Page 46 of Tight End

“Dad!” Oliver comes running at me full speed, and I snatch him up, tossing him in the air before settling him against my chest for a hug.

He’s the number-one reason I can’t be weak. I need to stay here, to be here for him while he’s growing up. I don’t want to be the kind of father content to miss out on his son’s life.

I won’t be my dad.

“Hey, Oli. I’ve missed you. I heard you watched my game yesterday.” I set him on the ground, running my hand through his hair.

“It was so cool.” Oliver grabs my hand and leads me to the front door. I’m assuming this is June’s father standing in my doorway, watching me, likely judging me. “You hab to meet my gramps. He knows who you are.”

I’m not sure if him knowing me is a good thing or not. It could go either way. He’s an imposing man, that’s for sure.

Where I’m in workout clothes, he’s perfectly pressed in dress pants and a polo. His salt-and-pepper hair is styled perfectly, while I’m sure mine is a mess. I expect him to remain impassive as I approach, but he’s quick to put out his hand, greeting me with a large smile.

“David Morgan, nice to meet you.” His handshake is firm, but he’s not actively trying to crush my hand, and I appreciate that. You’d be surprised how many guys see a football player and want to squeeze my hand as hard as they can. Not sure if they’re hoping I shit out money or what, but it always hurts their feelings when I squeeze back.

“Ryan—”

“Please, I know who you are.” He waves me off with a snort. “My daughter may not know a lick about football, but I don’t miss a Sunday during season. Pleased it was you who knocked her up and not one of those rowdy linemen.”

As soon as he finishes the last sentence, the spit I was swallowing goes down the wrong pipe and lodges in my throat. My eyes water and I double over, coughing my ass off. This is a great first impression. He may wish for a lineman when I collapse on the floor, killed by my own saliva.

“Oh my God, Dad.” June rushes to my side, patting my back like I did a good job. While it makes me feel accomplished, it’s shit at actually dislodging anything.

I cough a few more times, clear my throat, cough again,and ... I think I’m fine. I will live to embarrass myself in front of June’s father once again.

“Sorry, son, didn’t realize you had such a weak windpipe.” Mr. Morgan chuckles, slapping my shoulder. “My little June bug doesn’t always appreciate my sense of humor either.”

“You can stop talking now,” June says through gritted teeth. “Don’t you have things to do?”

“Come on, June bug.” I give her a light nudge, a smile spreading across my face as hers disappears. “It’s just a joke.”

“You know this place is fancy when there are only two apartments on the whole floor,” a female voice calls out from just outside the door, and June groans, her entire body deflating.

Must be more family. One of her sisters, perhaps? She has three, but I remember her mentioning only one currently living in Nashville.

“Please, why don’t you all come in and make yourself at home,” June deadpans, a sigh to rival all sighs leaving her lips.

Oliver grabs my hand, tugging on my fingers and pointing to the currently empty hallway. “Aunt Poppy broughted Mom a gift. She said she was crashing our dinner but nofing ever broke.”

June takes a step back, muttering something under her breath, and I’m pretty sure I just heard her sayfuck. I think that’s a first. Now I want to make her scream it. Wait. No. Bad. That’s not what we’re doing here.

Today is not a day that’s going down in the win column. Not by a long shot. I nearly got killed at practice, popped a fucking boner like a teenage boy during a recorded yoga session, almost kissed the mother of my child, and now all Iwant to do is fuck her senseless despite all the rules I’ve put in place. Oh, and I almost keeled over in front of her dad.

I really should call it a day and head to bed. The only silver lining on this shit-tastic day is that my leg is no longer sore. In fact, I feel great. Let me specify—the backs of my thighs feel great. The rest of me? Don’t ask.

“Hello,” a young redhead calls out in a singsong voice, sweeping past Mr. Morgan and inviting herself right into my penthouse. Sure enough she has a nice bright-pink gift bag with polka-dot paper sticking out the top. “Sorry, I forgot June’s present in the car and had to run down and grab it. Nice place you got here, Devlin.”

“Thank you?” I didn’t intend for it to come out as a question, yet here we are.

The redhead takes it in stride, though, winking my way before thrusting the bag at June. “Here ya go, sis. Just like I promised, except I figured you’d appreciate a hand delivery.”

June’s eyes get so wide it’s almost comical, her face turning a bright shade of red. I can’t wait to see what’s in the bag. It has to be good, since her face is practically glowing. “Youshouldn’thave.”

“I’m generous like that.” Her sister shrugs, turning to me, assessing me with her shrewd gaze. “I’m Poppy, by the way. What are your intentions with my sister?”

June makes a noise I’m not sure how to describe. Maybe like a dying animal. Something between a squirrel and a moose. It’s not sexy. Exactly the kind of noises I need her to be making.

Poppy continues to stare at me, her eyes narrowing, but the corner of her lips twitches. She’s barely holding her act together. Mr. Morgan doesn’t seem at all surprised or deterred, leaning around her to smack my shoulder again.

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