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Ziggy

I wake up to a growl.

Is that my stomach?

Wait. I’m not alone.

Holt.

Oh god.

Holt .

I’m in bed with Holt.

I pry my eyes open, registering bright sunlight and soft gray sheets and dark blue walls and a warm body beside me.

A warm body whose arm I’m drooling on.

I suck the drool back into my mouth and hear the growl again.

Is that his stomach?

He jerks in bed. “ Ow . Stop it, asshole,” he mutters .

I lift a sleepy head.

He swings himself up to sitting and swats at something at the edge of the bed.

The growl— Jessica .

Jessica’s growling at both of us.

I leap to my feet, trip on a bag next to the bed, catch myself, realize I’m completely and totally naked, and start to laugh.

Jessica’s jumping at the end of the bed, trying to bite Holt’s boot, which is hanging off the edge. Holt’s staring at me like he doesn’t know who I am or where I came from.

And I’m naked.

Just naked.

“Stop,” I tell the dog.

She grunts, but she also plops her stout body down to sit beside the bed, scowling at me.

“Do you need to go outside?”

I don’t know what time it is, but it has to be past her breakfast time.

“I’ll go take care of her.” I look at Holt, and then I freeze.

The man’s rubbing the dark whiskers around his jaw, hooded eyes dark as midnight as they look me up and down.

And I like it.

Heat builds between my thighs, and I realize they’re sore.

Muscle and skin.

I have whisker burn between my thighs.

He gave that to me last night.

And now it’s tomorrow.

When we have to face what we did last night.

“And then I can make breakfast. I’m feeling like omelets. Weird, right? Potatoes on the side, but I want eggs today. Are you hungry? Does anything sound good? We’re a little low on groceries. I was going to make a menu for next week and hit the store later today. My mom—we’re going to look at a few more houses this afternoon. In case one’s right. Early. Early afternoon. Not later. When it’s dinnertime. And would’ve been movie time. If we were?—”

As I’m babbling, he’s scooting down to the edge of the bed.

Naked.

Long, thick cock straining out from a bed of dark curls.

Stalking me.

I’m equal parts thrilled at the idea he wants me still and terrified that this is the only way off the bed and he just needs to get up to pee or something.

Or rub out his morning wood without me.

I like his morning wood. I want to stroke it. Silky skin. Thick veins wrapped around it. Deep pink. Thick, broad head.

That is theoretically no longer mine to touch.

He didn’t confirm or deny that he’s leaving today, but I could sense it last night.

It’s what’s best for both of us.

For his career. For his life.

For my peace with my family.

But that penis?—

His is my favorite penis.

He reaches the end of the bed, snags me by the hips, pulls me flush to his body, then slides his hands up, over my breasts, up my neck, to hook one hand behind my head and pull my face down to his.

“I’m hungry,” he says.

And then he’s kissing me.

Hard.

Deep .

It’s a once-in-a-lifetime, bone-melting, heart-pounding, I own you now kiss.

My belly flips.

My tender thighs quiver.

My breasts ache, and my nipples tighten so hard I feel it all the way in my vagina.

I rest my hands on his chest, hot skin and wiry hair beneath my fingers as his tongue strokes mine.

So this isn’t just me.

There’s something here.

He still wants it.

He still wants me .

A loud bark startles me out of the kiss.

Jessica’s glaring at us as she does the potty dance.

Dammit .

“Ohright,” I stammer. “Alkay. Okay. All right . I’m coming.”

Holt snorts softly.

I look at him, and he’s poker-faced.

“Robe by the door. Use it.”

More warmth floods my entire body.

Don’t get all the way dressed, but wear my clothes so you don’t horrify the neighbors .

Right.

I’m naked.

I snag the robe from the hook by the door and, as I’m wrapping the copious amount of fabric around my body, glance back at him.

He’s staring at my ass and stroking his cock.

Our eyes meet.

“You would too if you could see what I see,” he says.

“Save some for me,” I reply.

“Fuck, Ziggy. ”

I slowly lick my lips. “Good plan. I like it.”

Those eyes bore into me. We’re fucked .

In trouble.

Dancing with danger.

Until three months ago, my entire life was spent being the good girl.

I’m over it.

