Be Mine (Jackson Boys 2)

Cass leans over and throws out her arms. “Dada.”

Is there a color more red than red? Because that’s what shade I am now.

“Cass, you know he’s not,” I say more sharp than I mean too.

Her lower lip quivers again.

“It’s okay,” Nick winks.

I feel that cheeky gesture all the way down to my toes and it draws a smile from both me and my kid.

“What the hell is going on out here?” booms Chip’s voice.

I close my eyes in mortification. If the universe could allow me to start this day over, that would be great.

“Oh, hey, Chip. I was just coming in. Has the coach arrived?”

“No. Who are these two?”

I open my mouth but snap it shut at Chip’s glare. I didn’t graduate from high school, but I can put a simple puzzle together. My ex doesn’t want me to acknowledge him in front of this Nick Jackson person who, from the size and shape of him, must be a fellow pro player. Of course, I’m attracted to Nick.

“I don’t know. I just found them here. We haven’t completed the introductions.” He smiles again and a dimple forms.

My world shifts on its axis. I could pour water in those dimples and swim a backstroke—they’re that deep. I clutch Cass tighter to my chest, as if reminding myself what happened the last time I let my ovaries get the better of me.

“Don’t bother. Come on inside,” Chip orders.

A light furrow appears on Nick’s forehead, as if Chip’s behavior puzzles him. The asshole doesn’t act like this around his team, I guess.

“I’m going to stick around out here for a minute,” Nick says.

“Your funeral, Rook,” Chip says. “But don’t forget the talk you were given last week about camp pussy. It’s diseased and dangerous.”

Nick winces while I fantasize about stuffing Chip’s mouth with one of Cass’s dirty diapers.

“He’s not talking about you,” Nick assures me.

“I bet,” I reply with a tight smile. “Thanks for your help, but I—“

As if sensing I’m about to take her away from her new best friend, my girl pushes herself out of my arms.

“Cass!” I cry in surprise, but she doesn’t fall. Instead, those capable hands sweep up and catch her easily. She squeals in happiness—a sound so pure that I can’t keep my smile from breaking across my face.

“She’s adorable,” he says, and for a moment, I don’t know if he’s talking about me or Cass. It’s got to be her. “You from Dallas?” he asks.

“No. I just got here. Today.” I know I’m coming off like a dunderhead, but I can’t seem to form complete sentences.

“Me, too. Well, not today, but a few days ago. Training camp started up, but you probably already know that.”

“Nick, we need to go inside,” Chip says impatiently.

“I can’t leave these two out here alone. Are you waiting for someone?” He holds Cass up as if he is trying to figure out who she looks like.

Chip gives me another death glare. I pretend not to see him and instead focus on the door of the building. As I stare at the entrance, I see a familiar sign, and a thought occurs to me. Before I can evaluate whether it’s a good move, my mouth starts moving. “No. I’m looking for a job. I saw a help wanted sign.” I point to the small black-lettered poster taped on the side of the building next to the door.

“Sweet. Stacks needs new staff. Why don’t you let me take care of your little girl while you fill out an application? Hey, sweetheart, what’s your name?”

“She’s too young to answer,” says Chip.

We all look at him in surprise.

Nick recovers first. “Oh right. I don’t have any kids. Do you, Chip?”

“Yeah, do you, Chip?” I parrot recklessly.

His eyes spark fire in my direction. “No. I don’t have any and I don’t want any. Neither do you, Rookie. Kids sap all your energy. The only way you’ll be any good is if you keep your eye on the ball.”

Rookie…this must be the player Chip was complaining about earlier. The one he said he’d have to babysit. This man looks capable of carrying a whole stadium by himself. Cass agrees. She coos and pokes her fingers into Nick’s dimples.

He laughs again, easy and free, unaware of Chip’s mounting temper. I should be more cautious, but instead, I seize the moment. “It’s Cassidy, and if you don’t mind, I will go in and apply.”

“Sure. Cass and I will play out here. Do you like to play football, Cass?” He lifts her high. Another happy squeal sounds out.

I hurry inside with Chip hot on my tail.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses behind me.

“Applying for a job.” My voice is surprisingly even.

“You need to leave. Now.”

“I need a job.” I wrench open the door.

“Not here.”

Cloaked with false bravery and the belief that Chip’s not going to do anything while others watch, I enter the bar, semi-blind as my eyes adjust to the dimly lit interior. When I can finally see clearly, I gain instant understanding. Half the bar is full of NFL players. I recognize them. Anyone who lives in Texas would. This must be a Mustang bar.