Out of His League

“In a minute, Brandon. The adults are busy having a conversation.” She shut the door.

He raised a brow at her. “I’m not up for it tonight, Lizzy. I’m still under the weather from all that anesthesia you pumped into my system this morning.”

She gasped. Her face went bright red.

He winked at her. “Kidding. I never sleep with women on the first date, much less women with kids. It sets a bad example.”

“He is my nephew!”

Interesting reaction. She wasn’t denying him access to her bed, just correcting his misstatement about son versus nephew. He would remember that.

“Yep, got it,” he said. “Never in front of the kids.”

She shook her head, obviously flustered. He loved seeing her with her hair messed up like that. He was willing to bet that in her starched-up world, people didn’t tease her. They didn’t come into her house and help her. And they certainly never made it over the threshold into her bedroom.

She ran her hands through her glossy hair. She really was a natural beauty. Lots of players had wives or girlfriends from the television reporting or modeling worlds—typically brassy women who, when all decked out and made-up, were eye-catching and flashy.

That wasn’t Lizzy. He was taken by an urge to draw her close to him. But...that would be a huge mistake.

Don’t push it, something told him. Get too close to her, and she’ll throw you out for good.

He didn’t want her to throw him out. So he hung back, waiting. Kept his hands glued to his side. Didn’t say a word. Let her know that he wasn’t a threat to her.

Finally, a sigh shuddered out of her. “Look, Jon, I have a downstairs neighbor who brings in my deliveries sometimes so they don’t get lost,” she said, like a confession. “She is elderly and doesn’t walk well, so she’s usually at home. I called and asked her to watch Brandon for me while I ran out to the store, but she just called back and said she doesn’t want him down there, bothering her, because she’s watching the baseball game. She doesn’t want to come up here and watch him, either, even if he’s waiting quietly in my bedroom, because I don’t have an HD television.”

“Seriously?”

“I know.” She rolled her eyes. “Who needs high-definition television to watch baseball?”

“Maybe she has a crush on the pitcher.”

A noise burst out of Lizzy, something between a giggle and a snort. She clamped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late.

Aha. So his studious, buttoned-up anesthesiologist had a fun streak in her after all. It was just buried, layers and layers deep.

“Give me your shopping list,” he said gently. “I’ll take care of it. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me. I don’t want you buying things for us. And also...” Lizzy gestured to his bandaged hand. “Did you not read your postoperative instructions? You aren’t supposed to be driving, not with the medication you’re on. I won’t be responsible for that.”

“I’m not on medication,” he said quietly. “Just acetaminophen.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Then you’re in pain.”

Maybe, a little bit.

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to chance messing with my health by taking heavy drugs like that. My body is how I make my living.”

She rolled her eyes again.

He grinned at her. “Lizzy?” he said, at the same time that Brandon whined plaintively through the door, “Auntie?”

Jon opened the door. Brandon was dressed in Superman pajamas. “Excellent job,” Jon said to him. “I’d like to reward you for that.”

Brandon beamed at him. Before Lizzy could say another word, Jon pulled his wallet from his back pocket and tossed it on the bed. He pulled out his phone, too. “My team’s owner sits on your hospital board. Go ahead and call her assistant, she’ll vouch for me. Then go out and shop for as long as you need to—I’ll wait here with Brandon.”

“Yesss!” Brandon pumped his fist and did some kind of rap dance around the bedroom.

Lizzy glowered at Jon. Yeah, he’d pay for making the kid part of their negotiations.

“How do I know you’re not a pedophile?” she asked in a low voice. “Perfectly respectable-looking football coaches have been found to be abusive to children. If there is one thing we’ve learned, it’s that we can’t trust somebody else vouching for our kids’ caretakers just because they have a prestigious job.”

Uh, she had a point. A twisted point, but then again, these could be twisted times.

He turned on his phone and called up the video interface. “In that case, we’ll use my phone like a nannycam. You can go about your shopping and still see everything Brandon and I are doing.”

“You’re crazy. I am not going to let you stay in my home, Mr. Farell. I’m a private person.”

“And I’m a public guy. I have a lot to lose, too, if you were ever to come out with allegations against me.”

That made her pause. “Why?” she asked finally. “Why do you care so much about helping us?”

Damned if he knew. His finger was throbbing again, he was tired, and well... “I’m hungry.”

He walked over to Brandon, who said, “I’m hungry, too.”

“Then this is what we’ll do, kid. While your aunt is out shopping, we’ll have quiet time together, under her supervision. So get one of your books and show me how well you read.”

“I don’t have any books,” Brandon said.

“You have books at home,” Lizzy corrected him.

“No,” Brandon said. “I don’t.”

He and Lizzy both seemed to still at the same time.

Then she seemed to snap. Scowling, she stomped toward her closet. “Fine.” She reached for a plastic box on the top shelf. “I have books.” Lifting off the lid, she rummaged inside before handing Brandon a hardcover kid’s book.

A very old, very worn-out copy of Curious George Goes to the Hospital.

A lump formed in his throat.

He’d read that story many times to his brothers, many nights when they were left alone that one, hard year.

He looked at Lizzy, locked gazes with her.

It was strange, but he could swear she was thinking the same thing.

“This is what we’ll do,” she said, shaking her head, suddenly straight and crisp again, no sign of apprehension in her root-beer-colored eyes. “Both of you will go down to Mrs. Ham’s apartment. While she watches baseball and ogles the real, live baseball-playing pitcher sitting in her living room, the two of you can read your book. And the minute I return, Jon can go home.”