Page 12 of Playboy Husband

MAISIE

Brody had been bouncing off the walls for days about this golf outing, and on Saturday morning, he was up before the sun, tugging on my blanket and whisper-yelling in my ear like the world would end if we didn’t leave right then.

I groaned, rolling over and opening my eyes to see him standing next to the bed, hair all sleep mussed and still in his pajamas, but his eyes were bright and happy.

“Can we go now?” he asked in a half-whiny, half-singsong voice. “I don’t want to be late.”

Groggily turning my gaze to the digital clock on my nightstand, I blinked hard when I saw the numbers, but they didn’t change. “Baby, it’s only seven-fifteen. We’re not meeting Callum until ten. Come cuddle with me. Maybe we can get a little more sleep.”

“Noooo,” he said, drawing out the word as his head shook and he took a big step back from the mattress, as if he was afraid I would snatch him into bed and force him back to sleep. “I’m hungry. Let’s have breakfast. Then we should get ready.”

“We don’t have to get ready yet,” I moaned, grabbing the pillow from under my head and dropping it over my face. “Five more minutes.”

Brody laughed and yanked the pillow away.

I wrapped my arms around his little body and started tickling him.

He broke out into hysterics. For just a few minutes, with the soft, first rays of dawn glowing in my bedroom and my little boy playing with me as if we had all the time in the world, I like my planets were finally aligning. I felt at peace.

Reality only sank back in when Brody had finally won, dragging me out of bed and downstairs to the kitchen. Natural light was only just starting to spill in through the windows, the streets outside still quiet and tranquil.

I looked around our space as I scrambled some eggs and popped bread into the toaster.

Our house was modest but cozy. I’d done my best to make it feel like home, with lots of pictures and art prints on the walls, tons of worn rugs on the floors, and scatter cushions we actually used on the couches.

Comfort was key. The outside world was bristling with sharp edges. Our home was a soft space to land.

The entire first story was basically one room, with only a few walls as partitions between some areas, but no enclosed spaces. We had the TV mounted on the wall in the living room and I could see it clearly from where I was in the kitchen.

Outside of that, we had a small entrance hall and a dining area large enough to fit six people around our table, but that was it.

The staircase leading up to our three bedrooms and one-and-a-half baths was situated in the space between the kitchen and the living room, and overflowing bookshelves lined whichever wall had had room left against it.

While I loved our home, I couldn’t quite picture Callum here, but I shook off the thought when Brody came bouncing into the kitchen, already dressed with his hair damp as if he wet it in an attempt to tame it. I chuckled, wondering again when the heck he’d gotten so big.

I ran my fingers through his hair when he came to stand next to me. “How am I going to get you to stop growing so fast, huh? Do you think a brick on your head will do the trick?”

“Nope, I’ll just keep growing and pushing the brick up,” he reasoned easily, dropping into a seat at our breakfast nook after getting himself a glass of water. “How do you know Callum?”

I blinked a few times. “Oh, he’s just an old friend. We went to college together. Why? Do you like him?”

Brody shrugged and attacked his food with gusto when I put it down in front of him, forgetting all about the conversation we’d been having.

By the time I had a thermos of coffee in my hand and he had his child-sized set of golf clubs slung over his shoulder like a pro, I was already wondering how long I was really going to be able to keep the truth from him.

Halfway to the course, my phone lit up with Mom across the screen. My stomach clenched. I loved my parents, and Brody loved them too, but the thought of explaining this mess of a situation to them was not appealing. What would I even say?

Hi Mom, so I might be marrying an old college hookup who has no idea he’s the father of your grandson, but don’t worry, it’s only so he can get his inheritance?

Yeah. No. Not happening today.

I silenced the call and glanced at Brody in the rearview mirror. “You remember who Callum is, right? The friend we’re playing with today.”

“Yep,” he said, his grin all childlike dimples and excitement. “From practice. He’s the one who told me to take off my skates because I was done playing with the little boys. Is he fun when he’s not a coach? He seemed kind of tough.”

The guilt hit hard. The fact that Brody knew nothing about Callum was just a reminder of the ridiculous tightrope I was balancing on, with neither of them knowing about their connection and both of them about to start getting to know each other.

