.You are the fatherhas been on repeat in my head all damn day as I’ve been not so patiently waiting for the DNA results.

He’s mine, I know he is, but that doesn’t stop the little voice in the back of my head asking if I’m sure.

I’ve been trying to ignore it, but as the clock creeps closer to five thirty, it gets harder. If we were a match, would it really take this long to figure out?

I want to trust June, I really do, but then reality sets in, and that bitch reminds me I knew that girl for all of ten hours. She was getting married, and even though her husband-to-be was cheating on her, it didn’t mean he never tried to hide the salami.

Even if he didn’t, after our night together, she was a free woman. She could’ve had any man.

Fuck. She really could have.

My jaw clenches, and instead of placing the chip bowls on my kitchen table, I slam them down, muttering several expletives. My heart races, and it’s hard to breathe, the weight on my chest pressing down with zero regard for me or what I’m doing. I turn away from my poker setup, blood surging through my veins, and I have an irrational urge to punch someone. Preferably any man who has touched June’s body.

She doesn’t belong to you.

She doesn’t, but that doesn’t shake the fight-or-flight response invading the caveman part of my brain. This isn’t normal, my reaction to her makes zero sense. She’s a virtual stranger.

Blowing out a breath, I put my hands behind my head and stare out my sliding glass door, letting my gaze trail over the Nashville skyline. Whatever feelings I have toward June need to be locked away and fast.

She’s the mother of my child and nothing more.

Which of course has me picturing her pregnant, her belly swollen with my child and—nope. Not going there. Whatever I missed is in the past, and there is no room for a repeat performance in the future.

None.

Zero.

Zilch.

Waiting for this email has me delusional. Yeah, that’s it. I’m fucking delusional.

I grip the back of my neck, squeezing like it’s going to help me find some sense, some clarity. Something that wipes away the picture of June smiling at me, running her hand along her belly.

It doesn’t.

Instead I take my phone from my back pocket and refresh my email. Again. And again.

I’m about to see if the fourth time will make this email magically appear when there’s a knock at my door.

Thank fuck. Saved by the bell. Well, kinda.

The guys will help me take my mind off all this. If nothing else, they’re great at providing a distraction, and that’s exactly what I need right now.

I do my best to open my door with a smile, but it’s only half assed and falls from my face the second my phone dings. Fuck. Fuck.Fuck. Of course a fucking email comes now. I could greet these guys, ignore it, but I think we both know I’m not going to do that. I need to know if it’s the email I’ve spent all day waiting for or another one of those emails trying to sell me a home warranty.

I’m already unlocking my phone as I wave my teammate Gunner Rose and Gordon Benson, owner of the local hockey team, inside. “Yeah, hey, make yourself at home.”

“Not a hello, fuck you, what you need. Nothing.” Gunner pushes his way into my penthouse, waving his hand in front of my face and showing off his favorite finger. Spoiler alert, it’s the middle one. “Fuck you too, asshole.”

He grumbles something else but I’m not listening. I turn away, leaving the door wide open, and I’m sure the two of them are staring at me like I’ve lost it, but I couldn’t give two fucks. Not when I’m opening up my email and clicking on the pediatrician’s office.

99.9999997999% Match.

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