Juked (23 page)

My jaw drops open. “You want to give your mom the baby you’ve never seen as a
birthday present
?” I am so pissed, it’s taking everything in me not to punch him in the ’nads right here, right now. The only thing holding me back is the fear that he’d use that against me in the custody battle he says is coming.

“Not a
present
,” he argues. “That’s ridiculous. More like a birthday
surprise
.”

“Like ‘Surprise! You already have a grandbaby!’ type thing?” I’m trying to clarify exactly what he means. It’s so unbelievable, I’ve gone from raging mad to perplexed in a matter of seconds.

“Exactly.” He smiles at me like I’m finally catching on and am just going to hand over a ten-month-old.
My
ten-month-old.

I take a deep breath and put my hands on my hips, ready to try a new tactic. Maybe I can get him to see the error in his thoughts. “Mr. Cope, right?” He nods. “While I appreciate that your mother wants to be a grandma, uprooting a child and handing him over to her is not only a terrible thing to do to the child, it’s not fair to give her a new baby to raise. I’m sure she has a life of her own.”

“I would raise him,” he responds. “She would watch him while I’m in school or at work, or when I go out and stuff.”

“So she’d be your full-time babysitter.”

“Sure. I know she’d love it. She’s raised two boys already and says we were the joy of her life.”

I hang my head, not in defeat necessarily, but in resignation. I’m going to have to go to court with this asshole and fight to keep custody. That’s more money I don’t have to find a decent attorney, and him being the father versus me being the aunt puts me at a terrible disadvantage. It was one of the things Laurie, our caseworker, warned me of when I first got custody, and we were looking for this guy.

“Thank you for giving me a heads up,” I say. “But I’m not going to hand over Sarah’s baby, a baby you had no interest in until now, so you can give him as a gift to someone else. I’ll see you in court.”

I shut the door in his face.

W
e won our game against Chicago. That’s not even accurate. We slaughtered them. Our team was focused and engaged. We were truly on point. Well, except for me.

I couldn’t keep my head in the game for anything. No one could really tell except me and probably Christian. Maybe my coaches. But other than that, I’m really good at faking it when I’m having an off-game. Everyone else was really on fire, so I didn’t think they noticed anything.

I look around the hotel bar at my teammates and notice how happy they all are. Lots of smiles, lots of booze, lots of Barbie doll women with fake nails and even faker tits. I don’t begrudge them a good time. I just don’t feel it. It all seems… empty.

“Is this seat taken?” One of the Barbies smiles brightly at me. Her long blond, highlighted hair and cherry red lips might have turned me on six months ago, but now it irritates me. I really want to tell her to get lost, but reality is, there isn’t anyone sitting there. Her sitting doesn’t mean I have to talk.

“Nope,” I say making an exaggerated popping sound at the end of the word. I face the back of the bar and sip my whiskey. I don’t even like the stuff, but with the mood I’m in, beer wouldn’t have cut it.

“I’d ask if you come here often, but I already know the answer, and you don’t look like you’re in the mood to play games,” she says, further irritating me. I have to give her credit, though. She didn’t pussyfoot around the conversation. She went for it. Six months ago, I would be halfway to taking her upstairs by now. But that was before I met Quincy and found my very best friend. And before I fell for my very best friend. And before I had to back off so I didn’t screw over my very best friend and her kid.

Fuck, my life is whacked right now.

“I appreciate you being forthcoming, but it’s not gonna happen tonight. You’re wasting your time sitting next to me.”

The bartender approaches, and she says, “Um… rum and Coke, please.” I lift an eyebrow at her. “What? You thought I was gonna go for something suggestive like Sex on the Beach or a Buttery Nipple? I’m not that kind of girl. I’ve been around a long time, but I’m not desperate like a lot of the girls here.”

This intrigues me. She really is the kind of woman I would have bagged six months ago. I wonder if she can help me take my mind off Quincy.

“Then why are you here?” I ask.

“Thank you,” she says kindly as the bartender places her drink on top of a napkin in front of her. She sips and licks her top lip. Her lips are plump and pouty. “I come every once in a while to, how do I explain this, um, scope out a potential lover.”

I feel a kick in the front of my pants. I wasn’t expecting her to be so blunt, and it’s kind of a turn-on. She’s right. She doesn’t act like the other girls. “Really?”

“Soccer players are full of drama, so either they need to be reminded of what great lovers they are after a loss or they want someone to reiterate what great gods they are after a win. Either way, I get some good sex. If it’s a visiting team, I never have to see the person again. It works for me.”

“You sound like the female version of me,” I say with a laugh.

“Good to know I’m not the only one out there.”

I tap the lip of my glass with my forefinger, debating. Quincy made me promise to tell her if I ever got laid by someone other than her. That’s her boundary and I respect it. But I also know, if I go for it, my relationship with her is over. She won’t just cut our ties in the bedroom. She’ll cut ties with me completely. Do I want that? No. But we can’t keep doing what we’re doing either.

“You’re Daniel, right?” the woman asks.

“Yeah.”

