Mr. September: A Single Parent Romance (Calendar Boys Book 9) Page 4

  “Can’t you go play your PlayStation or whatever it is? Since when do you lurk around in the living room on a Saturday night? Call one of your mates to come over or something.”

  “You know what? I think it’s just since you started dating my coach.”

  I groan. The kid is impossible. I love him to death, but most of the time I just seriously want to see if the hospital he was born in offers some type of refund policy.

  “Go away.”

  He laughs. “Nah, I think I might just hang around a while… say hi to Coach Owens.”

  He strolls away, and I hear him rummaging around in the fridge. That’s the other thing with teenage boys, they’re always eating something, anything… everything.

  “If you embarrass me, I’m grounding you for a week!” I yell after him as I peek out the front curtain again, checking to see if Brody has arrived yet or not.

  “Now you know how I feel,” I hear Ethan mutter from the kitchen.

  God, give me strength, I’m nervous enough about this without having to deal with my child’s sass.

  He leans against the door frame, half a sandwich in his hand.

  He frowns at me. “Where’s your jacket?”

  “Shit. I forgot.”

  I glance at my watch. Brody should be here any minute.

  I rush off down the hallway to my room and rummage around in the mountain of clothes that didn’t make the cut for tonight until I find my jacket near the bottom.

  I’m just shrugging it on when I hear the doorbell and Ethan call out, “I’ll get it.”

  Fuck my life.

  I take one last glance in the mirror and rush back down the hall, pausing to catch my breath before stepping into the living room.

  I can hear the two of them talking and I hope like hell that Ethan isn’t saying anything stupid.

  “We’ll work on it at Tuesday’s practice, but I think you’ll get it, your skill base is solid,” I hear Brody saying.

  “Yeah?” Ethan asks, and I can hear the excitement in his voice. He likes this praise from Brody. I see the pleased look on his face and can’t help but think that he likes Brody in general, no matter how much he’s been pretending to hate the idea of me dating him.

  “Hey,” I say, and Brody’s eyes snap from my son to me.

  “Wow,” he breathes, “you look incredible.” His eyes sweep over me from head to toe.

  “Um thanks,” I reply, my nerves getting the better of me.

  It’s a much tamer compliment than the one he gave me at the gym yesterday, but with my son right here listening to every word and watching every move, it all seems like too much.

  “You ready?” he asks as he hitches his thumb over his shoulder, his bicep flexing in the fitted black t-shirt he’s wearing.

  I nod eagerly.

  He turns to Ethan. “Good to see you, bud, I’ll have her home by midnight.”

  Ethan would roll his eyes if I said something like that, but he laughs at Brody. “Keep her all night if you want.”

  I blush and shoot him a ‘what the fuck’ look.

  “Sorry, that came out wrong.” He flicks his hair back from his face again.

  I hate the way he does that; he’s going to give himself whiplash one of these freaking days. Not to mention it looks ridiculous. I don’t think he got the memo about the old-school Justin Bieber haircut being out of style.

  “Just bring her home when you’re finished with her,” he amends.

  “Ethan!” I hiss as Brody chuckles.

  “Fuck,” Ethan cusses. “I mean, shit, I mean… that’s not what I—”

  “Just go inside, stop speaking and stay out of trouble,” I instruct, my cheeks flaming red.

  “I’ll see you at training, Coach Owens,” he says quickly before shoving me out the door and shutting it behind me.

  “Well… that was awkward.”

  “Was it?” Brody teases. “I didn’t notice.”

  He holds his arm out for me to take and I do.

  He leads me down to his huge SUV and opens the door for me. “You really have this gentleman thing down pat,” I compliment him.

  “I thought you didn’t want me to be a gentleman?”

  His grin is cheeky and wide. I can see more of his face today; he’s trimmed the beard that was rough and unruly just yesterday.

  I like it like this. He looks so sexy.

