Page 52 of Draft Pick

"And if all signs point to green and you want to give him a second chance…does that mean you're dating?"

That was a good question. "I don't know. I think if he wants me to be his girlfriend, he should ask me."

"Like you're in the sixth grade? Do you want him to send you a note in class, check yes if you want to be my girlfriend?"

I laughed, but yeah, that would be nice. At least it wouldn't be confusing or up to interpretation. "Maybe?"

Darby laughed, grabbing her spoon to scoop out the last of the ice cream in her shake. "Should be an adventure. Of course, I will be needing a full and detailed report following said dinner as well as the outcome."

"As long as you and Sloane don't place bets," I warned, knowing I wouldn't put it past either of them.

"Don't be a fun-sucker," Darby said. "And who says we haven't already?" I did a double-take, and Darby snickered. "Just kidding. Don't get your granny panties in a twist. Besides, it's no fun betting when you already know the outcome."

"Nothing is decided," I told her, shaking my head, but Darby's expression called me out. "Oh, shut up," I finally said as she laughed, tossing some money down for the shake and scooting out from the booth. I had to get home and change. My shift started soon, and I needed to put my feet up for at least a half hour.So far, pregnancy blows.

Each time I saw Starlie,my stomach did this crazy wiggle-wobble like my aunt’s Jell-O salad when she placed it on the table during the annual Alexander family Thanksgiving dinner.

Tonight was no exception. Damn, she was cute. Even dressed down in wide-leg ripped jeans and a simple top, she took my breath away.

I wanted to pull her straight into my arms and remind her how much fun it’d been to make that baby in her belly, but I was treading on thin ice. Everything had to be perfect, including my behavior.

There was too much riding on the success of tonight. I wasn’t going to jeopardize my future with Starlie over an inability to keep my dick in check.

Do we kiss? Hug? Shake hands? I didn’t know the rules. “You look stunning,” I said, stepping aside so she could enter the apartment. “You’re rocking those jeans.”

“Thanks, they’re an old pair but they’re comfortable. Comfort means more to me than anything else right now,” she said with a bashful smile that was too damn adorable.

Don’t stare at her ass. Don’t fixate on how amazing it’d felt to be pressed against her luscious body.

BE A GENTLEMAN!

Thank God she couldn’t hear the conversation in my head. “The steaks are resting and the potatoes just need to be whipped up. Take a seat while I finish up.”

“Do you need help?” She asked, her gaze wandering my tiny apartment, taking in every detail, probably wondering where I would put all the baby stuff I would need soon.

I realized too late that I’d forgotten to stash away the big titty novelty mug that Zay had gotten for me in Mexico that I used as a catch-all for random shit. Her gaze met mine as her brow rose slightly, but she said nothing.

“I’ve been meaning to put that thing away,” I said with an embarrassed chuckle, my cheeks burning. “Zay never met a crude novelty gift that he didn’t like.”

She chuckled, saying, “My friend Darby would love it. She’s a big fan of boobs and locker room humor. She still has a novelty pen that she got from our girls’ trip to Vegas that has a stripper that gets naked when you tip it upside down. She keeps it in her purse just so if there’s ever an occasion when someone needs a pen, she’s quick to hand them her stripper pen. She likes to see their reaction.”

“Sounds like something Zay would do,” I said, grinning. “Maybe we ought to set them up.”

To that, Starlie shook her head with horrified amusement. “Are you kidding? I feel like that’s how the Antichrist is born. I don’t think the world is ready for that.”

“You might be right,” I agreed with a laugh as I returned to the kitchen, my anxiety lessening. There was something about Starlie that made the usual pinch in the back of my neck loosen up. She never reacted the way I expected her to, and she always made me laugh.

She followed me to the kitchen. “Smells amazing. Where’d you learn to cook?”

I felt weird about admitting I’d learned the kitchen basics from Adelita, my family’s cook/housekeeper. My mom hadn’t lingered in the kitchen longer than it took to breeze through on her way to the bar since before my little brothers were born.

Adelita kept the house spotless and the Alexander family well-fed.

My dad was smart enough to realize that Adelita was the special ingredient that kept his house running smoothly and paid her very well. One bit of advice my dad had shared that made sense was, “Don’t go cheap on good people. Pay them what they deserve, and then add tax. People are only as loyal as their dollar stretches.”

“Adelita is like family, Dad, she’d never leave us,” I’d retorted, but my dad just shook his head at my naïveté.

“Son, I pay that woman better than she could get from anyone else in this area. That’s why she’ll never leave. Money is what matters.”

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