“There’s only one problem with spending the evening with you and your little girl,” I explain.
“And what’s that?” he asks.
“I’m almost positive I’ll like Brooklyn a fuck ton more than I like you.”
He rewards me with the middle finger. “Probably. She’s very lovable, but so am I, pretty boy. Don’t go forgetting this little fact,” Crush jests.
Ah hell, in all the years we’ve been apart, I’ve never forgotten this.
Having already showered in the locker room, I follow him as he picks up his daughter, then head to his home. I stay a couple of houses down when Crush pulls into Alison’s driveway. Brooklyn looks more like Crush with her blond hair than Alison’s darker features. Her house is pretty nice, and I’m sure it’s a result of their divorce settlement. Crush would never leave his daughter destitute or without a safe home.
Pulling into his neighborhood—a gated community, he keeps it open longer in order for me to pass through. It’s a very exclusive part of town, more so than where my new digs are. But these homes are more traditional, and it doesn’t surprise me with Crush and his country boy ways that he gravitates toward this style.
I park next to him, and Brooklyn jumps from the back cab of the truck. “Hey, I remember you. Pops say you his bet friend.”
I love how little kids talk. Loretta is the same way. I kneel in front of her. “And I remember you. It’s Brittany, right?”
She begins to giggle. “No.”
I tap my chin. “Oh, darn it, let me think. Bailey, correct?”
With her high-pitched giggles, she continues, “No silly, that not my name.”
“Wait, I remember now. It’s Brooklyn?”
“Yeah, you got it. And you Ryda. I smarter than you.”
Crush is behind his daughter, the pride of this man coming through in droves at the sight of Brooklyn with me.
“You’re most definitely right. And, I heard we’re playing Candy Land or Chutes and Ladders. I bet you’ll beat both your pops and me.”
“Yeah, I always kick butt,” she announces, so much like her arrogant father.
“All right, missy, let’s not get carried away.” He scoops her up with one hand, and she giggles all the way into his home.
It’s a traditional brick house with a large front porch holding two rocking chairs and is as southern as sweet tea and pecan pie. Entering through the door, I find myself standing in a two-story foyer looking at a grand staircase showcased by a wrought-iron banister. It’s different than mine and not modern at all. Brooklyn starts running and bounces on the large sectional couch taking up the great room. His furnishings are manly but warm at the same time. Where I’m a minimalist, Crush has a plethora of knickknacks and pictures. Mainly pictures of Brooklyn at every stage of life. It’s obvious his house, like mine, is professionally designed, but the amount of stuff in his home would drive me nuts. It fits him, and it’s comfortable.
“I watch Barbie movie, please, Pops?” she pleads.
His attention swings to me. “I tell you what, man, you haven’t lived until you’ve watched a Barbie movie.” He points at the couch with his sit your ass down sort of stare, then turns on the movie. He surprises me when he doesn’t sit next to Brooklyn, but sidles up near my body about a foot away. I love his proximity, more than I’m allowed to, but man, it’s like being led into a candy store, only to be told I can’t buy anything.
“There goes an hour of my life I’ll never get back,” I whisper to Crush as the credits roll on the Three Musketeers’ movie, starring Barbie. Brooklyn is still singing along to the songs as if she’s seen this particular movie several times. Crush is near me. I could reach my hand out and touch him if I wanted to, and fuck do I want to. Crush doesn’t respond, only gives me the sexiest chuckle, and it does something to my cock as I attempt to keep my half-mast from poking out of my athletic shorts.
“Peanut, are you ready for dinner?” It’s the question he asks his daughter, who has now taken over the entire side of the sectional with a blanket covering her small body.
“Yeah, Pops. You promise steak and taters. Right?”
I begin to howl. “She’s your daughter through and through, Christopher Colton.”
Brooklyn laughs. “He calls you by full name too, like Mommy, but Mommy always mad at you. But he sweet, not mad.”
I swing my gaze to Crush. His face flushes, and he doesn’t make eye contact, but Brooklyn’s little observation sends both sadness and joy through my body. I’d never disrespect Christopher like Alison does. It hurts me to see the way she still treats this man I’d move heaven and earth for.
Plus, I know Crush never wants to bad-mouth the bitch in front of his daughter, and I respect this. I attempt to bury my laughter. And Crush ignores her comment, brushing over it.
“Okay, sweetie, what kind of steak would you like?” I find this question odd for an almost five-year-old girl.
“Um, I’m in the mood for a flay-manon.”
I search her seriousness when I swing my face back to Crush. “Did your four-year-old just ask for a filet mignon?”
With a proud expression crawling onto his face, he replies, “Yep, I’ve taught her well.” He pulls his laptop out, placing an order, knowing my request. “And I’m already teaching her how to be a quarterback, right, peanut?”
“Yeppers. Just ’cause I’m a girl, don’t mean I don’t play football like Pops.” Her smile mimics her dad’s, and it’s a precious sight. “Okay, I gets to kicks you alls booties,” she calls, running to a closet, then coming back to us with Chutes and Ladders in her hands.
“Dude, when she’s seventeen, she’s going to be just like you, keeping you on your toes like you did with your parents.” I hadn’t known Crush then, only by reputation as an up-and-coming quarterback, but from the stories he’s told me about his teen years, I have a feeling payback will be awful for him.
“What are you talking about? It started the minute she was born.” His dimples are just as sexy as they were when he was eighteen. “Mom and Dad can’t wait until I get my payback.”
I’m following the bossy little girl to the dark wood dining room table with comfortable seats. Unlike the modern plastic chairs around my table. “How are your mom and dad? And your brothers?”
“Yeah, Mom and Dad, they were truly fudged with three crazy boys in the house,” he says, when Brooklyn eyes him.
“I know what that means. It’s actually f—”
He covers her mouth. “Okay, missy, enough out of you.”
She stands next to the table with her hands on her hips. “Then sit your booties down and we play, now.”
My gaze falls on Crush’s, the crystal blue of his eyes the same ones I remember getting lost in before I let my secret come out to him. “Yeah, I know,” he says before I can tell him how truly fudged he really is.
“So, about my brothers—Sawyer is divorced but has two girls he adores. They’re just as sassy as this one, but he still jumps out of planes for a living. And he’s a hell of a dad. His wife wasn’t cut out for the military, but she’s a good woman.”