Page 16 of Biggest Player (Not Yours #2)

“He does.” I’m shocked that Dex listened. “Honestly, I think he has commitment issues, not that it’s any of my business, because they’ve been together a year and they’re barely having the conversation about moving in together.” And I know she’s pressed for it because my daughter tells me.

He’s had several relationships but nothing long term, always ending things around the two-year mark. Then again, who am I to judge? I’ve never been engaged or married, either, and our daughter is ten!

All I care about is that his home is safe and Wyatt is well taken care of.

“As a momma’s girl, Wyatt doesn’t always love going to her dad’s,” I theorize. “But it could just be a mother-daughter thing. Dads are sometimes the odd man out when it comes to girls.”

I need to stop babbling; Dex is getting a glazed, far-off look in his eyes.

But also: He is the one who asked!

“What about you? No kids of your own. Any nieces or nephews?”

“No—I have a brother, but we’re not close.” He takes a sip of beer. “He used to play football, too, but after his freshman year at state, he got cut from the team.”

“Is that why you’re not close?”

Dex nods, rubbing the scruff on his chin. “I think at first, he tried being happy for me? Like when I was drafted. But my parents made it hard, playing the comparison game, and now none of us talk.”

I have so many questions , but I’m filling in the gaps with my imagination, not wanting to be rude.

“I’m sorry. That stinks.”

“Yeah. It hits hardest during the holidays, but now I have my friends and shit. If we don’t play during the holidays, I usually go with Landon to his parents’ in Ohio, but now that he’s living with his girlfriend in Green Bay, I might do that this year.”

“Already thinking of Christmas?” It’s difficult to imagine this big tough dude decking his halls full of decorations.

“You know it.” He winks. “I start counting down the days until December twenty-fifth in October.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say “You know who else shares the love of decorations during the holiday? Kids. You should have one or two.”

I bet he would make a great dad, although, based on what he’s told me about his family, there is some trauma there that could perhaps be preventing him from going that route in his personal life.

It’s not my place to tell him that just because he has issues with his own parents and brother, he would not have the same issues in his own household.

“Can I ask you a question that might be too personal?”

Slowly, he nods. “Sure.”

“Do you want to be married, or do you just want to date someone?”

“I want to be married.”

“But you don’t want kids?”

“Someday maybe.”

This conversation is feeling a tad too deep, and we’re trying to have fun, not dive into the deep end—as much as I’d love to pry. I wouldn’t call myself nosy, but I do love learning about people. I’ve never met a professional athlete, and they seem like a breed of their own.

Dex certainly fits the stereotype.

Single. Ready to mingle. Not ready to commit but might want to commit. Can’t make up his mind. Lives alone.

“Any pets?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t even keep a plant alive.”

“What pet would you get if you had to choose?”

“I don’t know. A pug? Or one of those French bulldog things.”

“So. Something with a mashed-up face?”

He chuckles. “I’d get something with a face only a mother could love.”

“Yeah, those are pretty darn cute.” I hesitate to bring up my daughter, but “Wyatt has always wanted a dog. She wrote me a letter once, outlining all the reasons why she would make a good dog mom.” I smile at the thought, the letter still tucked away in my dresser drawer; the same drawer where I keep letters to the elf and tooth fairy.

“I don’t doubt that she would take care of one. ”

“Why not get her a dog then?”

“She’s at school most of the day, and I have to work too. And I have a tiny yard.” I fumble to explain.

“So? Get a tiny dog.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“You’re stone cold, aren’t you?”

“No—I’m just realistic. If I had some help ... maybe.”

Dex thinks for a few moments; I can actually see his brain working. “Is that why you want a boyfriend?”

I pull back. “Is that what you think?” Although, yes.

That’s part of it. “Who doesn’t want a partner to shoulder some of the heavy lifting?

And by heavy lifting I mean emotional support.

” I sigh. “I have good days and bad days, and wouldn’t it be nice to come home after a long day and put my head in someone’s lap while we watch TV? ”

“My head probably weighs at least fifteen pounds.”

We laugh.

“What’s the average weight of the human head,” I tease, feeling more relaxed now. “Like seven pounds?”

“Something like that. Mine looks like a bowling ball.”

I cackle. “No it does not. Do not make that comparison—I don’t love the visual for you.”

“I can’t help it, that’s the first place my brain went.”

“Maybe when you’re wearing a helmet it looks like one?”

“For sure.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, and I want to reach out and touch him.

Lord help me, do I want to touch him ...