Page 6 of Worth the Try (Atlanta Granite #1)

Ansel

R OSALIE IS VIbrATING with excitement. Today’s the day we move Elodie into the pool house, and you’d think my daughter was preparing for a visit from the queen.

I still can’t believe my luck. Having Elodie practically drop into my lap was the second luckiest thing to ever happen to me, without question. The past two weeks have been…overwhelming. Even more overwhelming than usual, and that’s saying something.

I knew my stubborn parents probably needed help, even if they weren’t saying anything, so Rosie and I drove the four hours to Isle of Palms to see them.

Sure enough, Mom was hours from losing her mind with Dad, who swore up and down he didn’t need to take the painkillers, but then whined about how much pain he was in.

So I spent my days with the mule of a man while Rosie soaked in the sunshine on the beach with her grandmother.

Then there were the projects around the house that neither had gotten to, so if I wasn’t making Dad do his physical therapy or helping him up and down from the makeshift living area we’d created in the living room, I was crawling on the roof or fixing the pump or making sure the generator had gas.

At home, it’s not been any better. I’ve spent every moment I can back in the guesthouse, getting it deep cleaned and ready for a semi-permanent resident.

And that’s been on top of the usual day-to-day things.

Laundry. Calling the preschool to see if, by some miracle, a slot had opened up for Rosalie.

Dentist appointment. Making sure that Rosie wasn’t rotting her brain in front of the television for the entire day.

Cooking. Shopping. If I’d had to work another job these past two weeks, absolutely nothing would have gotten done.

Then again, if I’d kept my mouth shut, I still wouldn’t be going for practice on Monday. The entire team, including me, would have had two glorious months off. As it is, we’ll be practicing four full days a week instead.

“Daddy, do you think Elodie will like this one?”

I look at the paper Rosie holds up for my inspection.

It’s a drawing of the guesthouse and pool, with Elodie standing outside the house.

I’ll be the first to admit that Rosie is no genius with the crayons just yet, but it’s obvious enough who the subject of the drawing is.

“She’ll love it,” I promise, pulling on one of her pigtails.

I think back over the conversation we had.

The background check. The brief story she gave about growing up in Athens, just seventy miles away.

Everything about her is normal. Perfectly, wonderfully normal .

Nothing about her stands out. She’s just…

a person. A person who was in pageants, sure, but as long as she’s not going after my daughter with a makeup kit and hairspray against Rosie’s wishes, what does it matter?

All I have to do is pay zero attention to the fact that she’s drop-dead gorgeous, and I’ll be fine.

I scrub my eyes in an effort to remove the memory of her legs when she tucked them beneath her on the bench as we chatted. The tiny geographies of freckles against creamy skin.

Nope.

No way. Not happening. I have neither the time nor room in my life for anyone other than my main girl Rosie.

Anyone else is a waste of time. Not that there aren’t opportunities—there are plenty.

One of the many “perks” of being an athlete in a city filled with them, I suppose.

And I’ve had flings here and there, but once they realize I have a daughter, every single woman bounces.

Which is wild, because it’s not like I keep Rosalie a secret.

Even the sports press knows all about her.

But for them, it’s more of a “if you take pictures of my daughter, I’ll smash your face in without a second thought” thing.

It’s just past lunch when Rosie squeals from her perch on the couch, jumping up and down on the cushions and pointing out the window. “She’s here!”

Sure enough, four cars have pulled up in front of my house with the smallest of moving vans tucked into the line of vehicles. That’s all she has? Though the guesthouse is furnished, so I don’t know why I’m shocked at this. Maybe they made a pit stop to put the rest of her things in storage.

Rosalie flies to the door, looking back at me with a half-crazed smile. “Can I go?”

I nod, and she’s bolting outside before I can blink, cries of “Miss Elodie! You’re here!” floating back as she goes.

I take a slightly less manic pace, shutting the door behind me before heading to meet everyone on the street.

Elodie slides down from the driver’s seat, surreptitiously pulling a wedgie out of her cut-off jean shorts.

Shorts that do absolutely everything for her, showing off a far more luscious set of curves than I even realized.

Her eyes find mine, and she knows she’s been caught, because she blushes redder than the sunset before quickly turning away from me.

