Page 23 of Play Dirty

“Gotcha.” I want to reach across the center console for her hand, but I don’t dare. Not in front of the kids. Martin will tell his mom all about it when she calls before bedtime tonight. And that’s the last thing I need. I need to keep things status quo until we go in front of the judge.

My attorney says it’s going to be a battle to get full custody. Judges won’t take custody from a mother unless there’s a definitive reason, like abuse or something. I don’t know if fucking one of my teammates counts as a point in my column, so I’ve mentally prepared myself for the battle ahead of me.

“There’s Effie and Connor,” Stevie says as we pull to a stop. She hops out before I can open the door for her, immediately opening the back and getting out the stroller.

Like she’s done this before.

Like it’s second nature.

I don’t know many supermodels, but she seems so down to earth it’s hard to reconcile what she does with who she appears to be. I guess I’m stereotyping

“Thanks,” I say gruffly.

I don’t know why it affects me so much to see her stepping in to help with the kids, but it does. She’s not my girlfriend, but she’s not a babysitter either. She’s… I don’t even fucking know what she is to me. But whatever it is, I like it.

“Hey, Junior!” Connor says, scooping Martin out of the SUV and twirling him around. “You ready to go on all the rides?”

“Yay!” Martin lights up.

“I don’t do roller coasters,” I grumble. I’m the lucky bastard who gets motion sick. I try not to admit that to anyone, but I have no choice when it comes to shit like this. Luckily, Bradley’s too young and those kinds of rides terrify Emma. Martin has a wild streak, though, a lot like his mom.

“I’ll take him,” Stevie offers. “I love roller coasters!”

“Me too!” Effie grins at her.

“Not me.” Saylor shakes her head. “I’ll stay back with the baby.”

We walk into the carnival and buy a bunch of tickets. They can be used for both the rides and the games, so I figure they’ll last a while. That’s the hope anyway.

“Look!” Emma’s eyes brighten as she spots a pink fairy wand that lights up on display in one of the game booths. “Daddy,please!”

Great. It’s a prize, meaning someone has towinit for her.

“How much to buy the wand?” I ask the teenager behind the booth.

He gives me a dour look. “You can’t buy it. You have to win it.” He says it like I’m a moron.

It’s one of those games where you have to toss a ball the size of a baseball into an opening a fraction of an inch bigger.

“I’ve got this,” Connor says, rubbing his hands together. “Played both baseball and hockey until I was thirteen. And I was a pitcher.”

Of course, he was.

I laugh, handing him a bunch of tickets. “You will be Emma’s hero.”

The kid hands Connor six balls, three of which have to go in.

He misses on the first throw but then his eyes narrow, and I see that same look on the ice when he’s getting ready to score. He’s really just a big kid in so many ways, but not when it comes to sports. And the next three balls sail right in like this is the World Series or something.

The teenager looks unimpressed. “What do you want?” he asks in a monotone voice.

“What’s it gonna be, Emma?” Connor lifts her up and she shyly points to the wand.

“The pink wand for the princess,” Connor says proudly, handing it to her.

“Yay! Thank you, Uncle Connor!” She throws her little arms around his neck and he grins at me.

Uncle Connor.

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