Fair Play (9 page)

I wanted this. More than I realized. I mean, I’ve been drawn to him from the moment we met, but the time we spent together today felt like we were in a pressure cooker. The cooker opened when our lips touched and the release is overwhelming.

His hand slides up my back and into my hair where he slips off the tie that’s been holding my wild mop at bay all day. My mane of silky red and black waves cascade around us, shielding our faces from the world while he takes my breath away with his kiss.

He feels good, so damn good pressing against me. Too good, I could lose myself in this man that I’ve only just met. I should stop this before it gets out of hand, but there’s no way I can do it on my own.

The universe must have been eavesdropping on my internal deliberation because not a minute later when I’m considering climbing into Nick’s lap and straddling his hips, I hear the shuffling of little feet and the swoosh of a blanket being dragged along the hard wood floors.

“Daddy?” Scarlet’s voice comes from the foyer. I pull away and slide back up onto the couch next to Nick, who flops back against the cushion with a groan. The couch is situated so it faces away from the foyer, and we are both slouched down so she can only see the tops of our heads.

“Hey, Letty. What are you doing up, sweetheart?” he asks, dragging his hand over his face.

“I can’t sleep.”

“You mean you can’t sleep alone.”

She makes her way around the couch and is standing next to him with a unicorn blanket wrapped around her shoulders, dressed in a pink sparkly nightgown with bare feet.

It’s obvious she’s exhausted, everything about her is droopy and limp.

“Go lay down with her, don’t worry about me. Just lead me to a bed and I’ll be out of your hair.”

I sit up and straighten out my shirt and wad my hair up to return it to the top of my head in another messy knot.

“Okay, let me show you to your room then.” He stands up and lifts Scarlet into his arms before turning to offer me his hand.

“Need some help?”

I don’t need any help standing, and I’m sure he knows it. Maybe he likes touching me as much as I like being touched by him?

I give him my hand and he pulls me up. Scarlet looks at me as if she’s forgotten I was here.

“T,” she says, reaching out for me.

“Hey, Scarlet. You’re up really late, how about we all get some sleep and I can make you waffles again in the morning?”

I look at Nick to make sure that’s okay. I shouldn’t interject myself into their routine. I specifically asked them to go about their business like I wasn’t here, but it’s impossible.

Separate, these two are magnetic. Together, they are addictive. The more time they give me, the more I want.

“That sounds perfect. Come on, your room is this way, don’t forget your brandy and your boots.”

He nods toward our drinks on the table and my boots on the floor next to it.

“You can have mine.” I smile sweetly and grab my boots. “Lead the way.”

“I’m going to make you a brandy connoisseur, Téa Brown, you just wait.”

I roll my eyes and he chuckles.

We make our way up the long staircase to the second floor. Scarlet watches me over Nick’s shoulder as we climb. When we arrive at the top, she reaches out and taps me on the nose.

“You won’t go?”

“Who, me?” I say, looking left and then right before pointing at myself.

She giggles, “Yes, you. Don’t go, ‘kay?”

“I’m not going anywhere, don’t you worry.”

At the end of the hall, there is a large set of doors standing open that look as though they lead into the master bedroom. On the right is another open door with a pink glowing light flooding out onto the hallway floor, and on the left is a closed door.

Nick carries Scarlet into the pink room, and I stand on the threshold to wait while he tucks her in.

Scarlet’s room reminds me of a giant piece of bubble gum with glitter sprinkled on it. So far, it’s the least period room I’ve seen in the house, but I suppose when you’re four you don’t care if the furniture or the wall decorations fit in with the proper century of design.

Her floor-to-ceiling windows have long, pink sheer curtains with little fairies and crowns sewn on them. There is a play area set up in one corner with a pretend kitchen and two child-sized recliners that are arranged in front of a flat screen television, you know, for when she has her best friend over to watch Ellen in the afternoons while she serves pretend tea. The opposite corner is a mini library with bookshelves on both walls chock full of children’s books, from little baby board books all the way to young adult paperbacks.

There is a small library table with four chairs and two beanbag chairs on the floor next to the table. An enormous fuzzy pink rug is spread out in the middle of the room, and a chandelier with a pink hue hangs directly over it.

Pretty swanky for a preschooler, but her parents worked hard for her to have it and I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same.

I wonder if her mother bought all of those books when she was pregnant. Having been an interior decorator, I suppose she did. 

“I sleep with you, Daddy.”

