Playing Fate (Endgame Series Book 1) (13 page)

“No worries. She wanted Uncle Mason to make her feel all better.”

“You didn’t do the old wives tale of whiskey and honey did you?” I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried.

“Nope. Your mom did write that down, though. You bought some teething tablets. I dissolved them and rubbed her gums with the solution.” He kisses her head. “I washed my hands first and everything.”

I’m speechless.

I’m humbled.

I’m embarrassed I prevented this from happening.

“Mason . . .”

He waves me off.

“We’re good.”

“You good enough to play with one-armed douche?” Caden smirks at him.

“Nope. My girl and I are gonna catch some college ball. And watch your language.”

Caden groans, and I laugh. We’re gonna be just fine. All of us. The rest of the afternoon plays out with Mason and Caden taking turns with Julie, and she is eating it up. For such a little lady, she is a huge flirt. We’ve all mentioned she isn’t allowed near boys. As a matter of fact, it’s reiterated several times throughout the day.

As I rock Julie to sleep staring at her tiny innocent face as she sucks her bottle, it hits me . . . everything is coming together because of Saylor. Julie lights up when she sees her. She has Caden and Mason wrapped around her finger. Emberlee and Avery won’t be far behind—and me, she is the center of my universe. Saylor may think she’s the odd man with us, but she has become the glue to this group in such a short time. She opened my eyes to what was slipping away; all by listening to those around her. Becoming their rock and making it easy for them to open up. If it weren’t for Mason and Caden falling in love with her and protecting her like a little sister, they may have wandered and found another crew to hang with. We’d always be tight, but we were all fading away. Avery and Emberlee have bonded with her. We all mesh. Now, my
goal
will be getting her to see she belongs—not with just the group but with me.

She won’t accept my thanks, stating she didn’t do anything but point something out I wasn’t seeing. She did a hell of a lot more than that—not just for me but also for Julie. Surrounding my daughter with love and family is all that matters to me, and blood or not, we are family.

SS: I can’t accept this gift. I’m serious.

Me: Just get over it. You deserve it.

SS: NO! Compromise though …

Me: NO! Accept the gift card and you can have whatever favor you need.

SS: I need your washer and dryer.

Me: I’ll leave a key under your mat. I’ve got practice, and my mom has Julie.

SS: You’re a lifesaver.

Me: Did you say you wanted to suck on my lollipop?

SS: Issues. You have many of them. Including needing glasses. Or a reading class ☺

I chuckle as I dig in the junk drawer for my spare key. I’ll call Avery later to see what’s up with their washer and dryer. I’m sure Emberlee doesn’t have a clue.

I’d bought her a massage and pedicure as a thank you gift, and I knew she’d fight me.

Walking up my driveway, I see Saylor is still here. My basement lights are on, and I hear her music vibrating through my house. I’m glad I agreed to my mom keeping Julie tonight. Coach is getting tougher in practice with Thanksgiving break around the corner, and I’m beat. I toss my bag inside the door and head down to see her. I need a shower, but I need to see her first. I sneak up and immediately I’m pissed. She’s fucking folding boxer briefs. Some fucking dude’s dick has been all up on that, and her hands are touching it.

“AHEM.”

She twirls to face me, and her hand goes to her chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Whose fucking underwear are you fondling?” Her mouth curls up, and her eyebrows perk. “I’m waiting for an answer.”

“And I’m waiting for a sane person to ask me a question. I guess we’ll see who gets an answer first.” I stare at her.

She stares back.

I growl.

She frowns.

Neither of us gives in.

I stomp up the stairs and take my much-needed shower. It does nothing to cool my temper or settle my need to get an answer.

All the lights downstairs are off, and my fists clench. She left without talking to me. I pull the refrigerator door open and grab a water. On my counter is a piece of paper—with the damn gift certificate lying next to it.

Deacon,

Thanks but no thanks. Your attitude and behavior reminded me why a relationship isn’t a good idea. For the record, my hands were fondling Mason and Caden’s underwear—the ones I get paid to wash. Our machines weren’t working, but I called the repairman a while ago to get them fixed. Thanks for your help.

Saylor

Shit. No kisses or hugs. No endearment. I fucked up, but damn it if this girl doesn’t drive me crazy. I hear a car door slam, and I rush to see who it is. A white van is backing out of their driveway, and I catch a glimpse of the company. She paid for a service call after hours. I look in their driveway, and she’s by herself. Damn it to hell, Saylor. She just had a strange man in her house with no one else home. Her ass is begging to be spanked. I storm across our yards, sans shoes and shirt. I don’t knock; my announcement is my voice shouting for her.

“Goodness, you make a habit of trying to give me a heart attack.”

