Stella

A stupid grin spreads across my face as I stare at the computer screen. This is bad. Head shaking, I type out my response.

* * *

Dane

As soon as we walk in, we’re immediately greeted by Shaw’s wife. I’ve only met her once, at some charity function, though from what I can recall she’s real sweet and very much in love with my buddy.

She takes the apple pies we brought out of my hands as she’s sayin’ her hellos. Cal, the soft and cuddly type, jerks his chin in greeting and asks what I want to drink. I tell him a beer and he leads me into the kitchen while his wife and Stella talk.

Grabbing two Sam Adamses out of the refrigerator, Calvin pops the caps off and hands me one.

“So, what’s it like?” Arms crossed, he leans against the counter and awaits my answer with undivided attention.

He doesn’t have to explain. This is a topic every professional athlete simultaneously fears and purposely ignores. It takes complete dedication, one hundred percent of your time, to perform at this level. Most of us don’t know how to do anything else.

“It’s great. I don’t have to pop half a bottle of pain killers to get out of bed. I can take a day off from workin’ out and not feel guilty. I’m lookin’ forward to havin’ a real Thanksgiving this year, first one since I turned seven.”

He grunts and looks off. “I’ve been thinking about it…Camilla’s pregnant again.”

“Didn’t you just have one?”

Cal smiles. I haven’t seen this dude smile in a long time. Not since he won the Super Bowl. “My son, yeah. What can I say? Except––” Picking up his bottle of beer off the counter, he smiles. “Be careful.”

“Nah, you got it wrong. This isn’t…” I thought Stella had explained our arrangement. “Stella and I aren’t together in that sense. It’s an arrangement.”

Cal’s face goes completely flat. “Say what?”

“An arrangement, dude. I want a kid. So does she. Neither one of us want to get married. We’re keeping it real simple.” I take another pull of my beer.

Cal starts chuckling. I know for a fact I’ve never heard this guy laugh. Ever.

“What’s so funny?”

More laughing. “You think that’s gonna keep things simple?”

“Yeah, that’s the whole point of it.”

“Call me a year from now and explain to me how simple it is.”

“Be my pleasure.”

Unblinking, cold pale eyes watch me. My buddy is a trained killer. I say this as a compliment. I’ve seen him carve up defenses faster than a Thanksgiving turkey. The problem is he’s studyin’ me as if I’m a defensive formation.

“There’s something different about you. I thought it was retirement, but now…now I think you’re hung up on her.”

Something about what he said and the way he said it gets on my nerves. I like Shorty, of course I do, but he’s seeing ghosts. Things that aren’t there. Imaginary shit. There ain’t anything except respect between Stella and me.

Yes, we have fun together. And yes, she makes me laugh––at her. And yes, she’s probably the first and last person I want to talk to these days. But that’s because of our little project. I’m not hung up on her. I don’t do hung up.

“I’m not hung up on her, dude. No offense––I know you’re close with the family––but we’re just friends. That’s all.”

“You’ll realize it soon enough,” he adds with a sly smirk. It’s the smirk. The smirk makes me lose my cool.

“She’s not even my type!”

Three women are suddenly standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Shaw’s wife with Stella and Mrs. Donovan in tow. It has to be Stella’s mother. Other than the eyes, the resemblance is remarkable.

All three stare at me. None of them look happy. It hits me then, the knowledge that I’m gonna pay for this in the not-too-distant future. This has all the makings of an epic karmic ass-kicking with my name on it.

I didn’t mean to shout. I didn’t mean to say it at all. The words felt wrong. One, out of loyalty––she’s not only gonna be the mother of my child, she’s also a good friend. Someone I trust. And two, because if I’m being honest she kinda is…at least, she is now. I’m also pretty sure that I’m not her type in any way, shape, or form and Cal was poking at that sore spot with a stick.

My gaze settles on Mrs. Donovan, the only one wearing a subtle smile. I move forward to introduce myself.

“Mrs. Donovan? Dane Wylder, pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

As I gently take her hand in mine, she covers it with her other one. Filled with amusement, her sharp brown eyes assess me. I know the type. This woman is an iron fist in a velvet glove. Not unlike her daughter. Though her daughter could use a little more velvet and a little less iron.