“You need to be a big girl and sleep in your own bed.”

She doesn’t argue, but it’s apparent from her fat bottom lip poking out that she’s not interested in sleeping in her princess rice bed by herself.

She looks over at me, and I wave a little wave and give her a thumbs up. She returns both gestures, and a hint of a smile plays at the corners of her lips.

“Goodnight, Scarlet.”

Nick walks toward me and Scarlet answers, “Night T. Waffles, don’t forget.”

Nick squeezes past me in the door, and the brief contact almost makes me forget to respond. I shake off the brief contact high and reassure her that I won’t forget our breakfast plans.

“I won’t. Sleep fast.”

That brings a true smile to her face. One more wave, and I turn to see that Nick has opened the door to the room directly across from Scarlet’s and the light is on.

One step in, and I stop and look around the bedroom. As is with most of the rooms in the Wood household, it’s decorated in pure plantation style, but this one has more of a feminine touch. The mahogany rice bed is the focal point of the room just like Scarlet’s, although this one is king-sized.

Nick is pulling back the comforter and dimming the light next to the bed.

“The sheets are clean, and there is an en-suite bathroom over there.” He points to my left.

“My room is next door. If you need anything, the door is open.”

I lift my brows, and he chuckles.

“Scarlet won’t make it through the night. She hasn’t since Mimi left. Don’t let that deter you, though. I’d be happy to share my bed with both of you. Scarlet says I’m a pretty good snuggler.”

“I think that’s the most interesting pickup line I’ve ever heard.”

One corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk.

“Seriously though, if you need anything, just let me know.”

“I will, thanks.”

“I’m going to grab your suitcase from the car. I’ll set it inside the door here if you want to go ahead and shower.”

“Okay, goodnight Nick.”

“Night, Téa. I had a very good time today.”

“I did too, I’ll start editing your pictures tomorrow.”

“No rush.”

I watch him cross the room and close the door behind him. When I hear it click, I take a deep breath and blow it out.

What are you doing, Téa? He lives in Myrtle Beach. You live in Chicago. He’s a famous, busy professional football player. You’re a struggling photographer. He has a daughter who is the center of the world. You’ve never considered having kids. He is straight-laced and you’re a free spirit.

This can never work. There are too many hurdles, too many barriers.

But he makes me feel a way that I never thought I wanted to feel. He makes me feel normal.

In the bathroom, I look at my reflection in the mirror. I’m different. I’ve always been different. I’ve always embraced that about myself, I make it work for me.

But I also always wondered what it would feel like to be treated like everyone else, to blend in instead of sticking out. To not have people stare at my tattoos on the bus or give me the snobby side-glances in the hallway in high school for wearing what I like to wear instead of what’s popular. To not be labeled the creative girl or the mixed girl or the wild girl.

How would it be to just be an average run-of-the-mill girl?

Why am I even thinking about this? I am who I am, always have been, always will be.

I peel off my t-shirt, turn on the shower, and wiggle out of my ripped jeans. I take off my socks and toss them in the sandy pile of clothes on the floor. I didn’t have time to shower this morning, and I’m still wearing my sports bra and Captain America underwear. I have an entire set of superhero underwear that my friend Lisa got me for my birthday a year ago. They probably aren’t even meant for a woman to wear, but I love them just the same. 

I hear the door click shut in the bedroom. Nick must have delivered my suitcase to my room and closed the door behind him.

He’s such a good host. I’m relieved to be out of my hotel, but I can’t help but feel a little guilty for accepting his offer to stay here for the next week and a half. That’s a long time to have a houseguest, especially one you hardly even know. It’s really only a couple of days since they are leaving Tuesday though. I guess that makes it okay.

The bathroom is steaming up, but I need something to change into when I’m clean so I open the door to grab a t-shirt out of my bag.

I jump when I realize I am not alone. Scarlet is standing just inside the door, looking at my suitcase covered in crazy stickers that I find when I travel.

“I like this one.” She points at a big pink butterfly with the words Pretty in Ink written across the middle of it. I got it in Miami at a tattoo parlor when I was there for a shoot and consequently decided it was high time for some new ink.

“Thanks. I’ll bet you like it because it’s pink, huh?”

She raises her eyes to me and nods yes with a smile. Her smile widens and she starts to giggle when she eyes my underwear.

“You got boy panties.”

I glance down and back up and when I do, I find four eyes staring at my underwear instead of two.

