Page 31 of Irresistibly Risky

I give her an arrogant smirk. “Like his daddy.” Something about saying that makes me laugh. Daddy. So weird. How on earth did this happen? Yesterday at this time, I was playing ball and trying to impress her while finding a way to tell her who I am. Now, I’m a daddy. “Can I play with him?”

“Of course. That’s why we’re here.”

I lean in and kiss her cheek. It takes us both by surprise, but I’m filled with so much love and gratitude that I can’t help it. I tell myself to pull away. Knowing that my lips shouldn’t linger on her skin and that I shouldn’t be taking a deep inhale, trying to catch some of her fragrance.

My nose glides up her face, toward her ear, and when I feel her stiffen against me, I whisper, “Thank you.” Pulling back, I give her a wink and then stand up. I carry Mason until we’ve cleared the tree, and then I toss him up in the air, letting him fly, and catch him as he shoots back down.

“What are you doing?!” she shrieks, on her feet in a motherly panic as I do it again. Mason belts out a squeal of laughter, loving every second of it as he flies in the air, his arms and legs outstretched, his hair catching the breeze. “Careful! You’re going to drop him.”

I throw her a quick side-eye after I catch him again. “Sweetheart, I’d die before I’d ever drop him. I’m a quarterback. This is what I do.”

“But your shoulder!” Her wild eyes are all over me.

“Aw, how cute. You’re worried about me. Is that as my doctor or my baby mama?”

“Can we please stop with the icky titles?”

“I don’t think they’re icky. I’m actually having a ton of fun with them. My hot doctor is my baby mama. What could be better than that?” I’m honestly not joking. I think it’s the greatest thing in the world. “There should be a Hallmark card that says sorry, not sorry I came inside you.”

Mason squirms in my arms, wanting another round of acrobatics, and I have that goofy grin fathers get when they have that moment when they realize their kid is awesome and fun and theirs too. How can you love someone so much after just meeting them a few minutes ago? Scratch that. How can you love someone before you’ve even met them? This kid could ask me for my spleen right now, and I’d cut the fucker out of my body and hand it right to him.

“Asher. Please.”

I turn back to my beautiful ice queen. “You gotta lighten up, sweetheart. Enjoy the moment a bit more. My shoulder is totally fine right now. And he likes it. Watch.” I toss him again, higher this time, and he flails through the air, landing soundly back in my hands because I’ll always catch him. I bring him into me, smelling his hair and kissing his face. “I’m glad he’s not older. I’m glad he’s still a baby and doesn’t know that I haven’t been in his life all this time.”

“He likes you,” she says softly, running her hands through his hair, staring at the side of his face in a way that makes me wonder if it’s easier to look at him than me.

“Of course he does. Everyone likes me.”

“Not me,” she quips, rolling up onto the balls of her feet and kissing the back of his head.

Christ, I like her. “That’s a lie. If it weren’t for Mason, I’d have had you pinned to that chaise last night as you begged for me to do dirty, dirty things to you.”

A flush rises up her face, but she passes it off with a perturbed twist of her lips and yet another eye roll at my expense. “Yes, egotistical meatheads only after sex truly turn me on.”

“Good to know, but I never said I was only after sex.” I hand Mason off to her. “Why don’t you both come up to my place? I think we should talk.”

9

I snap Mason back into his stroller and then walk about ten feet behind Asher as he saunters through the park as if he owns every piece of earth he steps on. People stop him—his glasses and hat do nothing to hide who he is. He doesn’t rush anyone as he signs autographs and takes selfies and smiles and laughs. He never draws attention to himself, but he never turns anyone away either.

And he never, ever, acknowledges us.

I left his place last night and lost my flipping mind. I woke my mother up and made her sit with me while I lost it with her too. In so many ways, I’ve wanted Mason to have a father in his life. A man who would love him and care for him and support him the way Gary Hathaway has done with me.

But fuck all if I ever wanted it to be a football player.

A football player like Asher.

A man who screams sex and oozes desire and has women staring at him like they’d use every hall pass or excuse just to have a chance with him. That was exactly who my father was. Charming. Funny when he wanted to be. I remember hearing my mother scream at him about her best friend, and he didn’t even apologize for it.

He simply said there’s only so much of one woman a man can take before he grows bored.

So for Mason’s sake—and my own—I can never allow anything to happen with Asher. Because Asher wants Mason, and that’s more important to me than anything else.

We cross the street and then shuffle into the elevator of his building. “My code is 5435,” he tells me, “and I’ll have the doorman put you on the list of people who don’t have to ring up.”

The rest of the ride is silent, and by the time we reach his penthouse, Mason is out, fast asleep in his stroller. “He didn’t have much of a nap this morning. He’s transitioning from needing two naps to one. I think all the excitement in the park wore him out.”

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