“It wasn’t a date, Morgan,” I answer with a roll of my eyes. “I take his nephew to soccer practice. And this was only the second time.”
“Oh, that’s right. You gotta keep it hush hush.” Morgan winks. “He has a reputation to protect.”
“Who’s the mystery man?” Eric asks, newly intrigued by the girly gossip.
Morgan answers before I can even start to form a sentence. “Stacy’s been seeing Jake Eckhart! Can you believe it? Our studious little Stacy is dating an NFL legend!”
Eric whistles. “Eckhart? Damn. He’s a touchdown king. That guy singlehandedly won me my fantasy football league last season. He was my first-round pick. Donovan thought I was crazy for drafting a tight end that early.” Eric cackles, reliving the thrill of defeating his best friend in fantasy football.
“We’re not dating,” I correct firmly with a roll of my eyes. “But I’ll be sure to pass on your man-crush.”
Morgan arches an eyebrow. “So you’re not dating but you’re seeing him again?”
“I'm just helping him with his nephew,” I insist, though heat begins to creep up my neck. “Jake’s a busy guy, so I take Ryan to his soccer practices. He’s my student. I'm obligated to help out.”
A furrow of concern creates a small canyon in Morgan’s unblemished brow. As if they can read one another’s minds, both she and Eric exchange a glance that only lasts for a second but feels as though an entire conversation occurred in that short time.
I hate it when they look at each other like that, but that’s only because I’m envious. I want to be on that level with someone someday.
Both Morgan and our old roommate Chloe are so in love.
When will it be my turn?
“Just, uh, be careful. Okay, Stacy?” Eric finally says, Morgan nodding along.
“Why?” I ask, taking a slow sip of my water.
“Eckhart’s got a reputation as a player.” Eric leans forward and pats my arm. “He’s not called The Hartbreak Kid for nothing.”
Chapter 7
Jake
I thought I was prepared to handle the rest of soccer practice on my own since Stacy had to leave. After all, how hard could it be to cheer Ryan’s name and remember to clap every now and then?
Everything went smoothly for the remainder of Ryan’s practice, up until the point when he and I were starting to leave.
We were walking side-by-side, making jokes about how another one of the kids had accidentally kicked the ball into the wrong goal, when a torrent of cameras came flooding toward us. The paparazzi and fans who had been restrained on the sidelines were let loose. They ran forward, practically barreling over the other children and families in their hurry to snap pictures of me.
“Jake! Jake!” they call out, each one dragging my attention in a different direction.
I feel like I’m watching a tennis match, but the ball never lands in one place long enough for me to focus on it. I try to smile at all the cameras, but Ryan’s tugging on my hand between each of the reporter’s catcalls, desperately trying to get me to listen to his story about some cartoon that he and Stacy had been discussing.
“One sec, Ryan,” I whisper, waving at the fans and paparazzi.
I have to keep these ravenous admirers appeased. They’re the foundation of my career, even more so than my talent on the playing field. If they aren’t supporting me, I won’t get the paycheck or the sponsors that I do.
“Jake!” Ryan cries again, yanking so hard on the sleeve of my practice jersey that the fabric almost rips.
“What was that for?” I yell, startled at the kid’s sudden temper.
He scowls up at me, gripping his soccer ball hard before hurling it onto the ground and then kicking my shin. “You never pay attention to me!” he shouts. “You’re always too caught up in other people! You’re a bad uncle! I hate you!”
Then he turns and runs away, though he has no choice but to head for my waiting sports car.
Ryan reaches the passenger door and sits down on the ground, circling his knees with his arms.
I'm suddenly hyper-aware of all the eyes and cameras on me, taking in what just happened. I gulp and stare at the reporters and fans whose expressions are a mixed bag of horror and disappointment.
Great. Of course this had to happen in front of everyone.
I scoop up his soccer ball and rush after Ryan, not saying anything aside from ordering him sternly into the backseat of the vehicle. Waiting until he buckles himself in, I careen out of the parking lot and back toward our penthouse.
I have no idea if I should yell at Ryan for kicking me. Should we hug it out? Or should I just pretend it didn't happen? I keep looking at him in the rearview mirror, but he’s ignoring me.
Stacy would know what to do.
I’ll give her a call as soon as I get home and have a chance to step away from my nephew. Hopefully he just needs a few minutes to breathe and calm down.
He’s staring out the window, his arms crossed over his little chest that rises and falls in infuriated pants. When he catches me watching him in the mirror, he gives a grunt of disgust and inspects his flaring nostrils in the window’s reflection.
We are definitely fighting.
It’s the first real argument between us that I can remember. I hate this feeling, like I’ve disappointed him and hurt his feelings all at once. I know why he’s acting out, he’s mad that I was paying attention to the cameras and not him.
But what can I do to make him understand that’s my job?
“When we get home, we can watch a movie and chill out for a bit. Does that sound good?” I offer uncertainly, knowing that Stacy would probably have some comment about how I'm sweeping Ryan’s temper tantrum under the rug, but right now I just want the poor kid to calm down.
His stiff body relaxes a little and though he doesn’t say anything, I sweeten the deal with some popcorn and he almost cracks a smile.
“Okay,” Ryan agrees, and after a few minutes he’s even cooled off enough to sing to whatever pop song is playing on the radio.
Phew. Crisis averted.
When we arrive back at the apartment, I instruct him to get the movie rolling while I make the popcorn. I listen as he flicks through channels on the living room television.
“Uncle Jake!” he says suddenly, giving a little gasp. “We’re on TV! And so are all my friends from soccer!”
Oh, hell no!
“Turn it off, Ryan!” I call out. God only knows what those people will say.
Forgetting the popcorn in the microwave, I rush into the living room just in time to see some entertainment channel anchors watching the video of Ryan kicking me and shaking their heads.
On a loop behind them, they replay the moment my nephew told me what a terrible uncle I am over and over. Ryan initially thinks it’s funny, but his faint giggles fade quickly as the reporters rip into our personal lives.
“You know that poor boy lost his mother last year,” the heartless anchor announces. “And now he’s stuck with The Hartbreak Kid as a guardian? I can’t imagine Jake Eckhart is ready for that role. I mean look at how they interact. Jake is not meant to be a parent.”