A strange man the size of Texas is standing next to Scarlet with his wide eyes glued to my crotch. Oh, God, this must be Ben.

“Uncle Ben, look at her panties.” Scarlet has a good case of the giggles going now, and I do the only thing I know how when I’m embarrassed.

I hide it.

I lean my shoulder against the bathroom door, cross my arms over my chest, and bend my knee, propping my foot on my calf in the most casual stance possible.

“Hey, Ben, I’m Téa, a friend of Nick and Scarlet’s. Nice to meet you.”

“Uh, oh.” Ben averts his eyes and covers Scarlet’s at the same time.

“We should go, sorry, I didn’t know anyone was staying …”

“What are you doing out of bed again, young lady?” Nick’s voice comes from the hall right before he enters the Captain America panty party.

“Holy shit, what’s everyone doing in here?” he says, taking in the scene.

“Daddy said a bad word! Ben, did ya hear that?”

“Come on you little narc, get back to bed,” Ben says, ushering her from the room.

“Wow, I mean …” Nick gestures at the Captain. “Wow. Those are … I don’t even know what those are.”

I drop my arms to my sides. “They’re underwear, probably little boy’s underwear, but they were a gift. I can assure you, there’s no little boy running around out there without his superhero underpants.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and raises one hand to cover his mouth. He’s laughing, he has little smile wrinkles on the outside of his eyes and his shoulders are shaking.

“Go ahead, laugh. It’s okay. I know I look hot.”

“Actually, you do look hot. Incredibly, ridiculously hot as a matter of fact.”

“Thank you.” I push off the doorframe and strut across the room until I am standing directly in front of him. Never taking my eyes off of him, I bend my knees and grab the handle of my suitcase. I turn around with a flick of my hair and pull it back into the bathroom.

As I close the door, I hear him call, “Captain America never looked better.”

I pause and relax my back against the door, smiling to myself.

That had to rank in the top ten most awkward moments of my life, maybe even the top five.

What a way to meet Nick’s best friend. What a day to be wearing gag gift underwear. I do think I played it off pretty nonchalantly though. Nobody suspected I was dying to run into the bathroom and slam the door behind me.

That’s the key, never ever let ‘em see you sweat.

Nick

I would never have thought when I started out my day today that it would end with one of the sexiest women I’ve ever seen standing in my guest bedroom in Marvel superhero underpants.

I put Scarlet in my bed since she insists on roaming around, spying on our company. Ben is downstairs with strict instructions not to wander upstairs until Téa has gone back to Chicago. He’s seen too much of her already.

If any other guy had walked in on Téa in her underwear, I think I’d be upset, but Ben is probably more embarrassed than she is.

In fact, she didn’t seem embarrassed at all. It wasn’t like she was naked. She had more on than some women wear to the beach on a Sunday afternoon. But the underwear, I don’t know why a superhero placed strategically between a woman’s legs is so fucking hot, but it is, it totally is.

That unexpected peek into Téa’s interesting choice of lingerie has left me with a problem, a big hard problem.

Now I have to decide if I should take care of business in the shower or think of my mother grocery shopping in a fifties-style housecoat and fuzzy slippers.

Yeah, that’s it, I don’t even have to try, problem solved.

“Letty, don’t get out of daddy’s bed again, okay? I’m going to shower, and I want you to stay right here.”

She nods her head against the pillow, and her eyes start to droop.

Satisfied that she’s not going anywhere, I take a shower and change into a pair of lounge pants and slide into bed with Scarlet.

I close my eyes and not ten seconds later, I hear the quick buzz of my phone on my night table notifying me of an email. That’s weird. I don’t usually get many emails on that address, and never at this time of night.

I reach over and pull the phone into the bed with me where I’m lying on my side facing away from Scarlett. I tap the screen a couple of times until the most recent email opens. I’m surprised to see it’s from Match Pro, but more specifically from Lastgoodwoman10. I thought I’d heard the last from her when she didn’t show up for our ‘date’ last night. Curious, I open the email and read what she has to say.

Emmett, I’m so sorry about last night. I’m out of town and got wrapped up in something and lost track of time. By the time I realized I’d missed you, it was too late. I didn’t want to wake your daughter. I had to work all day today, and now it’s late again, so I thought an email was best.

I have something to tell you, Emmett. I recently met someone in person who I like a lot. I have no idea if it will go anywhere, but I thought it was only fair to tell you.