“Listen, Daniel.” She swivels on the bar stool so she’s facing me. “I can see you’re struggling with whether or not to take me upstairs, so let me put you out of your misery. It’s not a good idea for you tonight.”

I sit back, confused. “How can you tell I’m struggling?”

“It’s written all over your face.” She circles her face with her finger. “I’m the female version of you, remember?”

I turn back to my drink. “You’re right. So why are you sticking around then? I’m sure there are quite a few guys here who wouldn’t mind spending the night with you.”

“Because it turns out the one guy in here I’m attracted to is suffering some very serious heartbreak. Plus, I need another rum and Coke.”

I wave down the bartender, who brings her another drink. Once she gets it and takes a sip, she starts the inquisition. “What’s her name?”

I crunch up my nose. “That obvious it’s over a woman?”

“Oh yeah.”

I sigh. “Her name is Quincy. She is one of my best friends. I haven’t seen her in two weeks.”

“Why not?” she asks. I don’t get the feeling she’s trying to be nosy. Just friendly. I feel surprisingly comfortable answering her questions.

“She is raising a ten-month-old. That’s a tricky age. I don’t want the kid to get hurt, so I’ve had to back off a bit.”

“I call bullshit.”

I swivel my head to look at her, stunned. “What do you mean, bullshit? That’s exactly what’s happened.”

She shakes her head back and forth with a smirk. “You can’t fool your best bar buddy. You’re using that kid as an excuse.”

We both look behind us as a sudden outburst of hoots and hollers starts up across the room. Apparently one of my dumb-ass teammates suggested a rousing game of naked Twister in his room. I roll my eyes and down the rest of my drink.

“I’m not using the baby as an excuse.”

“Sure you are,” she argues. “You fell in love with your best friend. It scares you shitless. So instead of manning up, you’d rather run away and blame it all on the child. It’s a classic coping mechanism for men who are afraid of commitment.”

I stare at her, slack jawed.

“What?” she says. “We’re the same, remember? That’s what I’d do.”

I suddenly feel a headache coming on, and I’m more than a little relieved I didn’t follow through with my baser instincts earlier.

“Look, I know you don’t want my advice, but I’m going to give it to you anyway.”

“This ought to be good,” I mumble sipping the new drink the bartender just gave me.

“Stop sitting around hotel bars, contemplating picking up women.” She downs the last of her drink and stands. “Figure this shit out first. Taking time to sort things out in your head is easy to forgive, but getting caught up in all that shit”—she waves at my teammates, who are currently arguing over who is going to run to Walmart for a Twister game board—“will ruin it for you no matter what you decide. Take some time and think it through. The groupies will wait, if that’s what you decide you want.” She pats me on the shoulder and leaves me sitting by my lonesome.

It takes a second, but I realize I never even asked her name.

“Daniel!” Frederick Maldano, one of our mid-fielders, shouts my name as he races up to the vacant seat next to me. “How you holding up, man? We did good on the field today!”

“That we did.”

We talk shop for a few minutes while he gets his order filled. Before I know it, he digs in his wallet and pulls out a couple small pieces of paper.

“The travel is killer, ya know, and we have one long-ass season. But this is why I do it, man.” He hands me a picture of one of his girls. He has two of them, around four and six years old. You can tell by the look on his face that they are his pride and joy. “I gotta provide for my beauties.”

“You’ve got some good looking girls, man,” I say and pass the pictures back.

“I know. I’m gonna have to chase the boys off with a shotgun once they’re old enough to date. And they will NEVER date a soccer player. Over my dead body will one of these little shits play that game with my girls.”

I smile and glance at the picture he dropped on the counter. The picture of his wife. I pick it up to inspect it further. She’s very pretty. Big, dark eyes and wavy brown hair. She’s obviously of some sort of Latin race, but I won’t insult Frederick by asking about it. However, I do want to ask him other questions.

“Hey Frederick.”

“Yeah, man?” I hand him the picture, and he puts it away.

“Do you ever miss being a bachelor?” I pop a beer nut in my mouth so I’ll be chewing and won’t be tempted to ask dumb questions again. I’m sure he knows where the conversation is leading. Everyone seems to know Quincy has disappeared recently. Thankfully, he has the tact to ignore my embarrassment.

He snaps up a handful of beer nuts and eats them while he contemplates his answer. When the nuts are half gone, he finally speaks. “I don’t miss it at all.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You don’t?”

“Hell no,” he says as a pitcher of beer is set down in front of him. Must be his turn to buy a round for everyone. “Do you know how nice it is to wake up from a restful night’s sleep and not have to make sure all my credit cards are in my wallet and not have to check some chick’s phone for nudie pics she may have taken of me?” I chuckle. “It’s freeing.”

“So you don’t miss the chase? The game?”

“You mean wooing some random fan to play a quick game of hide the salami?” A stack of cups is set before him. “Not one bit.”

“But why?”

He grins. “That’s easy. I married my best friend.” Frederick walks away, leaving me to think about things. I’m as confused as ever, but I know I have to figure my shit out, and soon. Before I lose Chance, Quincy, and maybe even myself in the process.