“I’ll convince him,” I whisper. “Just—give me time.”

He nods as Jessica barks at me.

Crap .

We’re in dangerous territory.

I finish tying Holt’s thick terry cloth robe around me, then hustle myself and the dog down the stairs and out back.

It’s humid already, but the air is only lukewarm. Not yet fires-of-hell hot.

Not nearly as hot as Holt’s bedroom last night. Or my bathroom.

I smile to myself as I wait at the porch door for the dog to come back in for breakfast.

He did want to take me on a date.

I rub my lower belly.

He wanted to take us on a date.

Didn’t he?

He doesn’t strike me as the type who’d put his career on the line for a fling.

But what do I really know about him?

I can ask.

That would be fun.

Hi, Holt, about your hard-on, we’ll get there, but first, can I ask how you feel about being a father? I know you offered to marry me, but haha, that was just a joke and we both know it. Wasn’t it? Or was it ?

I need to get a grip.

One day at a time.

That’s what this is.

One day at a time.

And we have six months until Tater Tot arrives.

Is six months long enough to know if it’s forever?

Get out of your head, Ziggy .

I blow out a breath as Jessica bounces back up the stairs. She gives me the stink eye.

“I realize you don’t like men, but he’s one of the good guys,” I tell her.

She snorts at me, getting doggy snot all over Holt’s robe.

“Are you for real right now?” I ask her. “Was that because it’s his clothes, or because you think I’ve gone to the dark side?”

She lifts her head in the air and doesn’t answer me as she trots past me and demands entrance to the kitchen.

When we step inside, Holt’s there.

Disappointment slithers through me.

He’s only wearing shorts, balancing on his crutches again, and there’s evidence that he’s still semi-hard dancing under the fabric as he pulls food out of the fridge and sets it on the counter.

He glances over at me. “Baby’s not going hungry on my watch.”

How the hell could my dad object to this?

I blink hard and fast against the joy threatening to leak out of my eyes. “Thank you.”

Jessica grumbles to herself.

I get her breakfast and fresh water, then shoo Holt away from the food. “Go put your foot up. I’ve got this. ”

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to eat eggs?” he asks as he backs away. “I’m wary of you and chicken products.”

It takes me a hot minute to process what he means, but when I do, I crack up. “Understandable. I’ll try to keep it down.”

“We’re out of saltines.”

I blink at him while he settles onto a stool across the island, then I start chopping vegetables for our omelets. “We are, aren’t we? I took the last sleeve to work. I’ll grab more at the store after I’m done with Mom. You can text me if you need anything else.”

“What if someone sees your phone?”

“I changed your contact info. You’re now Cole Webber .”

“Boring. You’re Hellbeast Dogsitter in my phone.”

“That’s more letters than your average text response to people.”

He cracks a short laugh. “I text long.”

“Do you, now?”

“I do, but not to women I have crushes on when I know it can’t go anywhere.”

There’s that warm glow again. And I think I’m blushing.

The man had his face between my thighs last night. I drooled on him in my sleep.

And I’m blushing at the confirmation that he has a crush on me.

“You make the list. I’ll order it for delivery,” he says. “So we can still go see the movie. If you’re up for it. And have time.”

Yes . “I’ll make sure I’m done in time.”

We stare at each other.

We’re doing this.

We’re going to date under my dad’s nose .

See if this is real.

“I really do have a lot of baggage,” I whisper.

“Everyone does.”

“A baby’s a bit more work than a dog.”

He chuckles to himself, shaking his head. “About like taking care of a guy dying of cancer, but with a better payoff in the end.”

I pause with my knife and study him.

“Sorry. Dark. Dark humor helps.”

“No, I know. I do it too sometimes. We all do.”

“I just meant—I take care of people, Ziggy. It’s what I do. What I’ve always done. My brother. My teammates. My neighbors. If I’d made it in Spain, I would’ve made a whole new family of new teammates to take care of there. Commitment doesn’t scare me. People don’t scare me. A baby’s just a little person. More family. More good family.”

I don’t know who put this man in my path to be the one to find me gnawing on a grocery-store rotisserie chicken in a parking lot a month ago, but for the first time since I found out my best friend hated me, I feel like I’ve found a place I belong.

