The girl of my dreams is smiling at me, and our daughter is calling me daddy.
They’re the family I’ll fight for no matter what.
I stretch my foot under the table, past Ella’s chair, and gently knock Tiff’s foot with mine. She traps my ankle between hers, keeping me in place.
Did she really think I’d move? After everything?
Not fucking likely.
Ella’s recounting everything she remembers about the game, but I’m not really listening. I’m too lost in Tiff’s beautiful green eyes. I swear I can see specks of gold in them when they’re bright enough, and tonight, they’re the brightest I’ve ever seen.
“Then Zach threw the ball and Reese caught it.”
“What happened after?”
“They scored,” she says.
“Well done, Princess,” I say. “With that kind of logic, you’ll be a better player by the time you’re four than I ever was.”
“Four?” She raises her hands and starts to count her fingers. “One. Two. Three. Four.” Then she shows me her hand proudly.
“That’s right! Good girl.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.
There it is again.
Will it ever stop feeling like a squeeze of my heart when she mentions it?
I hope not.
The front door clicks open, followed by a loud thud of a bag dropping to the floor. Zach’s voice carries down the hall. “Something smells delicious? I hope you haven’t started eating without me?”
Ella squeals, her hands squishing the pasta in her bowl in excitement. Tiff bats her hands away just as Zach walks in, arms wide, as he looks between us.
“Seriously? How many touchdowns have my team got to score to get a little respect around here?” he jokes as he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Didn’t you only score one?” I say. “Reese and Sebi did the rest.”
Zach stops and turns to look at me with mock audacity. “Wow, Nicks. Ever the comedian.” He walks further into the room. “Maybe I should convince Coach Summers to let you on the team for a day, and then we can see how easy it is.”
I stab a piece of pasta with my fork. “Don’t worry. I think we all know I’m not about to steal your spot.”
“No, you’d need a miracle and an offensive line willing to throw themselves in front of traffic.”
Touché.
“What took you so long?” Tiff interrupts our banter. “You said you were following us home, and it’s been three hours.”
He sighs before kissing Ella on the forehead and giving her a small hug before standing up straight.
“Got caught up. There were a few NFL scouts at the game watching me tonight. Coach Summers and my agent, Will, forced me to hang around and schmooze.”
“What teams?” I ask, intrigued.
“The Night Owls, the Rattlesnakes, the Crossbills,” he lists them out as though they aren’t the most impressive teams in the league right now. That’s the thing about Zach. He’s the ultimate humble bragger, but for some reason, it’s not annoying.