Her hair’s up in a bun, the same as when we first met, and her shirt falls off one shoulder to reveal a black sports bra.

“Hi,” she says.

“Welcome to your new digs,” I reply. “Is this it?”

She gives me an incredulous look, as though I’m either stupid or clueless. Maybe both. Probably both.

In the face of her? Definitely both.

“The rest is in storage. We stopped there first.”

“Figured that might be the case,” I say as Kari rounds the van.

“Can I carry the cat?” Rosie asks. “I’ll be very careful. I’m strong.”

Elodie smiles at her, then nods. As Rosie cheers, Elodie walks around the van to the passenger side.

I join the guys, grabbing two boxes from the van and leading the way up the side of the house and through the wooden gate.

Most of the guys have been here before, so they’re used to the scene: a backyard mostly occupied by the pool, half of which is taken up by a huge unicorn float and a He-Man float.

Rosalie insisted we get the floats last year, and both of them are in heavy rotation once again this year.

There’s a slim patch of lawn, just big enough to require an actual mower, and situated between the house and the pool is a massive entertainment area.

It’s the reason I bought the place, hoping to fill it with memories of good times and laughter.

There’s an outdoor grill and small refrigerator, and leading out the back door of the house is a screened-in area with seating and an enormous flat-screen television.

I got the property for a song during a real estate downturn, when I was just out of college and had no business buying something like this.

Seriously. What does a twenty-two-year-old need with this much house?

But I’d gotten a hefty contract from the league, and thanks to an undergrad academic scholarship, I never used the college fund my parents had saved.

Between those two things, plus my father’s enthusiastic financial guidance—basically, he told me if I didn’t buy it he’d seriously consider disowning me—I snagged it.

I’d never been more grateful for it than when Rosalie’s piece-of-shit mother left her on my porch. And now? I’m grateful for it once again.

I know how privileged I am. Hard not to when my mom won’t ever shut up about how nice it must be to be a tall, good-looking, straight white man in America. She’s not wrong. I mean, I don’t know about the good-looking part, but the rest is true.

“Wow, Ansel—how much they paying you to be captain?” Xavier’s voice is full of wonder. He’s new to the team and fresh out of college, eager as hell. Big kid, too, and his whole persona makes me think of a mastiff puppy.

“Bought it a long time ago, Xave,” comes Cash’s answer.

“You were probably in middle school,” I say, shifting the box I’m carrying into one hand while I open the guesthouse door with the other.

“How old are you, Ansel?” Kari asks, following me in with Elodie right behind her.

I glare at her. “Thirty-two. Of which you are well aware.”

She grins and pops her gum. “Yeah, but I love making you feel old.”

“Don’t start with me,” I warn. “You forget that I know how old you are and I’m not afraid to say it.”

“You wouldn’t dare ,” she hisses.

I move behind her, snickering, and set the box on the bar that separates the kitchen and living area.

Beside us, Elodie stands quietly off to the side with a box in her hands, worrying her lip as she takes the place in.

I step forward and take it from her, and the movement doesn’t quite seem to register at first. When it does, she blushes again and blinks up at me.

“Thank you. This is—wow,” she gushes, looking around. “When you said it was the pool house?—”

“Guesthouse,” I correct with a smile.

“Guesthouse,” she says and nods. “I figured it was going to be small. Not…whatever this is.”

“Can I let the cat out?” Rosie asks.

Elodie kneels to get on Rosie’s eye level. “Not yet. Let’s wait until the door is shut. Do you want to help set up some food and water for her?”

“Yes!”

Kari calls her over to do just that, and I look back at Elodie as she stands. “Want the tour?”

“I should probably help get the rest of my things,” she protests.

“You shouldn’t.” I gesture for her to follow. “These guys can earn their pizza.”

“Oh, shoot!” She hits her forehead with her palm. “I forgot to order it! How many should I get? Is anyone gluten-free?”

I bite back a smile. It’s sweet of her to think about something like that. “I’ve already ordered. It’ll be here soon.”

Her eyes widen, the green—blue? No, hazel—irises flaring in the sunlight streaming into the living area. “Oh, no! No, no, no, I can do it. I can afford it—especially with what you’re paying me, which is still?—”