  “Maybe I lied. There’s always a time to be a gentleman,” I say as I climb into his car, using his hand for assistance.

  “A gentleman in the streets and a freak in the sheets?” he questions with a chuckle.

  “Absolutely.” I sigh, my teeth sinking into my lower lip.

  His laughter dies off as his eyes trail over my lips, a hungry look in his eyes.

  “You alright there, slick?” I whisper.

  He blinks, breaking the trance and chuckles easily again, his hand running through his thick, dark hair. “I’m good.”

  He shuts my door, and I watch as he jogs around the front of the hood. I’ve never seen a guy make running look sexy before, but low and behold – Brody has managed it.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask as he fastens his belt and pulls out onto the street.

  “My place, if that’s okay with you?” He glances at me before looking back at the road.

  I like the sound of that far too much.

  I should be being cautious. I shouldn’t be in the car alone with a stranger, going to his house where we’ll be all alone, but Brody doesn’t feel like a stranger. He feels like someone I already trust.

  “Sounds perfect, are you cooking for me, Coach Owens?”

  He chuckles. “Not if you want to get through the evening without getting food poisoning. I’m not much of a cook.”

  I giggle. “At least you’re honest.”

  “I’ve ordered Italian. I hope that’s okay with you?”

  “You’re doing it again.” I smirk.

  He meets my eyes for a fraction of a second. “Doing what?” he questions.

  “You’ve gone from asking if I’m okay, to asking if what you’ve planned is okay.”

  He chuckles. “Maybe I’m nervous.”

  I like that he’s nervous.

  “I’m nervous too,” I admit. “But I love Italian food.”

  He reaches over with his hand and lays his huge palm over mine.

  I like the feel of it far too much. It might be a simple gesture, but it feels comforting, safe.

  Everything about Brody makes me feel safe, and that’s a scary concept, given how little I know about him.

  I glance at the window and see where we are. I frown as we drive through town and back out the other side.

  “You’re such a liar!” I cry when I figure out what’s happened.

  “What?” he asks, his tone surprised.

  “You don’t live anywhere near the east side, do you?” I demand.

  He chuckles as he realises what I’m referring to.

  “You came completely out of your way to drive me home the other night.”

  He shrugs. “A little white lie never hurt anyone.”

  I can’t believe he did that for me.

  I tug on the zip of my jacket. “Why are you being so good to me?”

  He stops at an intersection and turns to face me, his brows raised. “I haven’t done anything any decent guy wouldn’t have done, Morgs.”

  “Maybe I don’t really know any decent guys then,” I whisper, shrugging my shoulders.

  His eyes narrow and he swallows deeply, a displeased expression on his face. “Well you do now.” He grounds out the words and they send a tingle running down my back.

  His hand tightens around mine, squeezing gently. “You’re safe when you’re with me. I won’t let anyone do anything to hurt you. Alright?”

  I meet his dark eyes, and I can see that he means it. He’s thinking about that creep in the bar again, and it’s obvious he’s barely holding it together.

  “Thank you, slick.”


  His posture relaxes and he eases forward from the intersection. “Are you going to tell me what I did to earn the nickname ‘slick’ or do I have to guess?”

  I giggle. “You went a little heavy on the hair gel.”

  He chuckles. “Liar. I don’t even own hair gel.”

  He’s right, I’m a terrible liar, his hair is perfection. It’s just begging to have my fingers run through it.

  “It was those slick moves on the court yesterday, Coach, I know you knew I was watching.”

  “Hell yeah I did.” He chuckles. “I might not be able to cook, but I sure as hell can play ball, well… I could before anyway.”

  He pulls into the driveway of a huge, flash house and hits a button to open the garage door.

  He parks inside and climbs out with a grin.

  I unclick my belt and wait for him to come to my door; he does, swinging it open and holding his hand out to help me down.

  I’m average height, but I feel tiny around his huge frame.

