Page 48 of Draft Pick

I forced a dubious laugh, rising. "That would have to be one magical steak."

He followed my lead, his gaze still dipping to my stomach as if he yearned to touch me, but I hadn't given him the green light, and he was being respectful. I appreciated his consideration. "Are you busy Sunday night?" He asked.

I was working the day shift, so I should have time to get home and change, but I knew I'd be exhausted. Oh well, I was constantly exhausted these days. I nodded. "Text me your address and if I should bring anything."

"Just yourself," he said. "I'll take care of the rest."

It was a foreign feeling to let someone take care of me. I wasn't sure how to react. There was an awkward moment between us — should we or shouldn't we hug — but then I took a step away and closed the window, essentially running in the opposite direction before he could try.

The thing was, I wanted Cason to drag me into his arms like a total caveman, declare that I was his woman, whether I liked it or not, and then sit me down and force me to relax while he fixed me dinner. Oh sure, I'd howl about how I wasn't his property, but secretly, knowing I meant that much to him would've gone a long way toward soothing my bruised feelings.

Weird fantasy, but yeah. I couldn't be mad at him for being a perfect gentleman while attempting to do the right thing.

That would be crazy.

Instead, I went home oddly dissatisfied and grumpy for no reason other than Cason hadn't been a caveman.

So much for, 'I am woman, hear me roar' when all I wanted was for Cason to ignore everything that came out of my mouth, decide for me that he was going to be a part of this baby's life — and mine — and then declare to the world they could all go fuck themselves because he was in love with a curvy woman.

But we weren't in love. We were just having a kid together, and I was being ridiculously irrational about the whole thing.

The smart thing to do would be to show up to the dinner with the paperwork for him to sign.Be proactive.

Yeah, good plan.

And absolutely, under no circumstances whatsoever, let your lips touch his.

Right.

Why did that feel like the worst part of the plan?

I neededeverything to be perfect. I had one shot to prove to Starlie that I wasn’t a total piece of shit and that she could trust me.

I eyed the steaks like I was Gordon Ramsay and not just some guy who’d done a decent enough job on the grill a few times. Rib-eye, chuck, flank, filet — which one said, ‘Please Starlie, I know I fucked up but if you give me a chance, I’ll prove that I’m a good guy’?

That’s putting a lot of pressure on a cut of meat, Alexander.

To be honest, I didn’t know the difference between all the cuts of meat, but I knew it should have a fair amount of marbling. Fat equaled flavor. I rubbed my chin, chuckling at the parallel. Not that I would ever consider Starlie fat. She was soft and sweet like a marshmallow, and cuddling felt like nestling against a fragrant cloud. I never realized how much anxiety I carried with me until I fell asleep in her arms. It was as if all the stress in my life melted away, and I was boneless for the first time in my life.

But it was so much more than that. I liked the whole package. She was funny and interesting in ways that I never realized I craved until I had a taste. Her sense of humor matched mine, but there was an edge of weirdness to Starlie that made me endlessly fascinated and hungry for more.

Like when she put mustard on a pickle like it was the most normal thing in the world or lost her adorable mind when her metal detector picked up on something buried beneath the sand. (Spoiler alert: it’d been a crushed and rusted empty corn can, but that hadn’t mattered, she’d been all in on the adventure.)

Starlie didn’t give a shit about my football career prospects or my campus status, and for the first time in my life, I wasn’t the one being chased. Starlie was the one person in my life who never made me feel like I was a commodity, and I’d gone and screwed that up.

What if she decided I wasn’t worth the trouble of having around? What if my kid grew up thinking I didn’t want them? What if she gave me a second chance, but then I screwed that up, too, and by proxy, screwed up my kid with my issues?

Why was this situation eating me alive? I wasn’t the only player with NFL prospects, but unlike Zay or Linc, I seemed to be the only one chewing on stress tabs every day. Zay had this way of floating through life as if he were born under a blessed star, and Linc was so laid back that he embodied the word, ‘chill.’

Not me, though. Sure, I played the part of the cool guy, but inside, I drove the struggle bus straight to Stressville.

Sweat started to bead my brow as I stared at the meat, panic beginning to inflate every little thing in my head until I couldn’t see straight.

“You’re staring at that meat like you half expect it to start giving you life advice,” a voice said, startling me out of my panic attack.

I whipped around to see an elderly man waiting his turn, and I chuckled, embarrassed, “Sorry, can’t decide which one to get,” I admitted, stepping aside so the old-timer could grab his choice. I gestured to the meat options. “Got a recommendation?”

The old man grabbed a package, hefting it for emphasis, “Can’t go wrong with a rib-eye, in my opinion. Good marbling, grills up real nice. Can’t hardly screw it up either.”

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