Page 56 of Tight End

“Yes?”

“June, Oliver is my son, and I have no intention of ever babysitting him. Will I spend time with him? Yes. Can we hang out by ourselves tonight? Absolutely. But please don’t think that because I’m his father, I’m any less of a parent.”

“Oh.” She stares at me, a pink blush spreading across her cheeks.

“You have plans?” I try to keep my voice even, my tone casual, but I am a riot of emotions inside. It’s Friday night, and while I may not have been out with a woman in years, I know what happens on Friday nights. Dates. Dates lead to kissing. Kissing leads to touching. Touching leads to ... she better not be going on a fucking date.

Not after wearing someone else’s jersey yesterday.

She better hope she’s going out with the girls.

Or what, stud? You gonna take your son and follow her? Crash her date and demand she come home with you?

Her eyes fall to the ground, traveling a few feet away to where Oliver is driving a pair of dino monster trucks across the foot of his bed. “Well, I ... I’m going to dinner with a friend from work.”

She still won’t look at me, and that tells me everything Ineed to know. It may be someone from work, but it’s a man. She’s going on a date. With someone else.

All the anger and possessiveness and fucking jealousy I felt yesterday come back twofold. I can’t let her go out with some swinging dick who wants to get in her pants, can I?Can I?

Fuck. Fuck. I think I have to. I do, right? Motherfucker, of course I do. It’s not like I can lock her in her room or block the door so she’s trapped in the penthouse. Let’s be clear, I want to. I really fucking want to, but I can’t.

She’s talking, saying something about giving me Poppy’s number for emergencies, but I can barely hear her. How can I when every beat of my own heart is so fucking loud? I want to drop to my knees and beg her to stay, beg her to give me the chance we never had. I want so many things, but can I really have them?

That’s the question right there.

I was so sure that between Oliver and football, I didn’t have room for anything else in my life. But what if I’m wrong? Football has been my life, but what if it doesn’t have to be?

Shit.

I don’t know. It kept me safe. It allowed me to bury my pain after Caitlin’s death.

I need to swallow this down, to think.

“I should only be a couple of hours.”

Finally. Finally she meets my eyes, and I hate that they’re shuttered, that she’s closed herself off. This is the worst. This is so much worse than the jersey. “Thanks.”

And she’s off, giving me a view of her back, and my hands clench, my knuckles popping, and I have to physically restrain myself or I’d go after her and ruin everything. Herhair is up, pinned in place, small tendrils of hair curled around her neck. I hate it, I want to take out every pin and run my fingers through her hair, but not as much as I hate how the dress dips down her back, exposing a wide expanse of skin.

I don’t know who this fucking guy is, but I’m going to murder him. Slowly. Painfully.

“Daddy, do you need to poop?”

I blink, multiple times, turning to Oliver, my lips twitching. “Poop?”

“You’re making a funny face. Mom says I make a funny face when I hab to poop.” He shrugs, a move so casual, so contradictory to how I’m feeling inside.

“Movie? How about we watch another movie? Maybe something new?” At this point I’ll take anything to get my mind off June and what she’s going to be doing for the next few hours. Especially after I hear the front door closing with a resounding thud.

“Yeah! Monsters.” T. rex in hand, he runs for the living room, repeating some of his favorite lines from a movie I’ve already seen five times.

But you know what? I’ll take it. I like the monsters, especially the little green guy. The little green guy who is trying to go on a date with the lady monster from work. Oh, this is not going to help. Not at all. Not when June is going on adatewith some fucking loser from her mom’s law firm.

He’s probably some stuck-up lawyer with a closet full of button-up shirts and too much extra room in his boxer shorts. Yeah, I said it. The man probably has an inadequate package and will just be another one in the line of guys who can’t make June come.

If I crashed the date, I’d be doing her a favor.

She should thank me.

---