Nothing more, nothing less.
Now…if only she could make herself accept that.
CHAPTER FIVE
Victor staredat the clock and growled. Belle was out on a date tonight withanotherasshole she’d connected with online.
For two long weeks, he thought perhaps she’d given up on the online dating idea because she’d stuck close to home, hanging out with him and Pip. It had been awesome, great…brutal. Following her failed date with that douchebag Scott, things had fallen into an easy, comfortable routine, as he and Belle proved themselves to be an amazing team when it came to caring for Pip.
Because Victor’s lifting, cardio, and high-intensity skating drills happened in the morning, Belle took that shift, feeding Pip breakfast, getting her dressed, and entertaining her with crafts or “field trips” to the local library, or the children’s discovery museum, or the park. In the afternoons, following lunch and Pip’s midday nap, Victor took over, he and his niece spending a lot of time playing in the pool or working in his vegetable garden. Pip loved digging in the dirt with him. While he told Belle that was her time to do whatever she wanted, more often than not, she hung out by the pool with them.
From there, he and Belle worked together cooking dinner, then tag teaming on Pip’s bedtime routine. His favorite part of the day came at the end, when he and Belle met out on the patio with a nightcap, talking and chilling.
It wasn’t until those nighttime chats began that Victor realized just how much distance he’d put between himself and Belle over the years, recalling his determination to think of her as the nanny and nothing else. Over the last month, he’d learned a fuck-ton about her that he didn’t know. Belle was an interesting conversationalist and an amusing storyteller. He’d particularly enjoyed hearing about her high school years. While she hadn’t been a bad kid, like most teens, she’d done her fair share of sneaking around, drinking, parking with her boyfriends.
Victor usually didn’t talk about himself, but somehow with Belle, he ended up telling her things he hadn’t talked or even thought about in ages.
So it made sense that he was annoyed with her dropping the “I have a date tonight” bomb on him this morning. She was fucking with a solid routine, and without her there, he hadn’t even bothered going outside. Instead, he was sitting on his couch, knee bouncing a mile a minute while he scrolled through YouTube videos on the big screen TV without bothering to play any.
He glanced at the clock again, pissed off to discover it was only three minutes since the last time he’d looked. It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet, but he still didn’t like the idea of Belle being out so late with someone she didn’t know well.
She’d skipped the coffee date this time, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that was because she was worried about him crashing again. This time, she’d agreed to a dinner date, claiming she’d spent more time talking to his man before doing the face-to-face meeting. To soothe him, he supposed, she’d set this date up at Pat’s Pub, because it was one of Victor’s favoriterestaurants and he’d gotten to know the family that owned it very well since moving to Baltimore.
Belle had insisted she’d be fine at the pub. Padraig, the bartender, knew her, and like Jerry, he’d most likely keep an eye on her.
Unbeknownst to Belle, he’d called Padraig that afternoon to make sure he did just that. Padraig assured him he’d be on the lookout and that Belle would be safe. He swore he’d had plenty of practice standing sentry, as he’d done the same thing for his many female cousins over the years.
Padraig’s guarantees should have set Victor’s mind at ease, but they hadn’t. He was itching to go to the pub so he could look out for her himself, but Belle had been too clever this time. By agreeing to a dinner date—alatedinner—she’d ensured Victor was trapped at home, since Pip would be in bed.
He growled under his breath. “No more fucking dinner dates,” he grumbled. He’d promise not to crash any more coffee dates if he had to in order to make sure of that. Besides, now that he’d met her former boss, Jerry—who was a big-ass motherfucker—he could relax about her meeting men at his shop.
Sort of.
Victor leaned his head back against the couch and groaned. He was a fucking idiot. All the lying to himself in the world wasn’t helping. Having Belle here this summer had been just as torturous as he’d expected.
His phone rang, and he glanced at the screen, one side of his mouth tipping up in a grin. Dean Fields was technically Victor’s coach, but their relationship—born years earlier as teammates—meant they were friends first.
He answered the phone. Dean didn’t call often, usually only when he had a question or concern.
“Vic,” Dean said.
“What’s up, Coach,” Victor said, amused by Dean’s huff of laughter at being called coach.
“Every other guy on that team can call me coach and it sounds good. Right, even. Coming from you, though…”
They’d been close back when Dean played for the Stingrays. The older player had taken Victor, a cocky rookie, under his wing, serving as a mentor as well as a friend.
“Something on your mind, Dean?”
“I know it’s late, but Tank and Kenny were here for dinner, and they just left. Goddamn, that man can talk.”
Victor chuckled. “Understatement of the century.”
“I know you’re a night owl, so I thought I’d give you a quick call, check in on you. You’re a miserable bastard on a good day, but this morning you took it to the next level. You were running on that treadmill like you were chasing down the man who stole your car.”
Victor chuckled, because Dean knew how much he loved his car. And hehadbeen a bear at workouts. Thanks to Belle dropping her plans for the evening just before he left to head to the training facility.
“I’m fine,” Victor lied.
