Page 41 of Winning Brynn

Shaking the guys off me, I look up at the family suite to find my daughter. Brynn dressed her in a baby-size kit this morning, with my name and the number eleven written on the back. I swear to God, I melted when I saw her. My baby girl in her daddy's shirt. Too fucking cute for words. You can’t even see it now, given the snowsuit she’s wearing, but I know she’s wearing it, and that’s good enough.

So, I blow her a kiss. Because that's what I do after every goal I score since she became my new reason for being. But as I do, my gaze snags on the woman holding her. Smiling like her lips are laced with sunshine and wearing yet another one of my ball caps that she stole from me this morning, Brynn whoops in celebration.

She's a wet dream in a cute, flared skirt with a soccer shirt tucked into it. She'd be an even wetter dream if it was the number eleven on her back instead of seven for her brother. She must be freezing, but fashion over comfort, right? She’s told me that a time or two over the past few weeks.

And it hits me right in the gut.

How much I wish she wasn't standing there with my daughter on her hip and celebrating simply because she's Salem's nanny. That she was here cheering me on just because she wants to. Not to watch her brother or my daughter, but to watchme.

"Leo."

My name comes hissed and distant.

"Leo."

Weird, I must be dreaming.

"LEO!"

My eyelids fly open, wild and confused. It takes a second for my vision to adjust to the darkness, just enough that I'm able to make out Brynn standing, all shaky and nervous, right beside my bed.

For a brief, horror-filled moment, I fear the worst.

"Is Salem okay?" I croak out, trying to catch a glimpse of my daughter in her crib on the other side of the bed.

"Yes, yes," Brynn rushes out, tugging at her tiny silk pajama top. "Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you."

I blow out a long sigh of relief then check the time on my phone.

2:14 am.

"What the fuck is going on?"

Her eyes drop sheepishly. Tucking a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear, she gnaws on her bottom lip. "I had a bad dream," she whispers, having the good grace to look ashamed for waking me up at such a ridiculous hour of the morning.

Pushing myself up to a sitting position, I rest my back against the headboard with a sigh. "Okay?"

"Remember last week, when I woke up from a nightmare and you were there?" I nod. "Sometimes, I'm too stressed out to go back to sleep. But you calmed me down, I guess, and after you left, I... I could."

Ah, fuck.

Guess I'm not going back to sleep myself for a while now.

I rub my tired eyes with a yawn. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Would that be okay?" she asks like a dumbass, as if she hasn't woken me up in the dead of night for the sole reason of doing what I just offered.

"Well, I'm awake now, aren't I?"

She ignores the audible vexation in my tone and scrambles onto the bed. I'd be lying if I said that my eyes didn't drop to the long expanse of her bare legs, all toned and tan and inconveniently sexy, as she takes a seat on the mattress beside me. But I'm only human. And I don't have the best handle on my self-control when I'm half-asleep, so it's a blessing I'm not fully stroking them right now.

Because, fuck me, does her skin look soft.

"Okay, don't laugh," she prefaces, which is an awful opener to a story, I must admit, because if someone tells a person not to laugh at something, it increases the likelihood of said person laughing tenfold. But I keep that to myself and wave a hand for her to proceed.

"I was helping Indiana Jones find his lasso." My lips twitch, and she scowls but doesn't stop. "Because he lost it while he was searching for the lost ark. And that would have been fine, except I was running late for a meeting with Elton John. He'd heard the rendition I did of 'My Heart Will Go On' from that pageant with Celine Dion, remember?"

She waits for me to nod before continuing.

---