“Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

I lay on my back across the king-size bed in my hotel room, staring at the ceiling and smacking the heel of my palm against my forehead. I’d screwed up big time. I hadn’t told Shayla all the things I’d wanted to say. I was in a rush, trying to get everything out before she dismissed me. My words came out wrong. No wonder she’d stormed off. That was one hell of a boneheaded proposal.

The crazy thing was the whole time I kept thinking about the hot nights we’d spent together in college. We were young, fumbling around, feeling out each other’s bodies. Our attraction was so fierce, we could barely contain our explosive sexual energy. Between class, football practice, dance practice, and our extracurricular activities, we managed to squeeze in more than our fair share of quickies. But no woman had left her imprint on me like Shayla had.

I’m older now. I know my way around a woman’s body. I can make Shayla purr all night long, if she’ll give me the chance. I can be everything she desires in bed. But I hadn’t told her that. I hadn’t mentioned passion or pleasure. Or love.

“I’m a jackass.”

I was so busy pleading Cee’s case, I didn’t follow the number one rule of negotiation: Make ’em an offer they can’t refuse. What had I offered Shayla besides financial stability? Just like on the football field, my competitive nature had kicked in, and I went for the win. I zeroed in on her vulnerabilities. I played the “Alice” card.

I’m ashamed for stooping so low to get her to accept my proposal. But this is for Cee. The girl’s story touched me so much that I’d had my attorney call Social Services the morning after I’d met her. That’s when I learned that I needed a stable family environment to raise a child. In other words, a wife. If I was just some average Joe Blow, I’m sure the cops would have been banging on my door five minutes after that call. But my celebrity status allows me to bypass normal channels. I had two weeks before Social Services came to collect Cee.

Now, I’ve probably destroyed any snowball’s chance in hell I had of creating a stable family environment for Cee. Maybe contacting Shayla hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

My cell phone rings, bringing me back to the present. Despite my self-depreciating mood, I grin when Cee’s image pops up on the screen. She’s Facetiming me on the laptop I let her use. “Wassup?”

“Where are you?” Her eyes dart over my shoulder, no doubt trying to ascertain my surroundings.

I chuckle. That’s Cee’s communication style. Direct and demanding. “I left you a note.”

“I know. Just wanna know when you’ll be back.”

“Tomorrow afternoon. It feels good to be missed.”

She yawns so wide, I can practically see her tonsils. “I don’t miss you. I’m keepin’ busy.”

“Yeah, right. What are you doing?”

“Rearranging the spice rack.”

I fluff my pillow and then lean back against it. “I don’t have any spices.”

“I noticed. You should eat out less and cook more.”

“I’ll think about it.”

She flexes her wrist. “Got any aspirin? My wrist is killin’ me.”

I wince. If guilt trips came with frequent flier points, I’d have enough to fly to Fiji. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I’ll take you to the doctor when I—”

“No! I told you I don’t want to go back.”

Her dark gaze is filled with something I can’t quite identify. A look that falls between fear and outrage on the emotion spectrum. I sit up straight. “Cee, as long as I’m breathing, nobody is making you go back.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.” I don’t mention my two-week deadline. I have faith things will go our way. “Sit tight and don’t go anywhere. I’ll be home soon.”

“Sure. I’ll be in my penthouse prison watching The Simpson’s reruns.”

I grin. At least she’s safe at my place. “I’m bringing a surprise home.”

Her brows jump. “A pony?”

“So overrated. You think a dog is hard work. Try taking care of a pony.”

“A new car?”

“You don’t even have a license.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Something much cooler.”

“I don’t know what’s cooler than a pony or a car.”

“You’ll see.”

Cee hangs up without preamble. I sigh before dragging a callused palm through my hair. I want her to live life without fearing she’ll be snatched from her new home and returned to that hellhole. I’d made her a promise. Now, I have to deliver. Shayla is my last and only hope. I have to go hard or go home. I just hope my first love will give me a second chance.