“Call me Mercedes and I will call you Dane.” Her gentle Spanish accent puts me at ease, makes me want to kick myself in the teeth for what she overheard. Judging by the current mood in the kitchen there’s no doubt they all know whom I was speaking about.

I have yet to look at Stella in fear I’ll find disappointment on her face. Or worse yet, pain. She’s the last person on the planet I want to hurt. The thought alone digs a hole in my gut.

“Why don’t we move to the patio? I have appetizers there, and the grill is firing up,” Shaw’s wife announces. Her upbeat voice edges out the awkward hovering over the room. I direct a grateful smile at her and she smiles back.

Ten minutes later we’re all on the patio, eating appetizers and drinking cocktails. I cut a glance at Stella and, catching me, she returns a small smile. Thank God. My little fuck-up seems to be forgiven and forgotten. I knew this was going to go smoothly.

* * *

This is not going smoothly. Not since Stella’s friend arrived an hour ago. Her name is Delia, or Suicide Blonde, as I’ve come to think of her. This chick has been staring a hole through my head since she walked in.

I got up to take my dirty dish into the kitchen and now she’s standing behind me, arms crossed and toe of her spike heels tapping.

Wiping my hands on a paper towel, I turn and lean against the counter. Weapon of choice––a lazy smile on my face guaranteed to get under her skin. Shouldn’t take long. This one looks like a powder keg.

“Is this the part where the feisty best friend warns me to treat her right otherwise you’ll throw a glass of water in my face?”

“Nope, this is the part where the bitchy best friend tells you that if you fuck her over it will be fifty shades of black and blue and I promise there won’t be any pleasure in it. At least––not for you there won’t.”

“Message received.” Stella must’ve told her what happened earlier. A bout of shame hits me. “Is this little talk aimed at anything in particular?”

“No. Just a general watch-your-ass warning,” she tells me with a half smile that has me doubting her.

“Glad we got that cleared up.”

She’s not leaving. Why is she not leaving?

“Collecting knives is a hobby.” She examines her dark nails, shrugs. “I’ll leave it there.”

I have no doubt she’s tellin’ the truth. Everything about her is sharp. The woman’s got little black spikes on her shoes for shit’s sake.

Stepping into the kitchen, Stella glances oddly at her overprotective, possibly psychotic best friend. “Hey. I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she says to me. “My brother’s here. I want to introduce you.”

It says a lot that I’d rather meet her bother, an Army Ranger, than spend another minute alone with Suicide Blonde.

“Ready when you are,” I say to Stella.

“Nice taking to you,” the blonde drawls. I let Stella lead me to safety.

* * *

Stella

I’ve never been so humiliated in my entire life. Screaming that I’m not his type loud enough for the entire block to hear? Fine, so I’m not his type. Did he have to announce it to the world?

He’s not my type either, even though he’s been growing on me, and yet do I go around embarrassing him? No. No, I do not because I thought we were friends. I thought something nice was happening between us, something…I don’t know what. Serves me right.

I’ve been sitting off to the side of the patio, on a bench overlooking the pool for the past hour, fake smile plastered to my face every time I catch him looking at me. Yep, everything is just swell.

I watch him talking to Alex, who wore his uniform here. Even my mother looked at him funny when he walked in dressed for maximum intimidation.

Alex laughs, the traitor.

“Who are you murdering with your eyes?”

A sly smile stretches across my best friend’s face. “Between you and Alex I can’t decide which one looks more threatening. You had to wear the studded Louboutins and the Chanel…what is that, a leather corset?”

“A leather chastity belt,” Del informs me.

“Of course it is. You look like one of the characters in your books.”

“Mistress of the Underworld. She’s my favorite.” Delia follows my line of sight, straight to Dane. “You should hit that.”

Wearing jeans that for once don’t have holes in them, draped perfectly over the round globes of his ass, and a white linen shirt that offsets his perpetual tan, he’s beyond handsome. Asshole.

“No way. Not even if he found me attractive––which he doesn’t.”

She flips a pale manicured hand at me. “Trust me, he’s attracted. You guys haven’t stopped staring at each other since I got here. Why bother hiding it? Two birds, one stone.”

Delia’s intuition borders on supernatural. Or maybe witchcraft. And her study of human nature is bar none. Probably two of the reasons she’s such an amazing writer.

“What happened to your legendary powers of observation? I know he doesn’t find me attractive for a fact––I’m not his type.”

