Page 25 of Someone to Have
Toby's gaze sharpens. “What about the next time I see her?”
I run a hand through my hair and then check my watch. I need to get back over to the library, so I won’t have time to stop home and take a shower. Not sure why I care about potentially seeing Tinkerbell when I’m a sweaty mess, but I wouldn’t mind a deodorant refresh at the moment.
“He got into it with some douchebag teacher in the library yesterday. Ended up being so frustrated he launched a book at the guy, who ducked. Your sister was in the line of fire.”
“Tink has the reflexes of a drunk kitten,” Toby mutters.
Marty said something similar. I wonder what it must have been like to grow up in this competitive, athletic family and not fit the Maxwell mold.
“It was an accident, but she's got a bit of a shiner. Rhett feels really bad about it, and he's going to make it up to her. Hence the volunteering. I want you to know it was an accident.”
“It’s cool, man. No biggie. Her life is basically a series of near-miss disasters. One year, our parents convinced her to go out for softball. Figured it was a good entry-level sport, slow pitch and all. Mom sent me out in the back yard to teach her how to catch.Thatshiner was also accidental—on my part.”
I frown. “A little different than this situation, but I appreciate the understanding.” Although I don't get it. If some punk-ass kid hurt my sister—even accidentally—I’d be pissed.
“Bring Rhett back a little before five.” Toby smiles. “We’ll run through some drills and see what we’re working with.”
“You bet.”
“Hey, Anderson,” he calls as I head for the locker room to grab my bag. “You were good with the boys. I can always use another assistant coach for the season.”
My stomach does a funny flip-floppy thing. Must be the donut. “I don't know how long I'll be here. Jen should be out of rehab in six weeks. I have a feeling she's not going to want me to stick around while she pieces her life back together.”
“I'd take you for six weeks. I don't mind a short-term bet.”
“I'll consider the offer,” I say, willing my stomach to calm the fuck down as I turn away. Definitely swearing off donuts. In the locker room, I take off my pads, stash them in my duffel bag and head back to the library.
The story time deal ended fifteen minutes ago, and there are a few people walking out with kids as I take the steps two at a time. I sort of expected Rhett to be waiting outside, the derisive scowl I’ve come to know and not love plastered on his face.
I pull open the heavy door and walk into the quiet space. The interior feels warm and inviting despite looking like it hasn’t been updated since horse-drawn carriages parked out front. High ceilings with exposed wooden beams stretch overhead, and the smell of books mixed with a hint of the musty scent of an old building fills the air.
Polished hardwood floors creak under my weight as I pass rows of shelves with colorful spines. I’m amazed at how many patrons are browsing or using the computers near the back of the main room. It’s easy to find the children’s section, tucked into a corner with a mural on the far wall with a row of illustrated characters from classic stories.
There’s a soft, patterned rug in the center of the open space, and my nephew is on his stomach, stretched across a bright green beanbag, reading to the boy leaning over his shoulder. A tired-looking woman with her hair in a messy topknot and a baby strapped to her chest talks with Taylor as they watch Rhett and the kid.
As if sensing my arrival, Taylor glances up and gives me a soft smile that…shit…are those my knees going weak?
I run a hand through my helmet-flattened hair and resist the urge to sniff my pits as I approach. Should have had a stick of Old Spice stashed in my duffel bag. I know how I smell after being on the ice, and it’s not good.
“Angie, this is Eric Anderson, Rhett’s uncle,” Taylor says as I approach.
“Sweaty and stinky uncle, unfortunately,” I apologize as I shake the woman’s small hand.
“I’ve got a one-month-old who has her days and nights mixed up,” the woman tells me. “I haven’t showered in a week. You’re among friends, Uncle Eric.”
Uncle Eric.
Huh. I don’t think anyone has called me that before this moment. Jen just says Eric, and Rhett either grunts or…you know…bruhs me to death.
I like how it sounds but have no idea if I can be the role model my nephew needs. “Cute little girl,” I say, even though the half of the face I can see sleeping against her mother's chest looks like a grumpy old man.
“Ellie is the cutest,” Taylor confirms. She's staring at the baby with a look of such rapt adoration, it makes my mouth go dry.
The only time I've seen a look like that on a woman's face is when I've been undoing my pants to release the Kraken. I’m joking, obviously. I don’t call my dick the Kraken, but that look of adoration?—
“Did you just say 'release the Kraken'?” Rhett and the kid draped across his back are staring at me.
“No.” I shake my head. What the hell is wrong with me? I need water, electrolytes…something. Hell, a shot of tequila would work.
