Southern Playboy (North Carolina Highlands 4)

I look away. Silently remind myself not to be a dog and to focus on my kid because that’s what this is about.

He’s what everything is about from now on.

I ignore the throb in my dick, and I leap through the sprinkler, sucking in a breath when a lash of ice-cold water hits me across the torso. I bounce on my sneakered feet, chanting, “It’s cold. It’s cold. It’s so freaking cold!”

Amelia’s eyes get this wicked gleam in them. She bends down—do not look at her ass, you fucking animal—and loops an arm around Liam’s waist.

“Daddy says it’s too cold,” she tells him. “Should we get him wet, Liam?”

Liam grins and nods, and then Amelia’s helping him put his hands in the sprayer so it’s aimed right at me. I yelp, and Liam roars, Amelia literally falling over from laughter.

“Y’all are the worst,” I say, “but two can play this game.”

Instead of running away from the water, I walk toward it, firming my abs so I create a wall that redirects the spray. It lands on Amelia first, then Liam. He holds out his arms and makes a run for me, slamming into my legs.

“Whoa!” I say, wheeling my arms as I pretend to fall backward from the impact.

Delighted, Liam keeps pushing me back. I fall onto the grass and, reaching for him, take him with me, lifting his little body above my own as I flatten my back against the ground. It’s warm, the ground, and the sun glints between the leaves of the tree overhead.

There’s this green smell in the air—earth, grass, heat—that screams summer.

It’s a time of year I always seem to miss. Between gearing up for the season, training camp, and then the preseason, summer just kinda whizzes by without me really noticing.

But I’m noticing it now, and it takes me back—way back—to when I was a little kid. Older than Liam, but young enough that Daddy was still the good guy, and I wasn’t on high alert for one of his outbursts.

I was free then. Free to be a kid, to play and have fun, the way I’m playing right now.

A feeling elbows its way into my center. It’s clean and simple and really fucking nice, and a voice inside me says I’m done. Not with this feeling, but with not feeling it. If that makes, like, any sense at all.

Makes me think . . . I don’t know, that maybe I’m not playing football for the right reasons anymore. Maybe being around Liam and Amelia is making me realize I’m no longer motivated by the fear of disappointing a dead man.

Which begs the question: What does motivate me? And what does that mean for my career?

“Mo-wa, Dada, mo-wa,” Liam says, water droplets falling from his hair into my face.

Flexing my biceps, I bring Liam down and kiss the shit out of his face—amazed at how natural it feels—then push him back up again. He squeals with laughter, wrinkling his adorable little nose.

I love this kid.

“You’re heavier than you look, little dude,” I grunt.

“He’s a workout, that’s for sure. And you’ve already had, what, three of those today?”

I grin, turning my head to look at Amelia. “Just two.”

“Just two.” She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You’re getting lazy on us, Beauregard. Tired?”

“I was before, yeah. But I must’ve just gotten a second wind or something because I feel pretty damn good right now.” I give my son a wiggle. “Maybe it’s his cuteness.”

“It’s definitely his cuteness.”

Amelia watches me lift Liam up and down, up and down, her expression softening as her gaze roves from my arms to Liam to my face and back again.

She looks the way I feel.

Happy.

Dare I say it, she looks turned on. Cheeks a shade of pink that’s a tad brighter than her bikini. Brown eyes warm. Liquid.

I imagine her nipples are hard underneath the cups of her top.

“Aaaand that’s enough of that,” I say. I set Liam down and push up to sitting, groaning. I’m already sore pretty much everywhere.

Amelia holds out her hand. “Need help?”

I look up at her. Our eyes meet, and a pulse of pure, naked need moves between us. Her lips part, allowing me a glimpse of her pink, slick mouth.

“I’m good.” I somehow manage to leap to my feet despite the ache in my hips and pinch in my lower back. I grab Liam’s hand. “Should we see who can jump the highest over the sprinkler?”

“Yay!” he says.

“Let’s do it,” Amelia replies. “You two go first.”

“All right, Liam, let’s show Amelia what we got. On the count of three—one, two, three!”

I take a running leap through the sprinkler. Liam follows me half a step behind, doing this hilarious hopping thing that has Amelia and me in stitches.

It’s a good distraction from the throbbing in my head. That head.