EXPOSÉ SEXY DAD ALERT: BEST A BABY DADDY?
We caught up with embattled Branch Best last night at the Hopetown Mall. The charismatic (and sexy as hell) wide receiver had a little something to say about recent headlines surrounding him.
Turns out Branch is going to be a father with Finn Miller’s sister, Layla James. According to Branch, Callum’s statement was nothing more than an attempt to make Layla look bad in a bout of jealousy. Branch insists this is a non-issue.
When asked if this means he’s off the market, our favorite hottie said, and we quote, “I’m going to be the best father I can be in every way.”
We don’t know what that means, exactly, but we can’t wait for our ovaries to explode with pictures of him with a baby.
TOYING WITH THE necklace around my neck, I peer into the refrigerator. There’s nothing in there that looks good. Of course, the box of food delivered earlier today from Branch’s delivery service is in there, but I moved it to the back and created a wall with milk, juice, bacon, and a very creatively positioned tub of Greek yogurt so I don’t have to see it.
Sure, it would’ve been easier to throw it away. But I can’t do that either. I like having it in there. I’ll probably even eat it later. But every time I see it right now it makes me sad.
I’ve been sad for two days now, ever since he left. He’s called a few times and I’ve sent them to voicemail because there’s nothing to say. Anything he does say will make me cry and I’m not going to cry. I’m going to find Layla James, the one pre-Branch, pre-baby, pre- . . . love. I’m going to stop with this weak girl nonsense.
The necklace twirls in my fingers as I look at the Exposé article again. He looks so calm in the photo, wearing a light blue shirt that makes his eyes look unreal. Still, there’s something missing in them. The light, the sparkle, the mischief is gone, and it kills me.
I miss him. I miss him and his jokes, touches, and caring glances so much it physically hurts. It’s only not having him around that makes me realize how much having him around means to me. How wonderful it makes me feel. How awful it is right now.
Grabbing my purse off the sofa, I head to the front door. I have to eat and I need fresh air, so I take out my phone to call Poppy to meet me for lunch. I pull open the door and almost run into someone.
“Oh!” I say, taking a step back. “I’m sorry.”
She’s tall, with long, red hair that’s pulled back into a chic chignon. Her dress is black and long with two gold necklaces hanging fashionably between her breasts. “No worries. Probably my fault. I’m standing on your doorstep, right?” she laughs.
“Um, sure. Can I help you?”
“Forgive me,” she gushes, moving a clipboard to her left hand. “I’m Daisy Markus. Are you Layla Miller?”
“I am.”
“Oh, good,” she says. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you since yesterday. Do you mind if I come in? I really need to talk to you.”
With a puzzled laugh, I block the door. “I apologize, but I have no idea who you are or why you’d be trying to get ahold of me.”
“Oh, I assumed you knew.” She takes a piece of paper from the clipboard with a flourish and hands it to me. “You’ve been listed as the main point of contact for the Best project.”
“The what?”
Skimming the paper, I step back into the apartment and Daisy follows with a wide smile.
My name is there, right where she said it would be, with Branch’s above it. There are measurements and dollar amounts and paint chips in both grey and yellow paper clipped to the top.
The paper rattles as I drop it to my side and look at her.
My mouth is lined with cotton, my breathing shallow. I pull the paper up and look at it again.
“We have a four-month window to get this complete,” she says, “and with the extensive updates, we need to get started.”
“I’m sorry,” I laugh, trying to make sense of all this. “What’s going on?”
“Mr. Best hired my firm to redesign his home. He said everything would be changed to your specifications and billed to him. He’s given you complete creative control with every avenue except one.”
“What’s that?” I ask, choking back tears.
“The nursery.” Her voice softens as she hands me a tissue. “He asked that he gets to pick between the grey and the yellow. I think that’s so sweet.”
My legs give out and I fall to the sofa, and despite the terrible manners, I cry in front of this woman. I don’t even offer her a seat, but I figure she gets the point because she sits across from me anyway.
“He also asked, strangely, for candy-apple red sheets in the master,” she notes.
My head snaps to hers, and instantly, I laugh. It’s a full-bellied, this-isn’t-as-funny-as-I’m-making-it-out-to-be-but-it-feels-so-damn-good kind of laugh.
She must think I’m a lunatic because she laughs too, more of a what-the-hell-have-I-gotten-myself-into kind of chuckle.
Why would he do this? Why would he put me in charge of something like this? I feel like I can’t breathe, like things are coming at me too fast and I can’t keep up.
I press his number on my phone, but it goes straight to voicemail. Just hearing his voice on the message makes me smile.
“I have no idea what’s happening,” I say. “I can’t accept this task without talking to someone first.”
She stands, a sweet grin on her face. “There’s an incredibly handsome man standing outside your door.”
“What?”
“Branch is in the hall. He said he wasn’t sure if you’d throw me out, but he really hoped you’d want to see him.”
