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R OWAN

I’ve had the best sleep the past few nights, despite missing Miles. It could be from the multiple orgasms he gave me Sunday night, or it could be from the ridiculously comfortable mattress he had delivered to my apartment Monday night.

After removing my old mattress and box spring and setting up the new bed, the delivery crew wouldn’t accept a tip from me, saying it’s already been taken care of. Shortly after they left, a box arrived with new sheets and a simple gray comforter set. A queen set to fit the new bed that barely fits in my room.

Between the orgasms, the sleep, and the daily texts from Miles, I’ve had an extra bounce in my step all week at work and the other nurses have been teasing me about it daily. Of course they guessed it was because of a man, but I haven’t admitted to it. Not before I talk to Riley and Kendall. And I will. Soon. Just not yet.

I want to live in my fairytale fantasy world for a little bit longer before they warn me off about the dangers of falling for a playboy who will most likely break my heart.

Do I believe him when he says he likes me and isn’t interested in seeing anyone else? Yes. Do I believe he really likes me? Yes. Do I believe the powerful chemistry between us will last forever? Sadly, no.

But I’m proud of myself for giving it, giving us, a chance. It’s unlike me. It’s out of my comfort zone. Miles Buckingham represents everything out of my comfort zone. He’s loud, loves being the center of attention, is insanely hot, a consummate flirt, and knows his way around a woman’s body. The latter because he’s no doubt been with dozens, if not hundreds, of women.

We’re not a picture of opposites attract. I’m not his polar opposite, but I don’t see how we’re compatible either, other than our desire to make other people happy. He does so with laughter and jokes, and I do so by listening and caring for them.

Still, I’m proud of myself for being a little selfish and giving in to the powerful lust between us. He’s texted me daily—multiple times a day—with a new would you rather question.

I like that our conversations are light instead of heavy. I have enough of that in my life and need the distraction from the pressure my family puts on me. It’s nice when they go radio silent. It’s when my phone blows up that I know I’m needed once again.

Needed, but not appreciated.

I clock out and say good night to the other nurses and head out to my car. I have just over an hour to change, pick up some food, and head over to Kendall’s place to watch the game. Thursday night games are tough on the guys, not having much time to rest and prepare after their Sunday game. Hence why I haven’t seen Miles this week other than last night when he surprised me at my car after work with two pounds of Dunkin coffee beans and a bag containing similar sweatpants he bought for his sister when we were in Kittery, and a jersey with his name and number on it.

He had to head back to the stadium for a team meeting, but took the time to see me, even if only for a few minutes. He kissed me breathless and left me begging for more. Before he got on the team plane this morning, he texted me a selfie of him in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

MILES : Eat your heart out, Doc. Only two nipples, but feel free to leave your mark the next time I see you.

I’m afraid to admit how many times I opened my phone today to stare at the picture. Other than our pictures from our hike, it’s the only one I have of him. I like that this is my very own private picture.

Granted, maybe this is Miles. Maybe he’s sent out hundreds of similar pictures to women, and they stare at the half-naked Miles, drooling over the ridges of his abs, remembering how they felt while he made love to them.

It’s these moments of doubt that have me holding back from telling him how I feel, even when he’s so open about his feelings for me.

When I get home, I change out of my nursing scrubs and into the sweats and jersey Miles gave me. Thirty minutes later, I pull up in front of Kendall and Nash’s place.

The pregame show is already on the television and Paisley greets me at the door.

“Auntie Rowan.” She holds out her arms for me and I scoop her into a hug.

“Hey, Pickles.”

Paisley giggles. “Uncle Bucky calls me that too.”

My heart races at the mention of his name. Gah. I’m in deep. “Excited to watch Daddy play on the TV tonight?”

“He doesn’t play by himself. Uncle Bucky and Uncle Walker and Uncle Darius and Uncle Trenton and Uncle Brock—”

“We get it, Pais.” Kendall comes into the room and blows raspberries on her cheek. “You can name every player on Daddy’s team and you’ll be watching them all.”

“But I’m wearing Daddy’s number like Mommy. Whose number are you wearing, Auntie Rowan?”

