Page 19 of Single Dad Dilemma
And in a way, she was.
Everything about her set me on edge, and not in a good way. Not because of her hair, not because of her little tattoos everywhere. It was just ... her.
“You made my kids happy,” I said as evenly as I could manage. “And when I have happy kids, they pull a lot less shit on the person in charge of them.”
Lily laughed, a bright, tinkling sound that didn’t match her at all. “Oh, come on. How bad can they be?”
Slowly, I raised an eyebrow. “Well, as part of the slideshow my kids created trying to convince me you’re the perfect person to watch them after school, Maggie included the federal background check she pulled on you.”
“What?”
“Believe me, that’s the tip of the iceberg with that child. She is terrifyingly smart, and underestimating her would be the biggest mistake of anyone’s life.” I shook my head and sighed. “Bryce is smart, too, he’s just ... less scary than her. They’re both good kids. Well mannered, respectful—but when they’re bored, they come up with horribly reckless ideas. My hope is that if I compromise with them on this—onyou,” I amended, studying the flicker in her eyes when I said it, “they’ll compromise back by not breaking any laws for the next couple weeks.”
For a moment, Lily didn’t speak. Then her eyes narrowed. “What kind of laws?”
“Do you want a list?” I asked dryly.
“If I’m going to be responsible for them? Yeah, maybe. I’m not ... I’m not a nanny. I’ve never babysat anyone’s kids.”
For the first time since I’d walked in, Lily’s demeanor held an air of discomfort. Or that’s how it looked, at least.
“I don’t need a nanny. I just need someone to hang out in the same place as them after school. Make sure they don’t eat sugar all night, do their homework.” I wiped a hand over my mouth, letting my arm fallback to my side. “I work a lot. My job—especially right now—is very demanding. But I’ll be in the offseason in a couple weeks, and a lot more available.”
“What exactly do you do?” she asked.
It had been so long since anyone didn’t know me—as a player, then as a coach—that I’d almost forgotten what it was like to just be Barrett.
“I’m a coach,” I told her, watching her reaction carefully.
“Huh. What kind of coach?”
“Football. For the professional team here in Buffalo.”
She blinked. “Yeah, right.”
I pointed to the logo on my Henley. “I’m the head coach for the professional football team in Buffalo.”
“I thought head coaches lived in giant glass mansions and had a fleet of staff running their life.”
“You know, I’ve tried, but they keep quitting.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I think you’re screwing with me.”
“Trust me, I have better things to do with my time than lie about my job.”
“So you’re, like, famous,” she said. “People want your autograph and shit.”
I held her gaze. “Yes.”
Lily was unimpressed by this. “I suppose there’s no accounting for taste. So your entire week, all those hours you’re working, revolves around telling people what to do, and they listen. You say jump, et cetera, et cetera.”
Ah, so we were playing the subtext game? Got it. I let out a painfully slow, deep breath and tried valiantly to tamp down the surge of annoyance flickering in my chest. “With a few notable exceptions, yes, I suppose so.”
She nodded seriously. “Obviously, I’m counting your kids as those exceptions, because ...” She gestured between us, leaving the implication hanging like an unpinned grenade. A habit of hers, I was finding.
I licked my bottom lip. “My kids listen to me most of the time. I meant the owner of the team. The GM. That sort of thing. They don’t answer to me.”
“That must be trying.”
