“Sorry. What?”
Lara shakes her head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” Lara goes inside, and I follow.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Nope.” Lara goes to grab her purse. “Fia had a bottle about thirty minutes ago. She went down to sleep five minutes ago. You’re welcome.” Lara sails past me, heading for the door.
I reach for her wrist to stop her. “Wait. Why are you mad?”
She jerks free and points a finger in my face. “You need to get your head on straight, Dean. That little girl is counting on you.”
“She can. And I’m doing my best.” It’s only been a few days.
“Do better. And a word of advice? Don’t make people wait around, taking care of your kid, so you can line up your next fuck.”
“I wasn’t lining up a fuck. That woman is the owner of…” My words fade off because Lara is out the door.
Crap. And she’s right. I was thinking with my dick. Actually, no. I wasn’t thinking at all because my dick was too busy dancing around the giant bonfire of lust that Dannie woman just lit.
Still, Lara is right. I have to do better. If that Dannie wants to make a spokesperson deal, I should have it flow through a lawyer. Yes, I’d still like to try out the daycare, but I can’t afford to get pulled into a bad deal just because that woman is hot and she could probably talk me into anything. Also, I should be more careful whom I invite into my life.
I park my thoughts. I can deal with all that in the morning, including apologizing to Lara, though I’m not sure why I have to. She and I are not in a relationship. We are not going to be in one either. I find her attractive more and more every day; however, she’s my friend and coworker. I’d be stupid to add a Lara plate to my table.
But maybe a nice fuck? “No. Stop it, Dean,” I mutter to myself.
“Stop vhut?” Igor saunters in through the front door, also returning from a long practice. “Oh, did choo know there are many reporters out in the parking lot? They want the big interview with the ‘hot daddy.’”
Great.
Igor goes to the kitchen to make his usual dinner—some fish recipe he loves that stinks like hell.
I go to my bedroom and see a tiny little person sleeping. I instantly forget about my long crazy day. Yeah, I do need to try harder; even if I’m not sure what’s going to happen with Marli, I kind of do want to be a part of Fia’s life.
I just wish it didn’t have to be such a small part.
Reality is, even if I kept Fia, which I’m not saying I will, when would I see her? How would I have the time between football, college, and work?
Of course, if I’m drafted, I’ll probably have to put college on hold. I’ll have to relocate to whatever city takes me. I’d be on the road for a good part of the year.
I know plenty of pro players have families, but I wouldn’t be able to take care of a baby on my own. Even with a really great nanny, the kid would be raised by strangers. Wouldn’t a foster family and stable home environment be better? Or maybe things between Marli and her ex will work out.
My mind quickly throws out all the things I hate about those two options. Foster care is still a crapshoot. Some are great parents, I’m sure. Others are not. As for Marli, would I really want her cheating ex raising my daughter? And what kind of mother just abandons her baby like that? She’s either incredibly selfish, or she’s unwell mentally. Neither are good for Fia.
Fuck. I run a hand through my sticky hair. I need a shower. And I need to figure this out. More and more I’m beginning to see that I might be Fia’s only option.
I just can’t see how it’ll work. Not unless I give up football. And college. Both?
No, I can’t. I refuse to give up after I’ve worked so hard to get here. I’m this close to either having my formal education or getting into the NFL. If I quit now, what sort of future will I have?
No chance in hell am I going back to a life of poverty. And that is exactly what Fia would get if I threw in the towel on all my plans just to take care of her full-time. Or even part-time.
Bottom line, the pieces of this messed-up puzzle don’t fit. And I hate every single option on the table.
I don’t know what to do. I only know how I feel. Or…am starting to feel? Like I can’t just dump this little girl off on someone else’s lap. She’s my plate. I have to spin it.