“I feel bad for the other guys who don’t have a Pickles to cheer them on, so I’m mixing it up. Figured I’d give Bucky a shout out tonight.” I set her down and walk with Paisley to the kitchen where Riley sits on a stool, nursing Emmitt. “As soon as you’re done, I’m taking the baby.”

“Maybe if you got here earlier. I already called dibs,” Kendall says as she takes a tray of chicken fingers out of the oven.

“I suppose that’s fair since you’re hosting.”

“Kendall held him when I got here an hour ago. You can have the next turn, Row.”

Kendall sticks her tongue out at me and sets a tray of fries on the counter. “Dinner’s ready.”

When we watch the game at their house, we let Paisley pick the meal plan. So far it’s been chicken chunkies, as she calls them, and smiley fries. Kendall appeases her by telling her she gets to stay up for the entire game, but ten times out of ten, she’s out cold before the end of the first quarter. Eight o’clock games are hard on those of us who have to get up early for work or school the next day.

At least tomorrow’s Friday, so we’ll only have to drag ourselves through one workday. We settle on the couch and cheer on our guys for the first half—Paisley conking out eight minutes into the game.

When Kendall comes downstairs after putting her to bed, she plops next to me on the couch and picks up a chicken chunk, pointing it at me.

“You had sex.”

“What?” I cover the blush on my cheeks by picking up my water bottle and finishing the remaining three sips. “Why would you think that?”

“Is it Charles? Taylor didn’t say anything about him being in town. Did he sneak in a visit to see you without telling the rest of us?”

“No. I haven’t seen Charles. My glow is from hanging with my favorite people and all the baby love.” I kiss Emmitt’s pudgy cheeks. “We don’t get to see each other as much as we used to. Life. Work. Families. I get it. No guilt. Just miss you.”

Charles is Taylor’s brother. We went out a few times over a year ago, and while he’s fun to hang around with, he didn’t stir any emotions inside. There was an instant attraction, sure, but it wore off after our first dinner together.

“You said that last time we were together,” Kendall says, her eyes narrow as if she can see through my lies. Lies by omission, but still.

“You sure you’re not getting laid? Because you have that look.”

“Seriously.” Riley bops her with a pillow. “Not everyone has a one-track mind like you.”

“Pot, kettle, Mrs. Bankes. You and Walker aren’t any better.”

“True.” Riley glows as she squeezes Emmitt’s little foot. “And we made the most perfect baby from it.”

“He is.” Kendall sighs. “Potato and I have been talking about it.”

“Having sex?” Riley grins.

Kendall rolls her eyes at Riley. “Babies.”

“You and Nash are pregnant?” My excitement jolts Emmitt and I stand up to rock him back to sleep.

“No. We’re talking about having a baby.”

“While having sex,” Riley adds.

“No. We talk about it after. Sometimes before, but not during. At least, not yet.”

“Smart ass.” Riley bops her again.

“You and Nash are such good parents to Paisley, and she’ll be the best big sister.”

We talk about babies until halftime. The Revs are up by a touchdown and Riley and I head out to watch the rest of the game in our respective homes.

As soon as I walk through the door and turn on the game, my phone rings. I shouldn’t frown when I read my mom’s name, but it’s not like her to call this late. Instead of being worried something happened, my first thought is what does she want from me now? I’m a terrible, selfish daughter for wanting to turn my phone off anytime my mom calls, which is why I’ve never let anyone know how I feel about my family. Not even Kendall or Riley.

“Hi, Mom.” I lower the volume on the television. I don’t really care to hear what the announcers have to say anyway. My attention is on number eighty-six. Since Philly’s offense is on the field, Miles isn’t on the field.

“Your sister had a fall at work yesterday.” No greeting. No sorry to wake you because I normally start getting ready for bed right now, but if my sister is hurt, I can see why she’d get right to the point.

“Is she okay?” I’d be more worried, but if her life was in danger Mom would have called me right away. She’d want the entire world to crowd around Natalie with support, sympathy, and attention.

Nat’s always loved being the center of attention, and our mom loves doting on her. And my little brother Cameron. He’ll be twenty-nine soon and still lives at home with no desire to move out.

Kendall lived with her mom and sister until she moved in with Nash, but that was to help them. To support them. Cameron works at an auto body shop and spends his money on beer, video games, and car parts. As far as I know, he doesn’t do anything around the house and doesn’t pay any bills.

