Page 9

N ASH

Practice sucked. Or rather, I sucked. My head wasn’t in the game and I got called out for it.

Not only by Coach, but by my teammates. I pride myself on keeping my head in the game.

Even being a single father and relying on my parents to help raise Paisley, I’ve still managed to keep football and my home life separate.

But today it wasn’t just Paisley that had me distracted. It’s her leggy, witty, gorgeous teacher who’s been moonlighting as a babysitter taking up too much rent space in my head. And making my dick take up too much space in my boxer briefs.

If fucking her out of my system was a possibility, I’d be all over it already. But she’s off limits on so many levels. Mainly because she’s not my type. Mostly because I fear I’ll get wrapped up in her anyway, despite her representing much of what I don’t want in my life.

The garage door rolls closed and I climb out of my SUV and head inside. The upstairs was dark when I pulled in, but there were plenty of lights shining through the downstairs windows.

I’d have been home closer to seven, but Coach pulled me aside to check on me. I told him about my parents being sick and let him believe that’s why I couldn’t focus. They were part of it, but I know they’ll be okay soon enough. Dad updated me on the phone on the way to practice this afternoon.

Giggles erupt from the family room and I make my way toward the laughter.

“You read the voices so silly. Just like Daddy, but he sounds goofier when he tries to be the princess.”

I stop in the doorway and take in the family room. They turned the sectional into a fort, draping it with blankets and pillows.

“I bet he reads the monster really well,” Kendall says before doing a terrible impression of me. Or the monster, it’s hard to tell.

I lean against the wall and listen to Kendall finish the story, and am impressed when she doesn’t get frustrated with Paisley’s constant interruptions and questions. They read one more book, and I surprise myself by not making myself known.

“Okay, munchkin, it’s time to get ready for bed.”

“But Daddy’s not home yet. You said he’d be home before bedtime.”

“I’m sure he’ll be home soon. Let’s get your teeth brushed and change into your pjs, okay?”

Feeling like a voyeur in my own home, I finally clear my throat. The mountain of blankets moves and I hear Paisley’s hands and knees scurry across the hardwood floor.

“Daddy!” She stands up when she’s only partially out of the fort, knocking a stack of pillows and a blanket over Kendall.

While she tackles the blankets, Paisley tackles my legs. “What a pretty princess you are.” I pick her up under her arms and toss her in the air before settling her mound of tulle on my hip.

She braces my face with both hands and peppers my cheeks and nose with kisses. I’ll never tire of her greeting me this way.

“Miss Wentworth made my hair pretty. We played princesses and Barbies and made a craft project and she showed me how to make a salad with fruit on it.”

“Sounds like you were a busy bee.” I blow a raspberry on her neck and check out her fancy braids. “You look beautiful.”

“Miss Wentworth said they’re called French braids. Can you learn how to do them? She can teach you. They’re fancier than the regular boring braids you do.”

“Hey. My braids aren’t boring.” They were butt-ass terrible when I first learned to braid her hair a couple years ago, but as long as I have a comb and a spray bottle handy, I can make damn good braids now.

The lump of blankets drops to the floor and Kendall rises from the pile.

I snort and cough to hide my laugh. Paisley obviously went to town on her hair.

I have no idea what style my daughter was trying to recreate, but hell if Kendall doesn’t look ridiculous with four ponytails on various parts of her head and what I assume to be a braid hanging in front of her left eye.

Still, even with crazy-ass hair, leggings, and a giant sweatshirt that hides her curves, she’s fucking sexy as well.

“Paisley was just on her way upstairs to get ready for bed.” She folds the blankets, stacking them neatly on the couch. “I’ll let you two have some time together. See you in the morning, Paisley.”

Kendall pats Paisley on the back as she moves by us.

“Can you help me pick out my pajamas?”

The hell? She never wants help.

Kendall looks up at me for the first time, our eyes meeting for a brief moment before she looks away and smiles at my daughter.