“Yeah, he’s fun,” I said as lightly as I could. “If he seemed tough, it was only because he takes hockey pretty seriously.”

He was also dangerous in ways I couldn’t even admit out loud. I’d had my reasons for not telling Callum I was pregnant back then—solid reasons—but now? Now it just felt like I was running a scam I couldn’t possibly keep up forever.

Brody asked a few more questions on our way to the country club, but he quickly got bored of the topic of my friend and moved onto the course itself.

I answered him as best as I could, telling him the few details I remembered from the club’s website.

I had researched it to make sure it was nicer than the bar he kept inviting me to.

We pulled into the country club’s perfectly manicured grounds some time later, and Brody’s jaw practically dropped at the sight of the sprawling green lawns. I was almost as dumbstruck. The pictures had been gorgeous but they hadn’t done the place justice.

Callum was waiting near the main building, looking stupidly good in khakis and a light blue polo shit, a golf cart ready to go.

Wisps of his dark hair curled around from under his white cap and his muscular forearms were on full display.

I wondered if he was posing that way on purpose to impress me. If so, it was working.

“There’s Callum,” I said, clearing my throat.

Brody, naturally, was thrilled once we’d parked and he realized that the guy we were meeting was standing next to a golf cart, with one foot on the floor below the steering wheel like he owned it. Which he probably did.

“Can I drive it? Please, Mom, please?”

I didn’t even get a chance to answer before Callum smirked and handed over the keys like some kind of cool uncle.

We hadn’t even said hi yet, and Callum was already well on his way to cracking the nod of approval from a seven-year-old.

“Only if your mom says yes, buddy. But I don’t mind if you’d like to drive. You haven’t been drinking, right?”

Brody snickered and covered his face with his hands. “No, I don’t do that!”

“Just checking,” Callum said, grinning. “Safety first, am I right? What do you say, mama bear?”

Both of them turned to look at me, and just like that, I was outnumbered. Well played, Westood. Well freaking played.

“Sure, bud, but let Callum show you how it works first, alright? Then maybe you can try later.”

Brody groaned, but Callum shrugged and accepted the keys back. “Don’t worry. We’ll make it a quick lesson. It’ll be nice to have chauffeur around the course today. What do you say about nine holes? Think you can manage it?”

“Yes,” Brody exclaimed immediately, obviously ecstatic to be off the driving range and onto a real course. “We can do that, right, Mom?”

It sounded fine until Callum looked at me.

Those crystal clear blue eyes sparkled with amusement and mischief as his eyebrows rose just slightly under his cap.

“You’re playing with us, aren’t you? It’s only the three of us, so nine holes shouldn’t take too long.

I even brought sunscreen, just in case.”

“No,” I said instantly. I had a bag full of papers to grade in my tote and zero intention of making a fool of myself. “I’m just along for the ride today.”

“Yes,” Brody chimed in, his eyes wide and pleading. “Please, Mom? You can’t just sit there.”

Between the two of them, I knew I didn’t stand a chance, so I nodded, hoping they would forget about my turn once we got underway. Brody and Callum hit it off like they’d been waiting their whole lives to find each other. In a way, they had.

Callum didn’t treat him like a kid, either, which Brody seemed to love. He teased him, talked smack when Brody sliced a ball, and egged him on when he connected just right. Brody ate it up, strutting across the fairway like he’d just won the Masters while Callum slow-clapped.

Meanwhile, I was a disaster. My first swing missed the ball entirely. The second barely made the ball roll two feet forward. Brody doubled over laughing and Callum grinned like this was the highlight of his day.

By the third failed attempt, Brody sprinted down the course to chase his ball, leaving me alone with Callum and that stupid, demonic, tiny, white ball that refused to move. I scowled at it, intent on glaring it into submission.

“You’re overthinking it,” Callum said, stepping closer on a soft chuckle. “Here, let me show you.”

I turned to protest, but suddenly, his chest was pressed against my back, his hands sliding over mine on the club. My skin prickled, my body went hot, and for a second, I was pretty sure I forgot how to even breathe.