I know we have only messaged once, but I take my friendships seriously, and I consider you my friend. If you’re not down for some competition, I completely understand, but I hope you won't. We can delete each other from our Match Pro accounts. Just let me know.

Lastgoodwoman10 ;)

Oh hell no. It’s ironic that we both met someone in person that we are interested in, but I’m always down for some competition.

I like Téa, but we don’t even live in the same part of the country. Who knows if things will go any further than today’s friendship. I’m sure she will be going back to Chicago, and I’m going to be putting in the hours with the team preparing for this season.

I log onto the dating app and see that Lastgoodwoman10 is still online, good.

Me -- Hey night owl, I got your email. Challenge accepted. I appreciate your honesty, and I’ll share a little secret with you. I met someone as well, but I don’t want to give up on what we have going on here because #1 I definitely consider you my friend. #2 you turn me on, and #3 did I say you turn me on?

I wait and hope she's reading my message. She might not be online. She could have forgotten to close her app after emailing me, but then I see little hearts floating up the screen notifying me that she is typing a response.

Her -- I’m not usually a night owl. I’ve had a couple of late ones recently for work. I am glad you don’t want to delete me. I think the cyber you is hot, and yes you said you turned me on once already, but it warrants repeating. So who is this real-life woman you’ve met, and should I be jealous?

That’s a good question, I’ve never seen Lastgoodwoman10, so I have no idea how to compare the two, but Téa is exceptionally beautiful and smart and talented so yes, she should probably be jealous.

Me -- I just met her, she’s beautiful and intelligent so yeah, you might want to be jealous. Who’s your guy? Should I be jealous?

I wait for her to respond.

Her -- Oh yes, you should be very jealous, he’s kind and hot and very successful, the whole enchilada. He could be the one.

Me -- Seriously? So you’re into the whole romantic thing, huh? How do you know I’m not the one?

Her -- I don’t, that’s why I want to keep you around.

Me -- Your honesty is brutal yet refreshing. So let me recap, we both have a real-life person who could be the proverbial ‘one,’ we are friends, you turn me on, and you think the cyber me is hot. Do I have all of that right?

Her -- Yep, I think you hit all the major points.

Me -- So tell me, potential ‘one,’ what is your favorite thing in the world to do?

She responds with such quickness I know she’s not making it up.

Her -- I love beautiful things, beautiful people, and beautiful moments captured forever.

Me -- So you love film or photographs or art?

Her -- All of the above. I love old couples kissing in the park, butterflies hovering in a field of flowers, a movie that's been set in a beautiful historic city, all of it gives me the overwhelming urge to capture it in a picture and keep it forever. I’m a moment hoarder.

Me -- You are romantic, aren’t you?

Her -- I guess so, never really thought about it I guess. What’s your favorite thing in the whole world to do?

I too respond immediately.

Me -- I love being a father.

There is a long pause before the hearts start fluttering up the screen again as she types.

Her -- I think this romantic’s heart just skipped a beat. You got mad points for that one. Tell me more.

Me -- What do you want to know specifically?

Her -- How about we start with why you’re single?

I hate this part. I hate telling people my wife bled to death after a C-section. It’s like ripping the Band-Aid off of a gaping wound. It never gets easier and contrary to what my therapist says, it feels like the wound gets bigger, not smaller, each time.

Me -- She died delivering my daughter. She had emergency surgery to get the baby out, and she hemorrhaged afterword.

Another long pause while she absorbs the most horrible experience of my life. I want to talk about something else. I want to go back to flirting and lighter subjects. I want to get to know this woman. I don't want to discuss the one who will always hold court over my heart.

Her -- I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up such a painful subject.

Me -- It’s okay, it’s always hard telling someone new, but now you know. I'm changing the subject now. Are you going to keep making me call you Lastgoodwoman10 and Red or are you going to give me a real name?

Her reply is immediate, as if she’s happy I changed the subject.

Her --  Quinn, it’s my middle name.

Me -- I like it, thank you for sharing something real with me.

Her -- Is Emmett your real name?

Me -- Yes, it’s my middle name too.

Her -- Okay, middle name Emmett, will you tell me more specifically what you do for a living? Playing games sounds extremely vague.

Me -- I’m a professional athlete.

Her -- Really? How exciting. Would I know you if I saw you?

Me -- Depends on what sports you follow.

Her -- I guess I don’t follow any in particular.

Me -- Then my secret is safe.

Her -- Is that the real reason you used a dating site? Because you think women only want you for your money?