  I reach for his hand, but at the last second, he changes his mind, instead leaning further forward and gripping my waist and lifting me clear off the seat, then setting my feet on the ground.

  I gasp as he stares down at me, his hands still resting on my waist.

  “Um, thanks,” I breathe.

  “You’re welcome,” he replies, his voice gravelly as his eyes roam over my face.

  He’s so handsome I can barely remember how to breathe. His intense stare is causing my belly to summersault like crazy.

  He blinks, his eyes soften, and his hands drop almost as though he didn’t even realise he was still touching me.

  He chuckles and shakes his head like I’m a puzzle he can’t figure out. “Let’s go inside.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Brody

  She takes a sip of her red wine, and I watch the action like a wild dog would watch a piece of meat being waved under his nose.

  Jesus. I can’t say I’ve ever referred to a woman as a piece of meat before, and I don’t want to start now, but shit she’s so tempting.

  She’s a beautiful woman, but more than that, she’s funny, smart and interesting to talk to.

  She’s flirty and fun, and I feel like I could spend all my time with her and it still wouldn’t be enough.

  “Tell me about your injury,” she prompts. “Are you planning to go back next season?”

  I shake my head and sit my beer down on the coffee table next to the open containers of Italian food.

  I had intentions of setting the table nicely, with candles and that kind of shit, but apparently, take-out is meant to be eaten from the containers, on the couch – according to Morgan anyway.

  “It was career ending,” I explain. “I tore all the ligaments and tendons, ripped some of them clear off the bone… My shoulder is never going to be back to how it was before, despite some of the finest sports doctors and surgeons in the country giving it their best shot.”

  She looks at me sadly. “I’m sorry.”

  I shrug. “It happens, it’s not like an injury is uncommon in basketball. Goes with the territory.”

  “I know, but you were at the peak of your career, that has to suck.”

  I smirk at her. “What do you know about my career?”

  She nibbles on her bottom lip and tucks her legs up further under her ass. “Not a lot to be honest. Not enough to be able to know where I recognised you from.” She narrows her eyes at me and grins. “But Ethan has talked about you nonstop since he got named in the team. It’s been ‘Coach Owens this’ and ‘Coach Owens that’ twenty-four seven. He’s probably watched every game you’ve ever played, and I’ve heard all the commentary while I sit there reading a book.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “Sorry that we bored you that much.”

  She blushes slightly. “I’m not much of a sports girl, but my son didn’t seem to get the memo.”

  “He seems like a really good kid,” I say, nudging her knee with mine.

  She smiles softly. “He is, for the most part. No one ever tells you how much work teenage boys are.”

  I chuckle. I certainly was no walk in the park for my parents at that age, so I feel for her, I really do. There are a lot of conflicting hormones at sixteen.

  “I think this team will be good not only for his basketball skills, but for him as a person too – he can use all the positive male influence he can get.”

  “His dad isn’t around?” I question, asking the question that’s been niggling at me since I found out someone had put a baby in her belly.

  She sighs heavily. “Nope. I mean he’s drifted in and out over the years, whenever he has time or inclination. He always pays his child support these days – so I guess that’s more than some fathers.”

  That angers me. I can’t think who in their right mind would walk away from a woman like Morgan, I sure as hell wouldn’t, especially not if she was holding my child.

  “Was he young too?”

  I probably should mind my own business, but I’m curious.

  “He was seventeen when Ethan was born. He wasn’t around for much of the pregnancy or the birth. In fact, I don’t think he met Ethan until he was nearly one.”

  “He sounds like an asshole.”

  She giggles. “He was. He is. I cut him a lot of slack back then because neither of us planned to have a baby at that age, and I didn’t want to ruin his life, you know?”

  I know what she means, but her logic is all messed up – that baby was as much his responsibility as he was hers, and she shouldn’t have been left to do all the work.