She’s still talking as I fly by her and jerk open the door. Sure enough, he’s leaning against the wall, one foot crossed over the other.
“You let her in. That has to be a good sign, right?” he winces.
“What is all this?” I ask, forcing my legs not to move my body to him. I want to touch him, kiss him, breathe him in, but I can’t. Not yet.
He tries to explain, but all I can do is look at him and hear my thousand questions in my own head.
“Did you hear any of that?” he laughs, pressing off the wall.
“No.”
He chuckles, reaching for my hand. “Daisy, if all goes right, she’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Give her my number, please.” She turns her attention to me. “It was nice meeting you, Layla.”
“You too.”
“And whatever he’s done, give him another chance. He’s so cute,” she winks.
We step inside and Branch locks the doors. “Your brother and Poppy have this new thing where they just walk into people’s houses. It’s really uncomfortable.”
I watch him fiddle with the lock. It broke last week and it’s hard to snap. When he finally gets it, he turns to me. “God, I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.”
“I’m not doing this again,” he tells me, walking into the place like he owns it. He goes to the fridge and does an inventory. “Have you been eating?”
I stand in the same spot, brows pulled together. “What?”
“Have. You. Been. Eating?” He casts me an annoyed glance before going back to moving things around in my fridge. “What did you have for breakfast today?”
“I haven’t.”
The door snaps closed. “Really, Layla?”
“I’m sad.”
“Get your shit.”
“What?” I ask again, a hand on my hip. “You’re coming in my house and ordering me around after you just left me days ago? Slow down there, buddy.”
He grumbles, but must sense how serious I am and doesn’t object. Instead, he marches to the couch and sits. “Fine. Fire away. Let’s get this ironed out so we’re both clear as to where we stand.”
“I think we’re clear now.”
“I think we’re clear, just one of us is still fighting it. And that one of us isn’t me,” he grins.
My hand trembles as I reach for the armrest of the chair by the island. Sinking into it, I try to keep my voice even. “We were on the same page a couple of days ago.”
“Then I wised up.” He laces his fingers together and looks patiently at me. “Go. What do you want to hash out? Let’s hear it.”
“Why are you here?”
“To get you to move in with me.”
Thankfully, I’m already sitting or I think I’d have fallen over. “Move in with you? Branch. Really?”
“This thing between us has always been there and will always be there. I think I realized it when I heard the baby’s heartbeat,” he says softly. “But I knew it so strongly when Callum said that shit that I got scared. It was the first time I’ve ever felt that kind of loyalty to a woman. I knew that wasn’t true. I didn’t even think twice and that was a little unnerving.”
“I can imagine. You’ve been quite the player.”
“I have been. No doubt. I’ve been the best, actually.”
Rolling my eyes, I sigh. “Only you would take pride in that.”
“Now,” he insists, “I’m taking pride in being your man. If you’ll have me.”
My eyes fill with tears as I watch his face wash with sincerity. “What about away games? And the media?”
“Fine. Let’s say we stay apart from each other because of the fucking media. Is that the golden ticket? Is that going to get them to stop printing ridiculous stories and listening to assholes spewing garbage?”
I just look at him.
“We’re together, whether you want to realize that or not. Our lives will always be entwined, our stories overlapping in one way or the other. What I do will affect you and what you do will affect me.”
He shrugs. “Staying apart isn’t going to fix anything. You’re still going to wonder about road trips and I’m still going to want to break what’s-his-face for being here.”
“Max?” I giggle.
“Yeah. Max. I hate him.” He steps back and grumbles. “Our problems aren’t going away and neither are our fears. But I’d much rather deal with them together, where we can communicate and know what’s happening and have each other, than not.”
“What about the eighty percent?”
“There’s still twenty percent who make it. The smart twenty, the twenty who have something so good at home they don’t want to risk it. And you, Sunshine, are so worth it.”
I feel my walls giving in, his charm wearing me down. My brain says to be careful. My heart says to jump in head first. My gut, though, has a different reaction.
It’s my gut that says to give it a try, that it might not work but it’s worth seeing.
He’s always been honest with me, even when it was hard. When he’s been wrong, he’s apologized. And when he faced ridicule in the media about the baby, he trusted me.
As I look at his handsome face and the way his foot taps against the floor and he chews his bottom lip, I listen to my gut. Because my gut’s always right.
“What if it doesn’t work?” I ask.
“Then we can say we tried. I don’t know how to manage it all, but I want a family with you,” he whispers. “A real one. The holidays at the cabin and Christmas cards and a dog named Snickers.”
“Snickers?”
“Or Caramello. Whatever,” he whispers, reaching for my hand.
I place my palm in his and he pulls me to my feet.
“I want us in the same house,” he says, walking towards me, “figuring everything out together, eating coffee cake at midnight.”
“Promise?”
“I promise to love you and the baby and do everything I can for you.”
“No, I meant about the coffee cake.”
He picks me up, making me laugh, as he swings my legs over his arms. “You are going to be the death of me.”