“How would you know that for a fact? Unless he told you…” At my silence Delia’s platinum blonde head whips around. “That son of a bitch told you he’s not attracted to you?!”

“Shhh, keep your voice down. Camilla, my mother, and I walked in on him telling Calvin. He literally said I’m not his type.”

Delia’s eyes narrow. Sinister, scary, scheming––the only way to describe her expression. Nothing new for Delia.

“He’s going down.”

“No, he’s not going anywhere. Leave it alone.” I give her a very necessary warning glare. Delia is not easily deterred when her emotions are involved.

“But you’re going to drop him, right? You’re not going to have a baby with a fuckboy that’s too stupid to keep his mouth shut?”

“Yes, I am.” When her eyes widen, I continue. “He did me a favor. I was starting to enjoy his company a little too much. Which is not only forbidden, but breaking my own rules. The ones I insisted on. If anything, he put things right back into perspective for me. We’re raising a child together. Nothing more.”

Camilla walks up holding her newborn, the baby extremely unhappy about something. She makes a face, bouncing him gently in her arms.

“I’m so sorry I disappeared, but I can’t get him to stop. I came down to ask your mother for help. She’s so good with him.”

The baby sniffles and wails some more.

“Maybe she’s in the bathroom? Let me go find her.”

“Can I try?”

Three heads swivel in the direction of the man who has just spoken. Dane stands a few feet from Camilla, hands up, expression eager. “Most dependable hands in the business.”

Camilla looks suspicious. I don’t blame her. Essentially, Dane is a stranger. A stranger who wants to handle her baby.

“Okay, give it a shot,” she agrees, her voice projecting more than a small amount of anxiety. “There’s some antibacterial gel over there.” Dane leaves to douse his hands with hand sanitizer and returns shortly after. Riveted, I watch Camilla gingerly place the little boy into Dane’s extra-large hands.

He handles the baby comfortably, as if it’s an everyday occurrence for him. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he drapes the baby over his shoulder and starts murmuring. His hand, spanning wider than the baby’s back, draws slow circles. All I can make out is “girls” and “big problem” and “diaper twisted up.”

A tiny belch later, and we’re all smiling like idiots, the belch producing an interesting splat on Dane’s shirt. I catch an, “Atta boy,” along with more whispered words of encouragement.

Cam, Delia, and I watch in awe as slowly but surely the baby goes from whimpering, to sniffling, and eventually quiets.

Leaning in, Delia whispers, “Do not fall for this evil juju.”

My mother approaches. She stops, her steadfast gaze bouncing between the baby and the man holding the baby, studying them with an expression I can’t recognize. It makes me wary. Until her gaze shoots to me. Then it shifts into something I do recognize and don’t care for, a look that says I told you so.

Calvin walks up holding two plates and frowns at the sight.

“Wylder, your hamburgers are ready.”

“Never say never,” a voice to my left whispers. My gaze cuts to Camilla. She shrugs.

Never. In my head I’m screaming never.

* * *

The following day Alex had to leave for Georgia so I offered to take him to the airport. He’s stationed there, though I suspected he was rushing back because there was someone he wanted to see. He pretty much confirmed it when I asked and he didn’t deny it.

“Well? What do you think?” I ask Al on the drive to LaGuardia.

“I think you need a bigger car,” he says, frowning at his hitched-up knees, practically hitting his chest as he tries and fails to get comfortable in my Mini Cooper.

“Well?”

He scratches the back of his neck, his mouth twisting. “I mean…he’s a cool guy. I don’t want to throw shade on the dude when he’s not here to defend himself but…” Alex tips his dark head left and right.

“Spit it out, your honorable holiness.”

“He’s the guy you share laughs and a beer with. He reminds me of the guys on my team. I also wouldn’t want him near you any more than I would want Hayes or any of the other guys near you.”

We drive the rest of the way in silence as I mull over what Alex said. At the passenger drop-off, he gets out and leans into the open window on the passenger side. “You’ll make the right choice. You always do. And if he fucks up I can always have him hogtied and airdropped into Bolivia.”

I smile then. Mainly because it says more about Al’s opinion than words did. Essentially, he’s saying that Dane is harmless. Otherwise he would’ve put an end to it right there and then.

“Love you. Be safe.”

My brother smiles, a smile so similar to mine it’s sometimes creepy. Then he pats the hood of my car.

“Love you too.”