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"Damn right, I would. You can't be on your feet all day in harsh weather conditions with nothing on but a bikini, keeping your weight down by starving yourself. My baby needs good nutrition, and his mother needs to pamper herself and relax." I was instantly protective and felt a glow in my heart I knew was pride and pure love.
"So, I told my agent, and he got my clients to compact their photo shoots into a one-month period of time. I was able to complete all the work I had committed to for the rest of the season in just four, short weeks, and now I'm officially on hiatus. I won't be accepting any new modeling jobs until after the baby is born, and maybe not at all."
"You're really doing this?" I could hardly believe how rapidly our lives had changed, and she nodded her head. I could see from the smile in her eyes and the glow in her cheeks that she was really happy, and I was, too.
Just over two, short years ago, I'd thought I was living the dream life with my secretary blowing me under my mahogany desk in my billion-dollar company offices, but I'd never been more wrong.
True happiness wasn't money, empty affairs, or even success. True happiness was this right here: having found someone you love who loves you, too, and turning that passion into a baby to raise and love together.
As I kissed Kayla with the tropical beach behind us and felt the love we had for each other envelop us, I knew that at long last, I had healed the wounds of my youth and was truly living the dream every man wanted, and I was going to enjoy every moment of it.
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THE SINGLE DAD
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Blake
I could feel the sweat dripping down the back of my jersey as I adjusted the flag sticking out of the waistband of my sweats. It was a chilly December afternoon to wage a touch football war between the Waltham Police and Fire Department, but a big storm was predicted for the following week, and we were determined that if this were to be our last game of the season, we were going to go out with a bang.
It was the fourth quarter and the score was tied 21-21 as my firefighters took the field. I listened as my best friend, Tony Williams, outlined our last chance at scoring on our opponents, but in my head I was calculating how much longer I could play before I had to call it quits and go pick up my 16-year-old daughter, Nina, from my ex-wife’s house.
“B, you listening?” Tony shouted.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said with a sheepish grin, knowing that he’d repeat the play as soon as we broke out of the huddle.
“Get your head on, man,” Beatty, the acting offensive lineman, scolded as we lined up for the play.
“Mind your own fuckin’ business, Beatty,” I shot back, as I took my place at the end of the line.
Tony moved behind the center and started the call, I watched out of the corner of my eye until I saw the snap, and then took off down the field.
“Go wide, Gaston! Go wide!” Tony called, as I ran toward the sideline. I turned and saw him drop his arm back and then launch the football in my direction just before two defensive players knocked him over. I could hear Tony swearing a blue streak as I kept my eyes on the ball hurtling toward me. I caught it and took off in a dead run heading for the end zone.
“Run, you slow son of a bitch!” Tony screamed, as I evaded the defensive players who were definitely bigger, but decidedly slower than I was. A half a yard from the goal line, Joey Vanetti, a young and fit detective who’d recently joined the Waltham PD, grabbed me and yanked me to the ground.
“Uhf!” I grunted, as I hit the grass and felt the wind rushing out of my lungs. I lay there still clutching the ball to my side trying to catch my breath. When I did, I sat up and grumbled, “It’s touch football you stupid fuck. No tackling!”
“I didn’t tackle, old man,” Joey laughed, as he offered me a hand. “I pulled you down by your flag.”
“The hell you did,” I shot back, as I ignored his hand and pushed myself up onto my feet. I was in damn good shape for a 38-year-old man, but not as good as a 23-year-old just out of the Academy. I knew I’d pay for this tomorrow, but right now I was pissed at the guy who’d punched tomorrow’s ticket for me.
“Chill out, Gaston,” Tony said, as he walked over and stood between the two of us. “Vanetti, you are one seriously stupid mofo. Don’t make me call your CO and tell him how you’ve brought shame upon the squad.”
“Fuck off, Williams,” Joey said with a grin.
“Ahh, I love good healthy competition between those who are charged with protecting and serving the public,” Tony crowed, as he took the ball from my arms. Lowering his voice, he added, “It helps me work out the frustration from not getting laid.”