If I can get my dad on board.

“How are you single?” I ask him.

“Grief’s a bitch. How are you single?”

“Subliminal messages in my teenage years about no boy being good enough for me coupled with lingering childhood money fears making me a workaholic and a career environment where coworkers leave every week because their contracts have ended or they’re reassigned.”

That gets me a slow blink. “Your dad bought a fucking rugby team on a whim because the cost of the team was a good tax write-off. I read the articles. What we cost him every year in not being fully profitable is in the noise.”

“Stepdad.” I focus on the vegetables again.

“You call him Dad.”

“Doesn’t mean I want or should get any of his money. Not like I helped him make it. If he dies, Miranda gets everything but the house, which will go to my mom, and a trust fund for Mom now that they’ve made it past their ten-year anniversary. It was in the prenup.”

He scratches his jaw and watches me.

“Honestly? I think that’s part of why he’s so insistent that she not date any of the players. She could own the team one day. Messy dynamics.”

“But you won’t.”

“I will not. Every time he’s said he’s changing his will to include me, I tell him no. He’ll probably leave me something anyway, because I can’t stop him, but I don’t want to live off of what he built. I don’t want to depend on it. I want to be able to take care of myself. To build and live my own life. Get back to working in the wine industry. Directly. Not doing a made-up-for-me job running catering for the team. I miss wine. Having a glass with dinner. Trying a new vintage of an old favorite. Watching people find one they like… It’s a fun job. I miss it. And I have no idea if I’ll ever work in the industry again once the baby’s born, but I hope I do.”

“If it makes you happy, then I do too.”

I put a sauté pan on the stove to heat while I crack eggs. “That’s what I hope Dad says too. If it makes you happy .”

He lifts his brows. “Think he will?”

“No. I mean, not immediately. But maybe eventually? Even if I moved in with my parents or you moved in with a teammate, you’ve been my friend. Those are in short supply in my life right now. If anyone in my family wants to tell me we can’t be friends, they can fuck right off.”

He lifts his brows.

I grin. “Or so I’d tell them if I didn’t know how that would end. Diplomacy is going to get us much further than fuck off .”

“You like him?”

Isn’t that the question. “I didn’t at first. I thought he was trying to buy my approval with phones and video games and money for shopping trips. I might’ve whined a time or two to Abby Nora that I wished my biological dad hadn’t died in a car accident before I was old enough to remember him. But Roland took me to school—himself, no driver—and he picked me up from my after-school activities, and he helped me with my homework. Miranda didn’t live with us, not full-time, so I could’ve been a major inconvenience, but he did the dad things without complaining. He likes taking care of people too. He just takes it too far sometimes.”

“He’s not wrong. Your sister shouldn’t date any of the guys on the team.”

“Are they all that awful?”

“Yes.”

His grin says he’s lying. “But you’re not.”

“I’m fucking perfect.”

I smile instead of agreeing with him out loud.

Because from where I’m standing, he is pretty damn perfect.

I do want to spend more time with him. Get to know him better. Sleep with him every night.

And figure out how to convince my stepdad that me dating one of his players isn’t the worst thing that could ever happen.

“I think Dad can be reasonable,” I say as Holt’s phone dings.

He glances at it, then at me, then back at the phone.

“What?” I ask.

“Coach emailed.” He thumbs over the screen. “New addition in the office… Owner’s daughter… You know the rules… Only time I’ll say it…”

My heart sinks. “No.”

His smile is grim. “Yep.”

His phone dings again.

He reads the screen and sighs.

“What now?”

He holds out the phone.

I wipe my hands and lean across the island to see.

It’s a text from Fletcher.

Fletcher: You’re fucked, man. Been nice knowing you. Extra bummer that I can’t take your dog when Roland kills you. But can I have your weight set? Good grips.

It’s not funny.

It’s not.

But I laugh anyway.

Yeah, dark humor absolutely gets you through sometimes.

“If I’m a dead man, I’m going out happy,” Holt says. “We still on for the movies? Please?”

Go on a date with this handsome, kind, generous man?

And then come home with him afterward ?

How could I say no?

“Only if I get fries at Cod Pieces first.”

“Deal.”

We’re likely in trouble. And right now, I don’t care.