Evan’s gaze falls to my wet chest again, mouth pressing into a firm line. “But Leo will see—”
“He’s a kid, Evan, he’s not going to notice. The only person I’m sure will be looking at my nipples in there will be you.”
His face falters at the wordnipples.And the fact that I’ve just put it out there that he’s staring.
“But since you’re my boss and we’re both professional, I’ll go ahead and assume that’s not a problem for you?”
I’m very aware I’m playing with fire here, but the rush is far too addictive. Teasing Evan is fun, especially when he’s scrubbing a hand down his jaw the way he is now, looking like he wants to avert his gaze but can’t. I shouldn’t get a kick out of taunting this man. He has the ability to snap his fingers and have me off his land in a second, but something about doing it just comes so naturally to me.
“For fuck’s sake,” he grunts under his breath, tilting his head up to the sky.
“What was that?”
“I said no, not at all.”
I nod, lips flickering with amusement. “Okay then. Glad we’ve put that out there.”
His eyes are hard. “Yep, me too.”
6: Evan
The air is thick with the scent of charcoal and meat, spicy onions and barbecue sauce mixed in there somewhere, too. The outside stadium field is bustling with members of the Missarali Storks, including their friends and families.
Overplayed pop music blasts through the speakers as Gracie helps man the sizzling barbecue, and rows of tables cluttered with plates, half-empty cups, and sweet treats line the grass.
Some of the team hopefuls casually throw a ball around to my left, trying to impress Coach Darrell and Peter, our manager, and let them know they’re taking this seriously. However, this is a team barbecue we do every year during training camp, and there’s really no need to try to use it as a means to show off your skills.
Coach Darrell doesn’t just want good players. He wants a cohesive team —people who can work together. The team needs to gel, and if they don’t show they can socialise as well as play football, then the likelihood of them getting picked for the roster is slim.
There aren’t many kids here—only a few—but they’re a little older than Leo and aren’t that interested in playing with him, so he clings to me like melted candy to a wrapper, mouth smeared with red sauce.
While I’m still thinking about what I came home to yesterday, I’m trying not to.
Leo usually can’t wait for me to return when he’s with a nanny, and although he was excited to see me, waving me over with batter-covered hands to show me the obscene amount of chocolate chips he’d poured into the mixture, he didn’t seem upset by my absence. He’d been enjoying himself, which is something that hasn’t happened with a nanny in a long while. Or maybe ever.
But then Flo had to go and get herself all wet, and like some horned-up teenage boy, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
Fuck, I shouldn’t have felt that tempted by the sight of her hard nipples under her wet top, but I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s almost like my brain took a mental snapshot, and it’s bouncing off the walls of my skull.
She needs to do something to mess this up so I have an excuse not to hire her. And quick.
“Dude, keep scowling like that and you’re gonna look older than you already do,” my teammate, Bennett Quinn, quips with a nudge to the shoulder. His eyes drop down to my son. “I’m disappointed in you, Leo. There’s still chocolate cake on the dessert table, which means you haven’t done your job properly. Quick, go!” His fingerpoints at the plate stacked high with slices of the gooey desserts, and Leo licks his lips and runs toward them with his tiny legs, determined to impress Bennett.
“Please don’t encourage my son to gorge on sweet treats until he’s sick.” I shake my head, but I can’t help but smile—slightly—because there’s something about this golden retriever of a man that makes me laugh. He’s annoying as fuck, but the team wouldn’t be the same without him, and I consider him a good friend.
Samuel, our teammate, joins us, clapping me on the back. His eyes scan the crowd as he releases a heavily dramatic sigh. “Can you believe it? This many people and not one person for me to hit on. What even is the point in this thing?”
I slowly turn to him. I’m aware Sam’s kidding, but there’s some truth to his words. If there’s one thing Sam loves more than football, it’s flirting with women. And if there’s one thing he loves more than flirting with women, it’s getting said women into his bed, respectfully, and on the down low, because the last thing we need is the media calling us pigs again.
“Maybe you should think with your brain instead of your dick for once,” I tell him, and he volleys back with, “Maybe you shoulduseyour dick for once.”
It’s all friendly banter. Our team does this, but I can’t help but narrow my eyes at him.
Sure, I haven’t slept with a woman in a while, but where is a guy like me supposed to find the time? Looking aftermy son is a full-time job; I’m not going to drop him off at someone else’s house for a few hours while I go out and bang someone. That just feels wrong.
Women are simply not on my mind. Most of them just say yes. Yes to everything. Yes to wherever I want to eat. Yes to whatever I say. They like what I like. Want what I want. It just doesn't feel real. Authentic. It feels… fake.
And I’ve accepted that that’s my future now—to be schmoozed by women who will do anything I want to make me like them.
