Baby, Please (OHellNo)

How did anyone survive parenthood before the internet?

Fia coos.

“All right, girl. We’re ready for liftoff.”

I get in and drive us to the stadium, going ten miles per hour under the speed limit, which earns me the love and affection of every driver behind me. They decide to express their emotions by honking and flashing their brights. People are so rude.

“Can’t you see I’ve got a baby here!” I yell at one guy who flips me off as he passes illegally. “Asshole!”

I glance at Fia. “Oh. Sorry. You didn’t hear that bad word.”

The rest of the drive, I’m grinding my teeth, thinking about how Coach is going to react when I show up with a visitor. I’ll have to convince him this is a one-off thing, and that I’m being a good player, someone he can be proud of, for bringing Fia to practice. The alternative would be leaving her home alone—something no good or sane person would ever do.

I park in the big lot next to the locker room entrance and leave Fia in her car seat so I can carry her more easily.

I get to the big steel door and pause, mentally preparing myself. The guys inside are going to give me so much shit for this.

I look at Fia. “Don’t listen to a word they say, okay? They’re idiots—totally the type you’ll stay away from when you’re older because you’ll be too smart for them.”

Fia doesn’t comment.

“Okay. Here goes.” I jerk open the door, go past the corkboard wall filled with flyers and school announcements, and enter the big room with a line of benches in the center. It smells like old shoes, Axe body spray, and Pine-Sol. The lockers around the perimeter of the space are painted black and red, our team’s colors.

I make a beeline straight for the back, toward Coach’s office. I think I’ve safely made it past everyone until one of the guys notices me.

“Look, everyone! Norland’s a mom! Did you grow a pussy, too, dude?” he says.

Thank God that’s not possible. I’d never leave my bedroom.

Another offers, “Wow. I know some like ’em young and dumb, Norland, but that’s a little extreme.”

Sick.

And finally, my favorite slam, “I like it, nanny-man. Not like you were going pro anyway.”

Harhar. Funny. We bust each other’s balls on a regular basis, so I know it’s all part of the locker room fun, but I’m not in the mood today. I go straight for the jugular.

“Gosh, boys,” I say in a girly tone. “If only I had a shrimp dick like you, I could be someone.” That shuts ’em up every time.

Why? It’s a guy thing. Pecking order goes: hottest girlfriend, best car, size of bank account, and then size of dick. I don’t have a girlfriend or a cool car, and I’m broke as fuck. But I win anyway. It kills them. “My dick will be signing autographs after practice!” I wave my middle finger in the air. “Suck it, clowns!”

Boos erupt as I enter Coach’s office. He doesn’t notice me right away. Mostly because he’s got a receding hairline, which he always covers with a baseball cap. Right now, his big frame is hunched over a pile of paperwork. Behind him, the wall is covered in recognition plaques. All real. He’s won six national titles for Alabama and Texas. O State hired him four years ago, hoping to improve their rankings. So far, it’s working. Kind of? We were number eleven last year in the College Football Playoffs. If I hadn’t fucked up, we would have ranked top three. Maybe higher if we’d had the chance. It kills me that I blew it for all these guys. They were depending on me.

“Hey, Coach. Got a sec?” I say.

He lifts his head, and his blue eyes zero in on Fia. His face turns an angry red.

“Before you say anything, Coach, it’s my sister’s baby. There was an emergency, and I’m the only one who can watch her this week.”

“Are you yanking my fucking chain, Norland?” He slaps down his pen. “We don’t allow babies at practice, on the field, or anywhere else.”

My neck heats, and my back muscles tighten. Stress. “I wouldn’t have brought her if I had another option.”

“Ever heard of a sitter, son?”

“I didn’t have time to line one up on such short notice.” Not like I’ve got a roster of qualified babysitters lying around my apartment.

He rises slowly from his desk. He’s about my height (six two) and a similar weight. Only, his girth is in the paunch. Mine is in my ass, thighs, chest, arms, cock—okay, it’s everywhere but my gut. What can I say? Nature gave me a lot to work with.

“Then put her in a fucking daycare for a few hours!” he roars.

I almost lose my temper, probably because I didn’t get a nap. Also, he’s being a condescending prick.