Page 9

8

Raven

“ T his house is incredible! And this view…” I’m standing on a concrete balcony with a bronze and glass banister overlooking the city of Los Angeles spread out for miles below. “It’s like that house in Charlie’s Angels . You know, the one where Drew Barrymore falls over the balcony?”

“Never saw it.” Hendrix stands at the sliding glass doors with Haddy against his chest.

He’s getting better at holding her. In the past few days, all through hiring the movers and coming here, he’s gone from stiff and nervous to relaxed and downright sexy holding her.

Not that I’m thinking of him in those terms.

We’ve laid the ground rules, and I’m sticking to them.

His daughter, by contrast, has no rules and is clearly in love with her daddy. She’s gotten to where she’ll go to him as quickly as me. He can even get her to stop crying now.

“We’ve got to do something about your lack of movie knowledge.” I lean my back against the railing, crossing my arms. “Are you not coming out here?”

“I don’t want to get too close to the railing while I’m holding her. She might jump out of my arms.”

Pressing my lips together, I will not tease him for being overprotective. It’s actually kind of cute. “Then I’ll come to you.”

I walk across the wide balcony, stepping into his posh home. It has heavy, reclaimed wooden floors with rustic columns throughout. All of his furniture is leather and dark mahogany wood. It’s designed in a split-level style with the different floors separated by short flights of stairs.

It’s very Frank Lloyd Wright, built into the side of the hill and designed to blend with the scenery, concrete and steel.

“Jack said we could hire someone to childproof the house for us.” He walks into the living area where a massive flatscreen television hangs over a gas-log fireplace. “We can put pillows around the fireplace mantle, but this coffee table is a hazard.”

“We should be okay until she starts walking.” I pause at a credenza where several framed photographs are arranged.

One is of Hendrix and Garrett hugging each other on the sidelines. As much shit as they give each other, I can tell from their expressions it’s all an act. Pure love is on their faces.

“I adore this photo.” I lift it, turning it so he can see.

“Oh, yeah.” He stops, walking back to where I’m standing. “I wanted to have one of all four of us together, but Jack retired before I could.”

“You have this one of you and Garrett with Logan.” It’s a shot of the three of them together on the sidelines. Garrett’s arms are crossed, but Logan is laughing at something Hendrix has said. “These are so good!”

“That one’s from the team photographer.” He nods at it. “The other one came from a gossip site. They made a lot of money catching us all together like that.”

“Are you saying this is a money shot?” I tease, replacing the photo .

“Definitely.”

Following him through the house, I’m in love with the gorgeous, mid-century modern design, then we arrive at another short flight of stairs leading to a whole separate wing.

“This will be your half of the house.” He slides his hand over a light switch, and warm yellow light illuminates a spacious sitting area with wood-paneled walls and two doors on either side leading to separate bedrooms.

“Very inviting.” I open one of the doors to see a wide-open space with a desk and two chairs in the center. A king-sized bed is near the windows, covered in a pine green duvet with fluffy white pillows. “I take it this is my room?”

“Is that okay?”

“It’s beautiful.”

My suitcases are stacked beside the closet, and I remember briefly seeing a man at the airport collecting our things and loading them into a black SUV.

Hendrix leads us across the hall, opening the other door to a pretty room painted in a vintage purple color. It has a gleaming wooden crib at the back wall with a pretty mobile attached to the side. Plush, pink and purple fairies hang from it all holding wands with ribbon streamers.

The mattress is made up with a pink and purple crib sheet and a bumper all around the sides. A queen-sized bed is positioned against the opposite wall, and a glider with a footstool is by the floor-to-ceiling windows, which have blackout shades waiting to be lowered.

“I had to tell Coach what was going on, and his wife Christina really wanted to help get the house ready for Haddy.” He almost seems apologetic. “I hope that’s okay. She was so excited. Their son just left for college.”

“That’s so sweet. I’ll have to send her a thank-you card. The house is all ready for us.”

He hesitates, as if he’s unsure what to do now. “I hope you’ll both like it here. ”

Hendrix is this big, strong athlete with perfectly messy brown hair and bright blue eyes. He’s six-foot-two inches of pure muscle with broad shoulders, a rock-hard chest and abs, and a narrow waist. When he grins, his lips part over straight, white teeth, and that scar… and that dimple. He’s a work of art.

He’s a total player, and when he reveals these moments of pure vulnerability, it does not help that I remember our one night together so vividly.

I have to be very careful during this time to keep my head straight. I won’t lose my heart. It wouldn’t be fair to any of us. We have ground rules.

Football is his life. The weather is mine. We share Haddy, and that’s where it ends.

“I’m sure we will. Your house is so beautiful, and Haddy’s room is so cute. I’ve always been in the same room with her, so that’ll be a switch.”

“You can sleep in the bed in here if you want?”

“We’ll see how it goes. It’s good for her to get used to her own room.”

We walk back through the house, in the direction of the kitchen, and when we enter the large living room, I can’t resist. “This television is incredible. I can’t wait to watch movies on it.”

“You talk about movies like I talk about football.”

Shrugging, I can’t argue. “It’s my favorite hobby.”

“Is watching movies a hobby?”

“It is how I do it.” I gesture to the massive screen. “You can compare camera angles and scenes, contrast the old styles with the new ones to see how they influence each other. You can even compare the way actors walk and their delivery of lines to the way actors did it in the past—especially when they do biopics. It’s so fun.”