Me -- Partially, they want me for my rocking good looks and my reputation for being attentive in the bedroom, too.

Her -- Now we’re talking. So you have a playboy reputation huh? I thought you were a family man?

Me -- I am, that doesn’t mean I’ve taken a vow of celibacy. I still have sex. I’m just very picky about with whom.

Her -- “With whom.” Nice grammar. And good. I’m not looking for a manwhore, but we already discussed that.

Me -- Yes, I think we can safely put that subject to bed.

Her -- Ha. Ha. Very funny.

Me -- No? Not even a little bit?

Her -- Nope, not even a little. So, where do you see this relationship of ours going? Do you think we will ever meet in person? I don’t want to waste my time getting to know someone if they have no intentions of ever meeting me in the real world.

Me -- We’re in a relationship now? I thought we were friends, and I fully intend on meeting you in the real world someday.

Her -- We are in a friendship relationship. When we meet, will you show me how attentive you are in the bedroom?

Me -- Only if you want me to. Do you want me to?

Her -- Maybe, I’ll have to get to know you better first.

Me -- Deal. Do you have a type?

Her -- Like a type of guy that I like?

Me -- Yes, what’s your perfect man like?

Her -- Yes, I have a type. I want a man who’s not a douche and who treats me like I’m the most precious thing in his life. I want an honest man who would never consider lying to me unless it’s to tell me I look great when I don’t because I do in his eyes. I want a man who makes me feel special and beautiful and important in his life yet allows me to pursue and achieve my dreams. I want a man who is confident in his own skin, but not so much so that he’s an arrogant prick. I want a man who doesn’t smother me but who wants to be with me. I want a man with a sense of humor and a kind heart, one who loves his mother, and babies and puppies and, you sure you really want to know all this?

I roll onto my back and hold my phone out in front of me while I read her perfect man requirements.

Damn, she wants Prince Charming, and I’m pretty sure I’m not him.

Me -- Yes, continue, I’m already feeling pretty unworthy. You may as well twist the knife.

Her -- Okay, here’s the biggest thing, you ready?

Me -- As I’ll ever be, lay it on me.

Her -- I want a man who won’t try to change me.

Me -- I don’t know about all of the other requirements, but if this is your top priority, you may have found ‘the one’ because I’m not into changing people.

Her -- I wish you could see how big my smile is right now.

Me -- I do too. Speaking of seeing you, tell me what I will see when we meet.

Her -- Are you afraid you might be wasting your time with a troll, Emmett?

Me -- The thought never crossed my mind, I’m just curious. I’ll go first if that helps. As you know from my profile, I am six-foot tall, athletic, dark hair, gray eyes. What it doesn’t say is that my mother is Scottish, and my father is Italian, I favor my father in almost every way other than my eyes, those are my mother’s. If I remember correctly, you love Italian right?

Her -- I do love Italian, food that is, ha! You sound very handsome. Okay, I'll go now. I am five foot seven, long dark hair, big brown eyes, my father is white, and my mother was black. I’m in good shape, although I wouldn’t say I’m especially athletic. I run outside, and I try to get to the gym, but I have an erratic schedule. I do however have exceptionally pretty feet that I hope you’ll get to rub someday.

Me -- You sound beautiful. You should send me a picture of your feet.

Her -- I’d love to. What do you have planned for today now that it’s past midnight?

Me -- Nothing in particular, probably hang out with my daughter. Lazy days are scarce around here, so we take them seriously. Couch, television, pool, takeout food, and extreme lethargy. What are you up to?

Her -- Sounds like my kind of day. I have a little work to do, after that not sure.

Me -- Do you cook?

Her -- I’m no chef, but I can make a few things. I wouldn’t let you starve, I promise.

Me -- Thanks for that. I’m a good cook according to my daughter. I’m actually pretty domesticated, laundry, cleaning, cooking, DIY projects with my daughter. I do it all.

Her -- Having visuals of you and your daughter covered in glitter and mod podge.

Me -- Hasn’t happened yet, but now I’m thinking of covering you in mod podge and glitter.

Her -- So you want me sticky and shimmering? I can think of better ways than mod podge and glitter to achieve that effect.

Me -- Elaborate.

Her -- Well, sticky usually comes along with sweet, so how about whipped cream or honey? And I always shimmer when I sweat.

Me -- So I need to make you sweat and pour honey all over you? This DIY project is making me hot.

Her -- Yes, or syrup. Both are equally sticky and sweet. DIY can be very erotic, you know.