  “My tolerance kinda ran out when he started cheating on me while I was heavily pregnant though…” she carries on, shrugging as she speaks. “We broke up, his parents shipped him off to some fancy school far away, and eventually he just stopped calling regularly. Barely came over when he was in town, and that was it really. He pays money into my account every month and he drops in about once every year or so... sends Ethan a card on his birthday with a hundred bucks in it if he remembers… He rings Ethan’s cell sometimes I think, but Ethan doesn’t usually say much about it.”

  The guy sounds like a total wanker.

  “Does he have any other kids? A wife?”

  She looks at me curiously. “You know, that’s a really good question, and one I haven’t thought to ask.”

  She sighs again and I feel bad for bringing this all up.

  “I’m sorry, it’s not my business.”

  She smiles. “It’s fine, honestly, it’s no secret and I’m well and truly past being disappointed for myself – I only hurt for Ethan now. Chad is a lot of things, but father of the year isn’t one of them.”

  “His loss,” I say as I reach for her hand and take it in mine.

  She turns her palm face up so our fingers can intertwine.

  I huff out a laugh of disbelief as she shuffles a little closer to me.

  “What’s so funny?” she asks curiously.

  I bring her hand up to my lips and kiss it softly. “I just can’t believe that some idiot had you and his son, and he let you go.”

  She tugs that sexy bottom lip into her mouth and nibbles on it, a light pink blush staining her cheeks. I know my praise is making her nervous, but I don’t care.

  She might not be used to hearing compliments from her asshole ex, but she better get used to hearing them from me, because I’m planning on giving them out often.

  “Enough about him, let’s talk about us.”

  “About us?” she questions.

  “Yeah… how would you say this date is going on a scale of one to ten?” I ask as I twist our joined hands in front of us.

  “Well the food was delicious, but not home-cooked, so that’s a deduction. A nine for food.”

  I chuckle. “I should get a bonus point for not cooking for you, trust me.”

  She giggles. “Fair point, bonus point taken into consideration.”

  I slide closer to her.

  “
The conversation has been great, but you did make me talk about my ex, so…”

  “Hey! You said it was okay.”

  She laughs, her whole face alight with amusement. She looks so happy, sitting in my living room, flirting with me.

  “Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “You can have an eight-point-five for conversation.”

  “Eight and a half?” I reply, outraged. “My chat is at least a low nine.”

  I tug on her arm, pulling her closer; we’re almost flush against one another now.

  “Nine, absolute max.” She grins wickedly.

  That’s it, I’m going to have to fight dirty.

  I turn so I’m facing her and almost press our bodies together, the hand that isn’t holding hers cups her face, and I hear her gasp at our close proximity. A slight tilt of my head and I’ll bring our lips together.

  “What about chemistry, where do I rate on that scale, Morgs?” I whisper hoarsely, my breath fanning her face.

  I tip my chin slightly, pulling back only just before our lips meet.

  Her eyes flutter closed, and she sighs breathily. “Eleven,” she whispers.

  A deep chuckle falls from my lips before colliding with hers in a passionate kiss, the way I’ve wanted to do ever since the moment she walked into that bar looking so fucking sexy.

  She drops my hand and threads her fingers into my hair, tugging roughly on the strands.

  Her plump lips move with mine, opening slightly to allow my tongue to run over them.

  A rumble comes up my throat, and I have to physically stop myself from lifting her the way I did earlier and depositing her into my lap.

  I don’t want to be the guy that takes it too far too soon.

  She makes a soft moaning noise and my resolve slips further. My hands find her hips.

  “Brody,” she whispers longingly, and I pull away, just enough that I can think straight again, gasping for air.

  “Jesus, Morgs, you know how to make a guy lose his mind.”

  She giggles softly, her hands dropping from my hair to my shoulders.

  “I think you have the same effect on women.”

  Her hands lightly trail down my chest before falling onto her lap as she leans back.

  “I was beginning to think you were never going to kiss me,” she teases as she gets to her feet, grabbing her empty wine glass as she heads for the kitchen.