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Either way, I need to get Rhett and his cute ski trick and taut stomach out of the vicinity before I combust.
“Why don’t you get some rest and head upstairs? I know you have a busy day ahead.”
Before Liam’s arrival, Rhett and I sat down and hashed out our calendars. While his schedule isn’t crazy at the moment, he still has a heap of commitments. Workouts, appearances. Meetings and calls and social media marketing stuff. Makes sense that an athlete of Rhett’s caliber is so busy; I just had no idea that the business of being Rhett Beauregard was exactly that—a business that’s run with the same intensity and dedication to perfection that Rhett clearly applies to his instrument.
That is to say, his body.
His rock-hard, mostly naked body that’s so close and emanating so much heat right now I feel short of breath.
“Kinda freaking out about it,” Rhett says, groaning as he gently disentangles himself from Liam. “Getting through it all tomorrow. This is the kind of tired that makes you nauseous. Working out feeling this way—it’s gonna blow. If I can even do it.”
I keep my eyes trained on Liam, who slumps awkwardly against a rumpled pillow. “You’ll do it. It won’t always be this way, Liam not sleeping.”
“What if it is, though?” Rhett looks at me and runs a hand over his scruff, clearly stricken. “A, I can’t lose this season. I can’t.”
Ignoring the nickname Rhett uses—A for amazing? I’d ask, and he’d smirk and say, A for amazing ass—I unzip my vest. “We’ll figure it out. Now go upstairs—”
My insides clench at the sudden wail. Liam is awake, and he is not happy about it.
Neither is Rhett. His head falls back on the headboard with a thunk, his eyes pulled into a squint and his lips into a flat line, like he’s about to cry.
Time to lighten the mood. Do something to save this man and this kid from each other.
“Twinkle, twinkle little star,” I begin.
Rhett closes his eyes. Liam cries harder, fat tears leaking out of his eyes.
Reaching up to wipe them off his cheeks, I keep singing. “You’re gonna send me straight to the bar.”
Rhett scoffs, cracking an eye open. “I’m not up on my lullabies, but are you sure those are the right words?”
“Of course they’re the right words.” I smooth Liam’s hair away from his face, and he sticks his thumb in his mouth. “You do the skier. I’ll do the singing.”
Rhett lets out a breath. He’s clearly had it, but to his credit, he leans over and starts running his finger over his son’s forehead, soft, patient swooshes.
“Up above the world so high, when you don’t sleep, I want to die.”
Rhett’s massive shoulders heave on a chuckle. Liam hiccups around his thumb, then misses the next wail, his curious eyes moving between Rhett and me.
“Twinkle twinkle little star,” I sing.
“I’m running away now in my car,” Rhett finishes, then glances at me, eyes laughing. “Too far? Ha! Look at me, dropping rhymes.”
“Calm down, Hova. And it’s three A.M. Singing ‘Big Pimpin’ to this kid wouldn’t be too far.”
Rhett looks down at Liam. “It’s working,” he whispers. “Keep going.”
“Five little monkeys, jumping on the bed.”
“Oh! I know this one,” Rhett says. “One fell off and bumped his head. Mama called the doctor, and the doctor said, please let Daddy sleep in his bed.”
Fingers of lightness tickle my sides. “Four little monkeys, jumping on the bed. One went off and said I’m fed.”
“What? That makes no sense.”
“Go with it.”
“Okay, lemme think . . . got it! Mama called the doctor, and the doctor said, that’s what happens when your girl’s legs are spread.”
He’s really laughing now, and so am I. Liam’s lips twitch, even as I move to jokingly cover his ears.
“Inappropriate,” I say.
“I know,” Rhett replies. “Best line yet, right?”
“You’re a poet, and you didn’t even know it. Okay, Mr. Pervy, let’s move on. What about . . . oh! The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout, down came the rain—”
“And made Miss Amelia pout.”
“Why am I pouting?”
“Because you drank that shi—that shifty vodka you almost bought at the liquor store the other day.”
“Li-whoa store?” Liam says.
I meet Rhett’s eyes over his son’s head. “Your fellow parents are going to hate you.”
“Why? Because Liam’s the coolest kid in his class?”
“You really want your son to peak in preschool?”
“Yes,” Rhett replies gravely. “If only so he steals that vodka so you don’t end up drinking it.” Rhett blows out another breath, but this one is less annoyed, more . . . playful, I guess? “Okay, let’s stay focused. Next verse: Out comes the sun and dries up all the rain, and the itsy bitsy spider knew better than to drink that garbage again.”
I wrinkle my nose, holding back another laugh. “You’re the worst.”
