“You’re going?”
“Yep. Gotta get back to the Ranch. And you need to come clean with Hector.”
I don’t want her to go. Not before I can ask for her help. “Wait. Why are you mad?”
“I’m not mad, Dean, I’m—well, I’m shocked. I thought you were a man, not a boy who goes around knocking up strange women in bars.”
“Whoa.” I follow her as she heads to the front door. “You’re calling me a player? That’s a little unfair.”
Lara turns. “Did you not fuck some stranger you met in a bar?”
“Yes, but—”
“Did she not just dump a baby off on you? A baby she says is yours?”
“Yes, but—”
“Doesn’t sound like a respectable guy who’s got his shit together.” Lara looks at Fia. “Sorry for the swearing, sweetie.”
I push my hand against the door to stop Lara from opening it. She’s not leaving until I give her a piece of my mind. “You know what? I don’t get you women.”
“What?” she snaps.
“If the tables were turned, and you showed up on my doorstep with a baby because you hooked up with some guy in a bar and made one bad choice, and then I treated you like a piece of shit—excuse my language, Fia—you’d call the feminist army on my ass or have me hanged for being a judgmental chauvinist.”
Lara looks at me, then Fia. She knows I’m right. If she were the one with a surprise baby, she would expect me and everyone else to be supportive, not blameful.
I continue, “I know I lied, but now I’m telling you the truth because I could use some help here, and I respect your opinion.”
Lara’s gaze flutters shamefully to the floor. “I’m sorry, Dean,” she says with a remorseful sigh. “You’re absolutely right. What can I do to help?”
“I…” My voice trails off. Mostly because I’m too tired to have a tough conversation about something that’s been mulling around in my head. Something I don’t want to talk about but should because Lara is the perfect person to have this discussion with. She’s logical, kind, and detached from this mess.
I decide to hold off confronting the topic for another time, until I have the mental bandwidth.
“You…?” Lara urges.
“Can you babysit tonight?”
She groans and throws her head back.
“I take it that’s a no?” I say.
She offers a consoling smile. “I can do any night this week except tonight. It’s a friend’s birthday, and I’m throwing her a little get-together at my place.”
Fuck. I can’t miss tonight’s practice. Not after Coach said he’s giving me another chance to be in the starting lineup on Sunday. He needs to see I’m all in. Also, I’m contractually obligated to be there.
“No problem,” I say. “But, yeah, I’ll take you up on your offer. How about tomorrow night?”
“Sure,” she says. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need.” The warm, compassionate look in her eyes sparks instant discomfort in my chest. I don’t know why, but I don’t have the time to care.
“You okay?” she asks, squeezing my shoulder gently. “Because you look like you just swallowed a bee.”
I frown and take a small step back. “Huh?”
“Dean, why are you suddenly acting like my kindness repels you?”
Because I feel uncomfortable right now but won’t admit it ’cause I’m a guy. “Not sure what you mean. It’s all good.”
She shakes her head. “Whatever you say. Just know there’s no judgment from me. From here on out, I’ve got your back.” She opens the door and steps outside.
“Why?” I ask, staring at her blonde ponytail as she walks away.
She says over her shoulder, “Why not?”
“Because you don’t know me.” We’re casual work acquaintances. Nothing more.
“I think it’s you who doesn’t know me.”
My entire life, I’ve been on my own. Never expected much from anyone. What was the point? It’s always been up to me to “make it happen.” I guess it feels foreign or wrong or weird or—I dunno—it feels off when people go out of their way to help for no reason. Don’t get me wrong, people do nice things for me all the time. Especially women. But that’s different. Those people always want something in return. The team wants me to play well so they look good. Women want to be my girlfriend because they only think with their vaginas. That’s right. I’m just a sex object to them. Arm candy. Friends, well, I don’t have many true friends, but I often find myself questioning them. What do they want?
With Lara, suddenly, I’m asking myself the same thing—What does she want?—only now, I’m asking because maybe I want to give it.
“You could be right,” I call out to her. “I don’t know you, but I’d like the chance to change that.” What the fuck am I doing? I don’t have room for another plate on my table.
“See you tomorrow.” She waves goodbye, not bothering to turn around, before she disappears into the stairwell at the end of the hall.