Page 57 of Draft Pick

"You, my girl, are getting a first-rate, spa-level foot massage, courtesy of me, your baby daddy."

I barked a short, incredulous laugh. "You're going to give me a foot massage?" I asked, still processing his gesture.

"Damn right I am," Cason replied with a grin. "Your feet are cute, and you deserve to be pampered."

I didn't know how I felt about his offer. First, I'd never had a foot massage. Never had enough extra cash to consider getting a pedicure, and none of my previous boyfriends orsituationshipshad ever offered to touch my feet. I don't think they would've noticed if I had feet at all.

His words were sweet, but I couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy as he pulled off my shoes. However, as his hands began to work their magic, any tension I felt began to melt away.

"That feel good?" he murmured.

I couldn't deny the relief his touch brought. "Mmhmm," I admitted. "My feet are wrecked and I'm scared knowing that it's only going to get worse."

Cason's hands moved skillfully, easing the aches and pains. His focus was intense, and I couldn't help but be moved by his effort to make me comfortable — and damn if he wasn't freaking good at this, too. Could the man do everything well? Seemed a little unfair. Cason Alexander made an excellent argument that God did have favorites.

"So, if football doesn't work out, you've got a future as a chef or a masseuse," I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckled. "It's good to have options."

"So, you like having options?" I asked quietly, holding my breath.

His gaze met mine, catching my unspoken fear. "I used to," he answered honestly. "But that doesn't appeal to me anymore."

There was nothing hidden behind his answer. I sensed in my gut he was being brutally transparent with me. Cason had his pick of women throwing themselves at him, but he chose to spend time with me. "Were you a player?" I dared to ask, hating that I even needed to know.

He didn't shy away from the bald question, answering, "Yes. I played the game and I played it well."

"And now you're different? Conventional wisdom would say I would have to be an idiot to believe that you've changed. People don't change."

"Agree to disagree," he returned quietly. "But I'm open to showing you that I have changed…if you give me a chance, that's all I'm asking."

"It's a big ask," I countered.

He nodded gravely, accepting the weight of my answer, returning to his task.

"I don't even know how to change a diaper," I blurted. "What if I'm not cut out to be a mom?"

"I can teach you to change a diaper. It's not that hard. I have twin younger brothers. I've changed my share of poopy butts."

I didn't know why his admission shocked me, but seeing him as someone else's loved one humanized him even more than before.

Cason shared stories about his younger brothers, which made me feel a connection to him that I hadn't anticipated, softening the moment between us.

"I'm an only child. I always wanted a younger sibling, though," I shared.

"You probably would've been a great older sister," he said, looking into my eyes.

I smiled, touched by his comment. "And you with your brothers?"

"I try not to be a dick," he said with a sidewise grin. "I mean, they're looking up to me, you know?"

His phone buzzing interrupted our exchange, but Cason ignored it, focusing solely on me. The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, and I could feel something shifting between us.

"When can I see you again?" he asked, his voice low.

I met his gaze, feeling the gravity of my decision. This was the moment where it all hinged on success or failure, the start of a path that would determine how we moved forward. Was I ready for what comes next? I had to be. "My ultrasound is next Wednesday. Do you want to meet me there?"

His response was immediate, filled with excitement. "Tell me when and where; I'll be there." And I knew there was no turning back, come what may.

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