Page 40 of The Single Dads Club
That much is true. I didn’t believe he was capable of settling down into a monogamous relationship. He’d just had his heart broken by some chick, and Jane was ... well, Jane. She’s as serious as they come. And she’s a close friend. I didn’t want him fucking up and breaking her heart when he was just intending to blow off steam.
Thankfully, Weston knew enough to know that Jane wasn’t some jersey chaser. She was the real deal, someone you could easily settle down with and share a life with. In fact, when I first met her, I kinda wondered if we’d cross over from friends territory into something more. But we never had that chemistry. I’ve always viewed her as only a friend.
I shake my head, clearing my thoughts, and realize Weston is still talking.
“You met her, what, a couple of weeks ago?”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter. I can’t help how I felt. How I feel.”
He’s right that I haven’t known her long, but we spent nearly all our time together, living together from day one. It probably forced us to grow closer than we would have otherwise. I know that she sleeps curled on her side, how she likes her coffee, that she likes to sing in the kitchen while she cooks. I know what her body feels like moving alongside mine, and how she becomes incapable of returning my kisses when she comes—her soft mouth parting while I nibble her lips with kisses as her toes curl.
“Fuck.” I shove my hands into my hair. This isn’t helping anything. “I need to be drunk. Right now.”
Colin frowns and passes me the half-empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the table beside him.
“Sucks, dude,” he says in consolation.
“Yeah.” I bring the bottle to my mouth and take a long swig. I’m the only one drinking out of it anyway, why bother with a glass? My entire attitude tonight is basically fuck everyone, fuck everything. I’m trying to put on a brave front and not lose it in front of my boys, but the truth is, I’m so fucking close to the edge right now.
Maybe if I understood why Ryleigh left, what I did wrong ... Maybe. Actually, scratch that, that probably wouldn’t matter. I want her back. Her and Ella.
I know there’s a lot of shit to work out, and yeah, it’s nuts that Ryleigh’s roommate just took off, but still. I liked being there for them, feeling useful, seeing the way she looked at me. It was different from the usual hero worship I get on the field. Ryleigh appreciated me for me. Who I am at my core. The fact that I grew up with sisters and know about babies. She liked feeding me, and never let me get away with anything. She held her own, and I really like that about her.
“So, what’s the game plan?” Weston asks, a look of pity crossing his rugged features.
I squint at him. “Do you even fucking shave anymore? Just because you got engaged, dude—” I don’t get to finish that statement before a throw pillow comes sailing past my head.
“Fuck you,” he mutters.
I raise the bottle of whiskey. “I’ll drink to that.”
Colin grabs the bottle from my hand and recaps it. “Enough of that. You’ll be fucking useless tomorrow.”
He’s right. We have practice in the morning. None of us should be drinking, but I appreciate the fact that they’re here for me.
“I asked her to meet me for breakfast tomorrow.” I’ll be done with practice early since tomorrow is special teams practice with the offensive coordinator. I’m usually only there until ten or so. It leaves plenty of time to meet her before her shift, if she’s working.
“What’d she say?” Weston asks.
Just as I open my mouth to reply that she hasn’t responded, my phone chirps from the coffee table.
Colin snatches it before I do. His face breaks into a smile. “We’d better get you to bed, princess. You’ll need your beauty sleep.” I grab for my phone, but he continues holding it. “You’ve got a date with your girl in the morning.”
She’s not my girl, but I want her to be.
One step at a time. Time to get these goons out of my apartment.
Chapter Fifteen
Alexei
Ryleigh sits across from me, her legs folded beneath her on the booth. She’s rigid, and has barely looked at me. It stings more than I’d like to admit. She’s dressed in a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt that keeps falling off one shoulder, her hair is up in a messy bun like she couldn’t be bothered with it, but she still looks so good that it hurts to know I can’t reach over and touch her.
She finally responded to my text late last night and agreed to breakfast. After that, Weston and Colin left, and I tried in vain to sleep. Practice was a blur, and now I’m here.
My stomach is in fucking knots, and I hate everything about this. Ella rests next to her, still strapped into the baby carrier. I wish she’d cry, scream, do something, because at least then it would match how I feel right now.
I lean in closer. “Did I do something wrong?”
