He wants me to tell him I still want him. And part of me does. But I can’t say it. Not until I know for sure.
“Are you scared, babe?” His tone is softer, comforting. “I was scared too. But imagining standing at that altar watching you walk down the aisle makes all those worries go away.”
“It’s not that simple.” Making decisions based on an idyllic daydream fantasy isn’t the brightest. “And let me remind you that you wanted a break from me. Kind of rattles my confidence in us for the long-term. It’s forced me to look at things from a different angle.”
“What about your father?”
My skin heats. I can’t believe he’s going there.
My bottom lip trembles, my eyes burning as they refuse to meet his gaze. Jeremiah releases my wrists and cups my chin. He lifts my eyes to his.
“Not talking about it won’t change anything.” His words slice open the scabbed wound I only pick at in my darkest hours. “He’s in poor health, Sam. He’s not getting any better. He wants to walk his youngest daughter down the aisle. He wants to make sure he leaves you in good hands before he goes.”
“Don’t.” I don’t want to hear what I already know. Inhaling a lungful of thick air, I push past Jeremiah and grab my keys and bag. Stepping into my shoes and blinking away tears, I know if I say another word it’ll come out as a string of nonsensical sobs.
“Sam, where’re you going?”
I shake my head, my shoulders shaking as I turn to face him. “Do not use my father’s health to guilt trip me into marrying you, Jeremiah.”
My eyes close and in that moment, I’m transported to the top of the stairs of my parents’ house. An assortment of photos in every size and frame available covers the wall in perfect harmony. My sisters and brothers are all married off, all of their wedding photos hanging happily side by side. The spot on the end is saved for me, I’ve been told. But the possibility of my wedding photo not including my father is as real as it’s ever been. The man can hardly breathe thanks to his emphysema. The doctor’s keep threatening to amputate his feet if he doesn’t get his diabetes under control. He’s a good man with heart of gold. All he ever did was live his life to the fullest.
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
Jeremiah comes toward me, but I place my hand up to stop him. “I’m going for a walk.”
“When will you be back?”
“I don’t know.” I slip out the door, craving the cool night air on my face.
When I return two hours later, Jeremiah’s gone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
BECKHAM
“These are for you.” Odessa enters my office Monday morning with a pale pink bag and a sly smile on her face. She drops it on my desk and stands back.
“What’s all this?”
“A few things I picked up in Vermont.”
Reaching into the bag, I retrieve a pale pink blanket. It’s the softest thing I’ve felt in my life, and the word “princess” is embroidered along one side with cream thread.
“I thought it was fitting,” she says. “Your name being King and all.”
Great minds.
“I call her Sadie,” I announce. “It means princess.”
“Seriously?” Odessa laughs, her face lighting up.
I pull out a myriad of other baby items, most of which I can’t even identify.
“Thank you,” I say, folding up the blanket and putting everything back into the bag. “You didn’t have to do all of this.”
“Don’t worry, it all went on the company card.”
I glance up, my hand freezing with an expensive-looking and completely frivolous silver rattle in it.
“I kid.” Her green eyes flash as she fights a smile. She’s extra happy to see me today. Dare I assume she missed me? She pulls up a chair and sinks down. “Charity Falls went well. They warmed up to you the second I said you were at home with your newborn baby on paternity leave. They like that you’re a family man.”
“But I’m not.”
“It’s called PR, Beckham.” Her legs cross as she leans in. “And you’re a family man now, whether or not you want to be.”
“She cried all night last night,” I lean back in my chair, shaking my head. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. Part of me thinks she’d be better off with a foster family. Maybe I can’t give her what she needs?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Odessa sits up, hands splayed across the edge of my desk. “What are you talking about? I know you’re short on sleep, but you’re making no sense. Newborns are hard, Beckham. You don’t just throw in the towel because you’re not getting any sleep and the baby cries too much.”
“She might not be mine.” My thumb slicks across my brow.
“What? Then why are you doing all this? Taking care of her? Being involved?”
“Her mother isn’t well.”
Odessa falls back, examining me as if we’re two strangers meeting for the first time.
“So you’re taking care of a baby for some woman you used to sleep with out of the kindness of your little black heart?” Odessa’s eyes flash, and she bites away an amused grin. “Do I know you right now? Who are you? Who the hell is Beckham King because apparently I had you all wrong.”
“I’m glad you find this entertaining.” I don’t return her smart-mouthed smile.
“I’m sorry.” She still smiles. “It’s just that, I’m having trouble understanding what this is all about.”
“It’s not for you to understand.”
“You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry.” She stands, slipping a strand of hair over her shoulder as her smile fades. “My weekend drained me emotionally I think. That or I’m still jet-lagged. Everything is funny to me. And your situation isn’t funny. I know it’s real life. I shouldn’t make fun. You’re doing something most other men don’t have the balls to do, and I respect you for it.”
She slips out from between the chair and desk and shuffles toward the door.
“I better get to work. Five more days…”
“Are you counting down?” I call after her, following after her before I have a chance to stop myself.
Odessa halts, turning on her heel until we’re face to face in my doorway. A single brow lifts. “As opposed to counting up?”
She’s lucky I don’t punish that smart mouth of hers.
“My question wasn’t meant to be taken literally,” I say, tracing her jaw with the tip of my index finger. My palm cups her chin a second later, my thumb grazing her lower lip. Her tongue rakes across her pout, following the invisible line.
For a second, we’re just Beckham and Odessa.
And then real life smacks me across the face.
Or maybe it’s her hand.
Her face hardens as she backs away. Warmth stings my left cheek.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she says.
“Done what?”
“Made me want to kiss you when we both know all we’re ever going to be is friends.”
She’s right. I don’t want to date her. I just want to fuck her. I want to fucking lose myself in her. Bury my cock deep inside that pristine pussy of hers and smash her mouth until the rest of the world fades away. Odessa has a way with making all the bullshit temporarily disappear when she’s around.
Flirting with recklessness is grossly irresponsible of me. I know better.
I let the sting of the slap burn into me, feeling it all before it’s gone. “Fair enough.”
“Believe it or not, I was starting to like being friends with you.” Her words soothe and insult all at once. Her green eyes radiate against the sunlight trickling in from behind. Odessa’s auburn hair is particularly shiny today, straight and draped down her shoulders like she spent extra time getting ready this morning.
“What are you doing after this?” I ask. “After Friday? Do you have any other jobs lined up?”
She shrugs. “I’m a free agent. I can make some calls. Find some work, I’m sure. The city’s full of places needing people like me. Not everyone can spin straw into gold.”
“Work here,” I say. “We’re hiring a VP of Public Affairs and Marketing. You’d be perfect.”