“Did you just have a repairman here while you’re by yourself?”

“I still don’t see a sane person . . .”

“Saylor.”

“Deacon.”

I stare. She grunts. “Yes. That was a repairman. Yes, you’re a dick. Yes, you can leave.”

She’s dead fucking serious. Her backside is walking down the hall. She slams her door. I barge in; I guess she should have locked it.

“Don’t have some stranger in the house when you’re alone.”

She jumps from her bed and is in my face. “Don’t order me around. Don’t berate me and act condescending.”

“I’m not berating you or ordering you around. I’m trying to keep you safe. How much did that cost you?”

“You don’t quit, do you? Just leave, Deacon.” She shoves my chest, and I grab her hands. My eyes stare into hers.

Her breathing becomes erratic. Mine slows.

Her eyes widen. Mine hood with desire.

Her tongue wets her lip. Mine follows.

Her protest is waning. My possession is not.

I don’t give her a chance to withdraw, not that she is trying. I taste every crevice of her mouth, swallow her moans, grip her ass and feel her nails bite into my chest. My lungs protest and beg for air. When I can’t ignore them any longer, I pull back and stare at her beautiful face, her swollen lips, flushed cheeks. “You make it so damn hard, Shortstop.”

“Yeah, that’s obvious.” Her eyes go to my crotch.

I laugh at her. “Not talking about my dick, but that, too. Quit fighting me.”

“Quit bossing me.”

“Never, Saylor. It’s natural to protect you.”

“From who?”

“Yourself. You are hell-bent on destroying us before letting us try. You’re determined to ignore the relationships in front of you.”

“You’re pushing me.”

I sigh and pull back. I’ve gone slow. I’ve gone fast. I’ve fucked her. I’ve held her. She confuses the fuck out of me. “I’m not trying to.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. You really aren’t; I’m just tired of fighting this draw I have to you. You realize I haven’t been able to write in my journal for weeks because of you.”

“Because of me?”

“Yes. My feelings. My doubts. They all go in there, but instead I want to tell you. I want to share that with you, and it scares the hell out of me.”

“Why?”

“Because it isn’t just us. We have to think about Julie, too. I get attached. She gets attached. I’ve been that girl, Deacon. The one left behind. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

“You’re looking for obstacles. Don’t you know some hurdles are worth jumping?” Her head shakes . . . but she isn’t convincing me she is ready to write us off. I’m treading lightly—not sure how and when to push. “I’ve tried this your way, and it’s getting boring, Saylor. I don’t know how to make it any clearer. I want you. I want you to lean on me. I want to be the person you
talk
to because that’s what a relationship is.”

“Night, Deacon.” I kiss her chastely.

“You’re not getting off that easily.” I want more. She’s given me something to work with and I’m not wasting it.

“I’ve had enough for tonight. Baby steps, please. Opening up is hard enough for me and I’ve told you more tonight than any other person . . . in years. Take your victory and go home.” She smiles at me, but I see the weariness peeking through. I sigh and give in to her demands.

“Night, Saylor.” I take a few steps. “And quit doing their fucking laundry.” I duck as her shoe flies past my head. “Get Mason to give you some pitching lessons; it may help your aim.” Her frustrated yell is enough to have me booking it double time out of their house, but not before I snag the repair bill. I’ll be calling and paying for that, and they can issue Saylor a refund. Better yet, after reading, “Drain clog by sunflower seeds,” on the bottom, Mason and Caden will pay for it and do their own fucking laundry.

I can’t for the life of me understand why the fuck I spewed my feelings to him. He’d take them hostage and use them against me at every turn. Maybe I’ll just distract him with cleavage. I shuffle the hangers back and forth, looking for a shirt that will do the trick. Problem is . . . I am a sensible dresser. Showing nothing. Inviting no attention. Fuck me. I need attention drawn to the girls so my verbal vomit from last night won’t be used against me. “Dinner is here.” Lee Lee pokes her head in my room. She stares at me in my robe, “What are you doing?”

“Do you have any slut clothes?” I beg her with my eyes.

“I have clothes that accentuate my figure. I don’t know if I like you referring to them as slut clothes. I don’t refer to your clothes as burlap sacks.” God, she can be catty. I guess I do deserve it; I pretty much called her fashion choices whore-ish.

“Sorry. I need a top that shows cleavage.”

“No chance of a nip slip?”

“I’m not trying to channel my inner Janet Jackson, so no nip slip.” She disappears and reappears with a red top. She tosses it at me, and I put it over my head and pull it down. Like tug, shimmy, and work it over my tits. I look down and am blinded with cleavage. It’s my own, and it’s rendering me speechless. I think this will do the trick. “Holy shit, Lee Lee this is better than my miracle bras.”