“You don’t believe me?”
“Oh, I believe you. You might think hockey players are brainless spunk machines, but if you’re not going to go with a sperm bank—why aren’t you doing that?”
“The donors lie all the time. I’d rather do my own background checks.”
Of course she would. “So hockey players might be as dumb as pucks, but they are generally healthy specimens, which seems to be more important to you. That means someone like me is going to meet all your criteria. Age, relationship status, health.”
I was curious about how she might try to persuade me. The idea gave me a thrill, to be honest. Not being her baby daddy but that she would have to ask me. Beg. Maybe on her knees with those blue-gray eyes pleading, her ruby-red lips in a pout, her pink tongue darting out nervously to wet them … So desperate to be a mom that she would tap a guy she didn’t even like to give her the goods.
“Not all.”
“Oh yeah? In which category don’t I measure up?”
She moved in closer, like she needed to tell me a secret. Her breath was soft against my neck. The scent of her shampoo filled my nostrils, something floral and sexy.
“The asshole one.”
“Come again?”
“While having a strong liking for the candidate isn’t absolutely necessary, I draw the line at choosing an asshole to be the sperm donor for my child.”
And then she walked away, leaving me fumbling for a response.
Chapter Six
Jason Isner has been spotted at Chicago Rebels HQ where insider sources say he is “learning his way around the gym equipment” ahead of training camp, set to begin in just over six weeks. Isner, known in Boston as the Green-Eyed Monster, a nod to his vaunted defense skills, his Kershaw green eyes, and the famous left field wall at Fenway, was brought onto the Rebels roster in a five-year, twenty-million-dollar deal, as the franchise looks to strengthen its defensive bench.
* * *
When asked if Isner’s surprise addition is being rushed so he can play with his brother, Theo Kershaw, for the first time in their professional careers, Rebels PR claimed this was not a factor. We still have no decision on whether the legendary defenseman will remain with the Rebels or if he’ll hang up his skates before the season starts.
* * *
- @RebelsInsider
Jason
* * *
While my season with the Chicago Rebels didn’t officially start until training camp in a few weeks, I had no intention of showing up on day one out of breath and clutching my side. I would be smooth, sleek, and fit as hell.
Which meant I needed to put the beat down on my cocky nephews. Both of them were forwards—Hatch with Chicago, my new team, Conor about to start his maiden season with Detroit—so they were perfectly placed to suffer while I worked them over on the practice ice at Rebels HQ.
We were taking a break and happily shooting the shit about how my years in Boston somehow left me wanting as a native Chicagoan—no one appreciated my take on how deep dish was overrated—when Conor brought up Franky St. James and her quest for a sperm donor. How he knew was a mystery, but then maybe she was spreading her desperation far and wide, hoping to catch a spoonful.
I was still irked as all get out over how she managed to get the last word the other night. I draw the line at choosing an asshole to be the sperm donor for my child. She should be so lucky!
Hatch, my brother Theo’s eldest, squinted at Conor, who was refusing to reveal his source like he was Woodward or Bernstein. Annoyed, he turned to me. “Did Sean say anything to you about it?”
“Just that he and Franky are friends and it would make things weird.”
Sean was kind of freaked out about it, for which I couldn’t blame him. “I told her she was out of her mind,” I added.
Hatch tilted his head, scenting blood in the water. “You talked to her about it?”
“I was driving home from dinner at Ro and Addy’s and saw her on the sidewalk.”
“And?”
