Page 60 of Only for Tonight

“Be that as it may.” He scrolls through something on his phone, rattles off a few scheduling details I half-listen to, then pockets it. He leans against the car beside me. “Can I say something?”

“You’re going to regardless.”

“You seem different.”

I keep my face neutral. “Different how?”

“I don’t know. Calmer. More focused. You’ve been on time to everything for two weeks straight, which is, frankly, unprecedented. You haven’t given me a single fire to put out.” He crosses his arms. “Six months ago you shoved a bouncer outside a club, and I had to talk three outlets out of running the story. Now you’re showing up like a guy who actually wants to be here. The front office is noticing. I’m noticing.”

I shrug. “Maybe I’m just locked in. Playoffs coming.”

Slate studies me the way he studies contract language — looking for the thing that’s not being said. “Sure. Playoffs.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “Whatever it is, keep doing it. You’re playing the best ball of your career, and your next negotiation is going to go a lot smoother if I can point to a guy who’s stable and not making headlines for the wrong reasons.”

“Got it.”

“Friday. Morning show. Don’t be late.” He pushes off the car and straightens his jacket. “And wear the navy shirt. Tests well on camera.”

He walks off, and I sit in my car for a minute. He doesn’t know about Ryleigh. Doesn’t know about Ella. Doesn’t know that for the first time in years, football isn’t the only thing I have.

He’ll find out eventually. I’m not ready for that conversation yet — the one where my agent weighs my personal life against my professional value and tells me how to manage it. For now, it’s mine. Ours.

I pull out of the lot and head home.

Chapter Eighteen

Ryleigh

I’ve just dumped a load of laundry onto my bed to fold and settled Ella onto her Boppy pillow on the bed beside the pile of clothes. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed having easy access to a washing machine. This is way better than hauling clothes to a laundromat. Ella lets out a little squeal of approval, mirroring my sentiments exactly.

“You might as well learn now.” I smile at her.

Folding her clothes is a snap. They’re so unbelievably tiny; I still don’t think I’m used to it. I make a little stack of baby onesies and socks next to my leggings and sweatshirts. Then I smirk.

Somehow one of Alexei’s T-shirts has gotten mixed in with my load of laundry. I hold it up next to my body. It’s enormous. The sight of it mixed in with Ella’s stuff and mine makes me smile. He’s at practice this morning—yes, I may have already looked at the clock at least seven times, already ready for him to be back home.

Last night went so much smoother than I imagined. Meeting his mother was nerve-racking, but once we started talking, I think I won her over. She seemed so surprised and impressed that I was caring for a baby who wasn’t mine. And his sisters were cool too—just real, genuine girls I could see myself being friends with in another life.

Ella makes a squeal of happiness, and I chuckle at her. “You’re a good little helper, aren’t you?”

I fold Alexei’s shirt with care and place it onto the stack just as my cell phone rings. I grab it from the bedside table to answer.

It’s Andi.

Holy shit. Finally.

My heart jumps. “Andi? Where are you?”

“I am so sorry. Is Ella okay?” She sounds tired and scared. It rattles something inside me.

My gaze drifts to Ella, where she lays on the bed. “She’s fine. Where have you been?”

“I’ll explain everything in person. Are you home?”

Hot shame burns through me. She trusted me with her baby, and now here I am homeless. But I can’t tell her that. Not until I know what the hell is going on.

“No, actually. But I can meet you somewhere. The coffee shop on the corner near the apartment.”

“Sure,” she says.