“You did such a fantastic job picking out the most beautiful princess dress, I’m sure you'll do a wonderful job picking out the perfect jammies to sleep in tonight.”

“Can you stay a little longer? Please?”

Kendall glances at me and then back at Paisley. “Sorry, munchkin. I have to get to school early tomorrow. Have a good night.”

She leans in and brushes a kiss on top of Paisley’s head, and I get a whiff of her unique scent. I don’t know my flowers, but it smells like a mixture of flowers and pine. Earthy but feminine.

“Thank you for helping me tonight.”

She nods while she gathers her bag and takes out her keys. “How are your parents?”

“Still under the weather.”

She loops the straps of her bag over her shoulder. “Do you need my help tomorrow?”

My parents said they’d watch her for me as long as it was a low-key day. Movies and pizza after school. Lots of snuggles. One more day to rest and recover is best for them, and there’s a part of me that wouldn’t mind coming home to Kendall and Paisley’s giggles again.

“I don’t feel right infringing on your personal time two nights in a row.”

“If you don’t mind me bringing Paisley to my sister’s therapy appointment, I can spend the afternoon with her. It will give your parents more time to rest.”

“Yes. Please, Daddy?” Paisley bounces on my hip.

“Go upstairs and get ready for bed while I talk with Ken—Miss Wentworth.”

She wiggles out of my hold and dashes up the stairs.

“My daughter likes you.”

Kendall smiles at her wake. “I like her too.”

Hell. I think even I like Kendall, and that’s dangerous.

I tuck my hands in the pockets of my sweatpants and tip my chin. “You don’t have to watch her if you don’t want to.”

She snorts, but not before I catch her gaze dropping to my crotch.

Her brow lifts a fraction of an inch before she returns her scowl and her gaze to my face.

“No shit, Sherlock. If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t.

Your parents are sweet people. It’s not their fault they have an arrogant asshole for a son. The nice genes must skip a generation.”

Kendall pushes past me and swings open the front door.

“Tell Paisley I said goodnight and that I’ll see her tomorrow.”

BY FRIDAY, MY PARENTS were feeling better and offered to pick up Paisley from school.

Since it was a short day at the field, I made it to my parents’ house by five.

I’m glad they could ease back into their caretaker role with a two-hour day, because Saturday turned into a long day for them, and now it’s game day.

If anything, this has made me realize how much I’ve depended on my parents, which isn’t fair to them, no matter how much they love spending time with their granddaughter. Coach is right. I need a backup plan.

My dad hugs me and pats me on the back. “Knock that QB on his ass, Nash.” He stifles his lingering cough and a wave of guilt washes over me again.

“That’s the plan.” I move to my mom and give her a squeeze. “You sure you guys are up for this? I can always call someone to help.” And by someone, I mean no one. Other than Kendall, but I don’t even know if she has plans.

She usually goes to our home games with Riley, Walker’s brother and his husband, and Rowan.

“We promised Paisley a movie marathon and snugglefest.”

“And cookies. You said we can make pumpkin chocolate chip cookies.”

“I did, didn’t I?” My mom ruffles Paisley’s hair.

I scoop my daughter up and blow raspberries on her neck. “Daddy has to go to work. Be good for Grammy and Grampy. Remember, they still don’t feel great. Think about how sleepy you get when you don’t feel well. Be helpful, okay, Sweet Pea?”

“I know, Daddy.” She gives me a loud kiss on the lips. I’m treated with a faceful of kisses when I come home, but only get one smack on the lips when I leave her. It’s like she’s not happy about my leaving, and thanking me for returning. Like I’d not return to her.

She’s my everything.

“Be careful, honey. Play your best but don’t get hurt.” Mom’s been saying the same thing to me since pee wee football in elementary school.

“I’ll do my best, Mom. I love you.”

When I’m finally behind the wheel of my Range Rover, I let out a deep sigh.

I don’t have a spare minute during the season, but come February, I’ll start my research and interviews to find a nanny who can help out in the afternoons.

That leaves me with four months of living in guilty Hell for taking advantage of my parents.