Working together.
I will never understand their relationship.
I look at Ziggy again, trying to silently ask her what she wants to do without putting it all on her. And I’m coming to a realization I don’t like.
“Hey, don’t hate on limas.” Porter shoves Silas from the other side, but he’s still half eyeing me. “And don’t talk shit about Ziggy’s food choices. She promised me we’re getting steak. And not bad catering steak either.Goodsteak. Like, she’s hiring a rancher to come in and fix it for us.”
“How do you know about the rancher?” Ziggy asks him. She’s clutching her handbag so tightly that her knuckles are white.
He grins. “I was with the social media team for a volunteer thing this week and I told them I’d show my tattoo for the camera if they told me how you could keep a promise about good steak.”
Ziggy squeezes her eyes shut. “I didn’t hear that. I don’t want to know who you’re showing your tattoo to.”
“It’s on my arm. See?” He lifts his sleeve, and there’s the tattoo that all of us in the locker room are familiar with but the rest of the world doesn’t see often.
He has the cartoon lion mascot of his favorite breakfast cereal on his shoulder.
Ziggy blinks at him, glances at me, then swiftly looks away.
Like anyone’s gonna believe she doesn’t know me when this is my fucking house and it’s pretty clear no one believes the catering story.
“You still gonna be playing for us next year, Cap’n?” Zander says quietly.
“Yes,” I grit out.
He looks at Ziggy, then at me.
Then at Jessica, who runs as fast as her little barrel body will go as she dashes in from the porch.
I’ve been leaving the doors open so she can go in and out as she pleases, and as she pleases is right to Ziggy.
Even if it means being in the same room with a half dozen men.
“How’d this happen?” Crew asks me.
“How did what happen?”
He looks pointedly at Ziggy, who’s squatting down and whispering things in Italian to Jessica, who’s soaking in the love, then back at me.
I get the eyebrow cock ofdon’t fucking lie to us.
“Oh, shit, are you the father?” Tatum says.
Ziggy jerks her head up so fast she almost falls over. “No.”
I swallow a mutteredthanksbecause it wouldn’t come out as nice as it should.
I know what she means.
He didn’t get me pregnant.
But fuck yes that baby is mine.
All of those eyeballs shift between us.
My house isn’t big enough for this mountain of scrutiny,and all I want to do is pick Ziggy up and carry her somewhere away from the prying eyes and ask if she’s okay.
What happened at brunch.
