Page 17 of Falling for the Forward

Carter’s expression is grim. “I know, I don’t want that for them, either. But I have to go with the best of two imperfect scenarios. Rachel wanted me to raise them if she couldn’t. She knew what a douchebag Chad is.”

I just look at him, running out of arguments against thisinsaneidea.

His tone is imploring when he says, “Think about it, okay? I’ll pay you five hundred thousand dollars if you do it. It’s not about me or you. It’s about the girls. I’d marry a fucking chair to keep them here instead of Alaska.”

“You really know how to sweet-talk a girl.” I roll my eyes again. “I’ll think about it, but...I’ll think about it. That’s all I’m saying right now. Give me a couple of days.”

I can’t marry Carter. It’s the craziest thing anyone’s ever suggested to me.

But...a lot of money is on the line. And more importantly, the futures of the three little girls I’ve already grown to love.

I have to at least think about it.

CHAPTER SIX

Carter

This damn pedicure chair.I’m too tall for the back of my head to be on the headrest, and it’s massaging me so hard my balls are jiggling in my boxer briefs.

But when Olivia looks over at me hopefully, I force a smile and say, “Great idea. This is relaxing.”

When I got home this morning to pick her up after I went to practice, she was surprised. And happy. After what Suki told me last night, I would have done anything she asked for to celebrate her birthday. I guess I should be grateful I’m only getting my feet washed and massaged. I could be getting a perm or something.

The pedicure technician picks up one of my feet and gestures with her chin. I just look at her, unsure what she wants. She does it again.

“I don’t know--”

She puts her hand on a stirrup-looking thing and frowns at me.

“You’re supposed to put your foot in there,” Olivia says, saving me.

She said her mom took her to get a pedicure a couple of times for special occasions, so at least one of us knows what the hell is going on here.

I put my foot up in the thing and then the technician pats the other one, so I follow it with my other foot. She looks at the bottoms of my feet and says something in Vietnamese to the technician doing Olivia’s pedicure.

The other woman looks at my feet, shakes her head and says something back. I can tell from their tone that they aren’t complimenting me. But whatever. This is for Olivia. I pick up my phone and open my email, trying to ignore the way my balls are vibrating.

I’m sorting out messages that need to be read from ones I can delete when a weird tingle on the bottom of my foot makes me reflexively jerk it upward.

The technician frowns and says something I don’t understand, then pushes my foot back into the stirrup thing.

She runs a flat metal grater over the bottom of my foot and I groan, my foot jerking in reaction again.

Now she’s glaring at me. I glare back.

“You have to hold still, Uncle Carter,” Olivia says.

“I can’t help it.”

The customer in the chair on the other side of me is looking at me, and Olivia gives me aplease don’t embarrass melook.

I drop the scowl and say, “Sorry. I’ll hold still.”

The technician shit-talks me in Vietnamese again, her coworker laughing this time. This is fucking ridiculous. I want to get up and leave.

But it’s for Olivia’s birthday. So when the technician grates my foot, lighter this time, I force my foot to remain in place. She keeps going, and when she hits a certain spot, it’s all I can do not to kick her in the face as I jerk away because it tickles.

“Sorry. It tickles,” I explain.

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