If you look up the word enabler in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of Donna McDaniels.

If you look up the word mooch, you’ll find a picture of Cameron McDaniels.

If you look up the word oblivious, you’d see a picture of Paul McDaniels. Dad doesn’t get involved in family matters. He works long hours as an insurance adjuster and travels a lot. I guess he loves us in his own way. We had a roof over our head, food on the table, and enough money so Mom could take Natalie to gymnastics competitions all around the country.

While she followed Nat around, I filled in for her; cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping. Making sure the men in the house were taken care of like a doting fifties housewife.

The relationship may work for my parents, but it didn't work for me.

It still doesn’t work for me.

The neglected middle child.

The peacekeeper.

The one who cleans up the messes and fills in with whatever needs to be done, but no one ever bothers asking me what I need. What I want.

“Are you even listening, Rowan?” my mom scolds. “Your sister has to have ACL surgery. Do you have any idea what this means?”

Kinda, since I’m a nurse and all. Not that I work in surgery or having any training with orthopedics, but yeah, I’m familiar. Because my mom needs to hear my sympathy, I appease her.

“That’s no fun. How is Natalie feeling? Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes. That’s why I’m calling.”

Of course that’s why. She never calls to check in on me. To ask how my job is going. If I want to meet her for lunch or even coffee. I see on Nat’s social media accounts cute pictures of her and mom doing all those mother-daughter things.

I’m happy for them that they’re close. Would I like to be close with my mom? Yeah. But I feel like that ship has sailed. I’ll never be a priority in her life and it hurts too much to keep trying to be. So instead, I show my love and family obligation by being there to support however they need, knowing I’ll never receive the love in return.

It’s a sad reality I’ve learned to accept instead of fight. Pick and choose your battles and all.

“Her surgery is scheduled for the end of next week. I won’t inconvenience you by asking you to go.”

Well, that’s a surprise. My family normally has no problem inconveniencing me.

“But she’ll need to stay with you for her recovery.”

And there it is.

“Mom. You’ve seen my apartment. I only have one bedroom.” It’s more like a studio, but there’s a wall between the living space and bedroom. I’ve lived here for two years and she’s been by twice. The first when I invited her to lunch the day after I moved in. She said it was quaint and left as soon as we finished our sandwiches. The second was when she dropped off a box of my yearbooks and high school notebooks.

We grew up lower middle class and Natalie and I shared a small bedroom, and Cameron had a tiny loft space above our room. It’s been converted into a nice living space for Cameron now. He sleeps in the loft and uses the bedroom as his gaming area. My stuff took up too much room in the basement. Well, to be fair, it didn’t take up much room at all, but it got in the way of the cases that hold all of Natalie’s medals, ribbons, and trophies.

“You can sleep on the couch for a few nights. Think of your sister and the pain she’s going to be in.”

“Can’t she stay in Cameron’s room?”

“Your sister can’t go up those loft stairs.” I don’t mention the stairs to my apartment. She’s aware.

“You can sacrifice a few nights of sleep on the couch to care for your sister. You have a medical degree, and you know I can’t stand the sight of blood. You’re a caretaker. She’ll be in good hands with you.”

It’s the closest I’ll ever get to be on the receiving end of a compliment from my mom.

“I won’t be able to take care of her during the day. I work long hours.”

“You can take a few days off. I have to go.”

No, I can’t. I haven’t been on staff long enough to earn much PTO. The silence on the other end of the phone tells me she hung up on me. Not the first and not the last time, I’m sure.

Miles and Dec fill the television screen as they leap in the air and body slam each other. Looks like they scored a touchdown and I missed it.

That about sums up my relationship with my family. They suck the life right out of me, and my wants and needs get overlooked. No, not overlooked. No one even cares.

The camera follows Miles to the bench, and when he tips his helmet back and laughs with his teammates, my heart fills with joy. I don’t need my family to make me feel special. I have Miles.

He’s worth risking my heart. Even if this thing between us doesn’t last long, when I’m with him I feel special. My family doesn’t appreciate me, but he does. My friends do too, but now they have their own families to love and care for.

I curl up on my couch and squeeze my knees to my chest as I watch the rest of the game. That night, my dreams are colorful. Wild. Fun.

And the starring attraction is Miles Buckingham.