He’s ahead of me as we walk, and my eyes drift to his butt. My lips tilt to the side, and I almost sigh over how unfair it is that he’s so attractive. It’s like a test.

“Are you sure you want to be a meteorologist?” He stops, turning fast, and I jump, letting out a little yelp which makes his eyes narrow. “Were you just checking out my ass?”

“No!” I say it too loudly, and my ears grow hot, which I know means they’re turning pink.

“You were checking out my ass.”

“I was not!”

He looks at Haddy. “She was checking out Daddy’s ass.”

Haddy smiles and pats his cheeks, letting out a little gurgling noise.

“See that?” His blue eyes meet mine. “She said you were.”

“Nice try.” I step forward, holding back a swoon at how cute they are. “You’ll have to watch your language. Her first word can’t be a swear.”

“Is ass a swear?” he teases.

“She can’t say it at school.”

“Still, we know what you did.” He resumes walking, leaning into our daughter. “She was checking out Daddy’s butt, Hads.”

“I was not checking out your butt!” I cry, even though it’s a total lie. I was totally checking out his butt. “I was thinking about what you said, and yes, I want to be a meteorologist.”

“You should be a movie critic. You’re in the perfect city for it.”

“I also want to tour Warner Brothers studios.”

He groans. “I’ll let you do that on your own.”

“It’ll be fun! Look, Haddy agrees with me, don’t you, baby?” I step forward, but our little daughter’s brow furrows.

“See?” he laughs. “She does not agree. She thinks that’s a terrible idea.”

Her blue eyes lose focus for a minute, and I press my lips together. I know that look. “I don’t think that’s what she thinks.”

The distinctive scent of baby poop permeates the air around us, and Hendrix’s eyes snap to mine.

“Haddy!” He cries, lifting her by her midsection and holding her away from his body. “What did you do?”

“She pooped.” I hold my nose, trying not to laugh .

“She was just sitting on my arm!” His face wrinkles with a grimace. “How could she sit there and do that on my arm?”

I shrug. “Babies poop, Hendrix.”

Her little eyes squint, and her bottom lip wobbles. She holds out her arms to him, starting to cry.

“Ugh—it smells so bad!” He turns his head, dropping his jaw and breathing through his mouth.

“You have to change her.”

Panicked blue eyes lock on mine. “I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can!” I smile encouragingly.

“Raven…”

“She’s not on fire, Hendrix, and there’s a good chance you’ll be alone with her and a poopy diaper at some point.” Haddy cries harder, and I take her from him. “Come on, baby.”

I snatch up the diaper bag from the kitchen table and carry her into the living room. Haddy puts her little head on my arm.

“You’re not going to do it on my rug!” Hendrix’s voice is pure horror.

“I’ll put a blanket under her. Now get over here and help me.” I take a baby blanket from the bag and spread it over the expensive Persian rug, then I take out a fresh diaper and the packet of baby wipes.

He kneels beside me, but when I open the dirty diaper, he falls back on his butt, cupping his face. “Oh, God!”

Then he jumps up and dashes into the kitchen.

“You’ve got to learn how to do this!” I yell after him.

Haddy’s little lip quivers and a tear is on her bottom lashes. “It’s okay, sweetie.” My voice is soothing. “Daddy is new at this.”

I’m smiling, doing my best to calm her down when her blue eyes flash and she lets out an even louder scream that makes my heart jump to my throat.

Hendrix drops to his knees beside me wearing a snorkel mask and yellow rubber gloves.

Haddy cries, trying to twist away, but I hold her. “Take that off—you’re scaring her! ”

“I can’t… that smell!” he argues.

“Hendrix!” I push him with my elbow, and his shoulders drop.

Haddy won’t be consoled, and he finally takes off the mask. At once, he jerks forward, holding a gloved hand over his nose and mouth like he’s about to vomit.

“You’re kidding me,” I groan. “Don’t you dare throw up on her!”

“Raven…” he cries, gagging again.

Haddy cries more, and I growl. “Go away before she gets too upset.”

Pushing off the floor, he sprints out of the living room again. I grab the wipes and quickly clean up our baby.

“He’s got a long way to go, Hads.” My tone is sweet, and I quickly wrap up her dirty diaper, putting it to the side as I slip on a new one.

She’s still making little quivering sobs, and I grab the bag, digging in it for her pacifier. As soon as it’s in her mouth, I lift her and she rests her head on my shoulder, curling her fingers back and forth in my shirt sleeve.

I put all the supplies away and wrap the dirty diaper in a plastic bag before putting it in the garbage. Hendrix sits at the bar holding a coffee pod to his nose, and I shake my head at him, doing my best not to growl.

“I can’t do this, Rave.” His eyes are serious. “I do football. I don’t do poop.”

“But you’re a smart guy.” I shake my head. “You’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t know how I’ll figure that out. I will vomit.”

“Think of it like you’re a doctor. She needs you to help her. She can’t do this herself.”

“How long before she can do it on the toilet?”

“A couple of years.”

His head drops back, and he groans. “Years?”

I walk over and put my hand on his forearm. “I’ll give you a pass this time, but you have to learn to do it. She can’t stay in poop if I’m not here. It’ll give her a bad rash, and that’ll be worse. Imagine if you had to sit in poop for hours.”

His lips press, and he puts his hand on our daughter’s back. “Hear that, Hads? No pooping when Mom’s away.”

I shake my head. “Help me with her dinner. Then we can give her a bath and get her ready for bed.”