“Feet here,” he murmured, nudging my stance with his own foot. “Hands like this.”

If he noticed the way I stiffened, he didn’t mention it. He just adjusted my grip, his voice low and his warm breath ghosting across my ear. Dear Lord, how is anybody supposed to concentrate with him touching them?

My heart was pounding, my senses so attuned to him that I almost didn’t realize we were moving, but with him guiding the swing, the ball actually flew. I blinked myself out of my Callum-trance and watched it soar. “Oh my gosh. I did it!”

“You’re a natural.” He cleared his throat and then his heat disappeared from my back as if he’d stepped away quickly, like maybe he’d felt the same electricity and had also suddenly remembered we were in public in front of my child. Well, our child, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Brody came running back with the stray, rolling ball in hand, beaming at Callum as he handed it over. “Maybe you should give Mom some pointers. You’re really good.”

It seemed that was enough to earn my son’s approval, and he chattered nonstop as we went through the holes. By the end, I was sweaty, sunburned, and sore, but grinning. Brody was glowing and that was the most important thing.

“Would you guys like some lunch?” Callum waved at the restaurant. “They make some pretty mean food in there.”

I didn’t even argue when Brody’s mouth practically started watering. “Awesome! I’m starving.”

“I thought you might be,” Callum said, guiding him in with me trailing along behind them. Once we sat down, I figured Brody would order a kids’ meal and Callum would get something sophisticated, like salmon or a salad with a name I couldn’t pronounce.

Instead, they both ordered identical double cheeseburgers with fries.

I got a chicken wrap, just watching them and wondering how they still had energy to talk while we waited for our food.

When the plates came, I sat in awe as they inhaled their food with matching gusto, their mannerisms so similar that it was striking.

Same elbows on the table. Same way of tearing into the burger like it had personally offended them. Same complete focus.

Brody polished off his plate and Callum leaned over with an eyebrow arched. “Still hungry?” Callum chuckled when Brody nodded enthusiastically. “That’s okay, buddy. So am I.”

He flagged down the waiter for another order of fries. The dessert menu came around when they were done, but Brody wrinkled his nose. He’d never liked sweets, which had always baffled me since I had such a sweet tooth myself.

“Can I have the chocolate cake, please?” I asked and turned to Callum, waiting for him to order something too, but he was already sliding the dessert menu back toward the waiter.

“More fries instead,” he said. “I’m not really one for the sweet stuff, but anything fried is amazing.”

Brody grinned like they’d just come up with a secret handshake. The two of them demolished yet another order of fries while I sat there, equal parts amused, unsettled, and oddly relieved—because Brody definitely liked his father.

This crazy plan might just actually work.

“Alright, buddy,” Callum said, ruffling Brody’s hair once we were on our way out.

For the first time, I realized how natural they looked together.

How comfortable. It should have terrified me, and in a way, it did, but in other ways, I just felt vindicated.

“You keep practicing, okay? Thanks for showing me up today.”

“You showed me up,” Brody countered, grinning ear to ear. “I’ll keep practicing, though. Next time, I’ll drive?”

“All the way around the course.” Callum grinned, giving Brody another high-five before he took off to go grab his golf clubs.

Callum turned to me and opened his mouth before he suddenly froze, his shoulders going tight and his jaw locking. I frowned but followed his gaze. “Callum? What’s going on? Who is that?”

An older woman was gliding toward us, perfectly put together in a chic golf skirt and sleeveless polo, her blonde bob sleek, her sunglasses perched on her head like a crown. She looked like she’d stepped straight out of one of those glossy lifestyle magazines stacked in the pro shop.

“Trouble,” he muttered under his breath.

I turned, beyond confused, but before I could ask again, her honeyed voice carried across the walkway. “Callum, darling! What a surprise. I didn’t know you were coming here today.”

My stomach flipped as realization hit. The more I looked at her, the more I realized I didn’t need an introduction to know who she was.

CC Westwood, Callum’s mom, the family matriarch herself. Regularly featured in lifestyle spreads, tabloids, and in the society pages, she was pretty well known—and she was walking right toward us.