It took me all of five minutes to get home, courtesy of living in the same gated estate as Cassius. It came in handy, living so close. Though with their weird investment in my pretty much nonexistent love life these days, maybe I needed to move and find somewhere with huge-ass gates.
Once at my pad, I showered, got my running gear ready for the morning, then headed to bed. Tucked up, I opened my phone and call list. Eddie’s name was at the top, like it usually was. I hesitated before clicking on his name, feeling called out by my friends and my fixation on Eddie. They didn’t actually know we spoke every day. Sometimes it would only be for a minute, another for a couple of hours. But that’s what you did with your friends, right?
I ignored the echo of “bullshit” zipping around my brain. There had never been another friend I spoke to every day. Ever. Not even when I was a kid. The thing was, with my heart and soul heavily invested, and friendship the one thing on the table, I grabbed on to it like a lifeline. Wanting and needing and, hell, loving our connection.
Sure, phone sex, just like the real deal, would be a hell of a sweetener, but this had to be it. And I was okay with that, or as okay as I ever would be.
Did I think it was healthy? The hell if I knew, but I wasn’t prepared to change a thing. With that thought in my mind, I hit Eddie’s name and smiled, waiting for him to answer.
CHAPTER3
EDDIE
“Charlotte Elizabeth Phelps,I swear on all that is good and magical that if you don’t turn off your light, I’m going to be shipping you off to military school.”
Rather than fearing that threat, Lottie snorted and rolled her eyes. “Okay, Dad. Five more minutes.”
That was definitely not a question or a request. But it was way past my kiddo’s bedtime, and I’d be dealing with a grumpy ten-year-old come the morning if she didn’t do as she was told. I counted to ten, thinking how similar parenting Lottie was to wrangling the college basketball players I coached during the summer.
Hormones, egos, and Michael Jordan complexes had nothing on my Lottie.
It was time to bring out the big guns.
“Two tickets are going to be canceled unless your head hits the pillow and darkness hits your eyeballs, and I’m not talking about my flight or my seat at the game.”
Wide eyes shot my way. “But Pearce needs me there.”
“He does?” Somehow I kept my face stoic and held back my wince, sure I was going to some sort of parenting hell for the threats, negotiations, and juggling I did with my girl.
“Of course he does.”
“If that’s the case, why am I standing in your doorway having this conversation, Lottie girl?”
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I promise to go to sleep right away.”
“You be sure to do that, kiddo. None of us want to be disappointed tomorrow.”
A second later, her TV was off and her notepad and pen placed on her side table, next to her already powered-down phone. Thank goodness for the parent control function for that damn thing.
Once she was snuggled down, I stepped fully into her room, and for the second time this evening, I tucked her in and kissed her goodnight. “Love you to the moon and beyond.”
I backed away after turning off her lamp, closing the door as she whispered, “Love you more.”
With the soft click of the door, I exhaled and smiled. I couldn’t really fault Lottie’s passion, not when it was one so close to my own. That pad she’d been scribbling away in was all things League related. The girl was only ten and was more hard-core than I ever was.
As I headed to my room with the plan to grab a quick shower, my phone rang. I hurried my steps to pick it up from the chest of drawers, barely holding back my groan when Wayne’s name flashed on the screen.
If that wasn’t enough of a reaction to tell me that something had to give… “Hey,” I answered, catching my sigh before it escaped.
“You sure you can’t come over?”
It was a good job Wayne hadn’t video called. My sneer and eye roll would have got a reaction and resulted in a fifteen-minute complaint from the man.
“Lottie’s in bed.”
“Perfect. She’s all tucked up and won’t even miss you.”
The fuck? I tightened my grip on my phone. “She’s ten,” I deadpanned.
