Page 114 of Trusting You

28

Locke

Carter left a while ago, and I decide it’s too nice a day to stay inside.

I balance Lily against me with one arm while carrying the stroller down the stairs with the other. I’ve learned—or my knee has told me—to balance one on each side. It’s also reminded me to book a follow-up with my surgeon and physical therapist because this baby shit is not something either had in mind for my recovery.

Hell, neither did I.

But Lily’s got a hand on my cheek, scraping along my stubble and grabbing my lower lip when she can. She’s also digging around for what seems like gold whenever she gets a few fingers in my mouth.

I lower her into her seat, but she’s got a finger fish-hooking into the corner of my lips, and I appear either demented or sloshed because she erupts with a laugh-scream once she gets a load of my pearly whites and all the gums that come with them.

Yeah, I wouldn’t trade her in for a real recovery for the world.

We’re strolling the neighborhood, Lily’s arms spreading out as if she’s on the Titanic, gurgling and babbling the entire way.

I’m meandering, stopping near storefronts and making faces at Lily in our reflections, but I have a certain destination in mind and the closer we get, the more nervous I become.

Fucking ridiculous. I don’t get nervous. With scouts from NFL watching my games, I’d been desperate to blow off steam, bouncing from foot to foot, breathing heavy out of my nose, but that wasn’t nerves. That was the high of competition and getting noticed. And winning.

Championship games in UF, same thing. Gunning for success, I channeled every fiber into ramming through all obstacles, including other dudes, until I got to the end zone. All that adrenaline made my jumps higher, my dodges wider, my slamming of that football into the ground all the more earth shattering.

I’ve been under pressure. I’m the definition of stress, what with one single hit, coupled with a simple disc of cartilage, ruining all I fought for.

Five seconds. That’s all it took for fate to swipe out my legs from underneath. Literally.

“Oh, my gosh, who is this cutie? Hi, sweetheart! Hi!”

I tear my focus from the horizon of buildings and see a woman bending in front of Lily’s stroller, fluttering her fingers.

Mainly, I redirect my attention to her tits.

They’re full, wide, and almost spilling out of her sundress, if it weren’t for her lace bra keeping them contained. Her skin’s tanned the right shade of golden, and her eyes are a pretty blue when they stray up to mine and linger there.

“Hi,” she says to me, but she doesn’t straighten. Lily’s beelined for the rings on her finger.

“Hey.” I nod.

She’s hot, no question. Gorgeous long, blonde hair, her face enhanced by makeup she knows how to use, lips and a mouth that could give a quick, satisfying blowie that a guy may or may not jerk off to the memory of later.

But right now, all I’m thinking about is how annoyed I am she’s touching my kid without asking first.

“What’s her name?” she asks.

I low-key roll the stroller closer to me so Lily can’t reach this woman’s hand that easily.

“Lily,” I say.

With the space between them, the woman’s queued to rise, so she does, but not without an obvious glance at my left hand. “She’s adorable.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you giving Mom a much-needed break, taking her out?”

I can’t help but smile at the not-hint. I could really nail it home right now, answering something like, no, because her mother’s dead, but this woman doesn’t deserve that. She’s flirting, and normally I’d happily flirt back, maybe even get her number for a fuck later, but something’s holding me back.

“It’s just me,” I say instead, except I pull my brows in. It’s not just me. It’s Carter and me, but how do I label her? Roommate? Friend? Adoptive mom?