Page 12 of The Problem with Sports
“And the dad has no say?” Sayer asked, but only because he was tied up with a douchebag of an ex-husband.
“If he wanted a say in what his son did during the weekdays, he shouldn’t be a weekend-only father,” I pointed out. Granted, I had no idea why Grant’s parents were divorced, or even if they were, but it was clear they weren’t one big happy family if they were sharing custody.
“C’mon, Nate,” Gideon remarked. “You have no idea what their family dynamic is. Don’t bite off more than you can chew, dude.”
I scoffed like a locker room bully. “Why? What’s he going to do? Beat me up?” I was a professional athlete, and six-foot-four of pure muscle. Even though I retired a few months ago, that didn’t mean I had let myself go. I had a personal home gym and I used it daily.
“So, that’s your plan?” Sayer asked. “You’re going to beat up his father and kidnap him from his mother?”
“Best plan you’ve ever had,” Gideon deadpanned.
“You guys have a better one,” I challenged.
“Yeah,” Gideon scoffed. “Mind your own goddamn business and let the poor kid like who he likes.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “How about you go eat a dick,” I fired back.
“Are you even sure Grant would be onboard with you beating up his dad and kidnapping him from his mother?” Sayer asked. “I mean, that’s something to consider, Nate.”
This conversation was ridiculous.
“You assholes are the ones who said I needed to find something productive to do in my retired years,” I pointed out.
Gideon’s blue eyes that matched all the Hayes men widened. “Not assault and kidnapping, Nate.”
“Maybe he won’t have to resort to kidnapping,” Sayer chimed in. “YouareNathan Hayes, after all. Bat them baby blues at her, and she’ll probably come around.” Sayer grinned. “Bat them at the dad, too. That might work.”
I popped an apple slice in my mouth, buying some time before telling these two jerkfaces the truth. After making sure I wouldn’t be talking with my mouth full, I said, “I’m pretty sure she’s immune to the baby blues.”
Both assholes smirked.
“If my looks were a plus in this situation, she wouldn’t have thrown me out of her house last night,” I admitted.
“Wait.” Gideon’s brows drew downward. “I thought you said you stormed out of there.”
“Semantics.”
“Yeah,” Sayer replied dryly. “Because leaving on your own and getting thrown out are basically the same thing.”
“Is she hot?” Gideon asked, a smirk on his face.
“She might be,” I hedged, but there was no ‘might be’ about it. At first glance, I had thought she was stunning, but when she had gotten in my face and fought for her son, she had transformed into radiant. Her blonde hair thrown up in a bun, no makeup on her face, and barefoot, she was one of the hottest women I have ever seen, and I’ve seen some hot fucking women in my lifetime.
However, those women always had the same thing in common. Their hair was always perfect, their makeup always looked professional, and their outfits left little or nothing to the imagination.
Grant’s mother was a stunner without all that shit.
Gideon laughed. “Now it all makes sense,” he smirked.
“Fuck you, dude,” I snapped back. “Her looks have nothing to do with this.”
Sayer looked over at Gid. “You’re forgetting he stormed down there even before he knew what the mother looked like.”
“Thank you, Say,” I said, happy to have at least one brother’s support.
“The kidnapping was probably already a given,” Sayer continued. “But I’m betting kicking the ex-husband’s ass came after he saw what she looked like.”
“Get out of my house.”
