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The Running Back’s Baby (Dirty Players Book 2)
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I know two things for certain.
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I stared out the window as Dad drove us to wherever we were going to eat. I’d just come out of an hour long meeting with him that left me frustrated. I didn’t even get to talk to him at home, because it was official business, I had to schedule this damn meeting and see him in his office for it, and here he was, strong arming me into going to lunch with him afterwards as if our conversation never happened.
I loved my dad, but there were times when I wondered if it would be okay that I didn’t.
“Is there anything you’d like to eat?” he asked. “There’s this nice restaurant a few blocks away, but if you like fast food, we can go for that.”
“The restaurant is fine, Dad,” I said with a sigh. “I don’t eat a lot of fast food anymore, it’s not really healthy.”
Not to mention it set a bad example for the guys on the team, who all had strict diets and workout schedules, so they stayed in top form. I used to love fast food when I was a teenager, because then no one had to cook, but I grew out of it when I started becoming serious about joining a pro football team. I did eat fast food occasionally, but it was about all I ate in my time at college so I’d gotten over it.
“Okay. We’ll be there in less than five minutes.”
Silence settled between us again.
Five minutes later, Dad parked the car in front of an Italian family restaurant. We stepped out of the car and went inside. It was a bit early for lunch, so the place wasn’t too crowded, and we found a small table for two tucked away into a corner, close to a window.
“It’s been a while since we last came here, huh? You were still in college.”
“Yeah,” I murmured.
That was back in my first year, before I got really involved in school. The relationship between my dad and I was strained, because he was stuck doing a job, he wasn’t confident in by himself, but it just got worse after that as I started focusing on what I wanted to do with my future and Dad focused even more on the team without me there to distract him. I knew what I wanted to do from my second year in college, but Dad thought I was kidding when I first brought it up, and now he all but dismissed it every time I mentioned it.
“Which pizza would you like?” Dad asked, picking up the menu.
The way this place made it was always incredible. I used to come with my family when I was younger, and I’d come here with friends and by myself often since college. I picked up the second menu to look it over.
“You used to like the one with pineapple on it, right? How about I order a large of that with a Coke for you?”
And a bottle of milk? I was surprised that he suggested Coke!
“It’s okay, Dad, I know how to order for myself,” I muttered.
He looked like he was about to say something, but a waiter stopped by our table, and he cut himself off. Dad made his order and got a soft drink with his medium cheese pizza. I was tempted to order beer, but went with a spicy sausage pizza and paired it with a glass of wine. Dad looked shock, like the idea of me drinking alcohol was foreign to him. I didn’t indulge often, but I started drinking when the guys introduced me to beer after my twenty first birthday. This was something Dad didn’t need to know, because I knew he’d give the guys shit for it.
“Should you be drinking wine?” he asked.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “It’s not like I’m the one driving, Dad, and it’s just one glass. I’m sure it will be fine.”
I didn’t bother telling him I was an adult and had every right to drink, because that was kinda obvious. Then again, if it was that obvious, he wouldn’t be asking me. I didn’t want to tell him to stop treating me like a child, because we usually ended up arguing, but there was nothing for us to talk about.
I sat for a second and blinked my eyes. I was trying too hard, trying to think of something to say.
I decided that it was too much work, so we fell quiet while we waited for the food to come out. I looked outside the window and saw out the corner of my eye as Dad got out his phone and started texting. I sighed and wondered why he’d brought me here at all. Awkward silences were common between us when neither of us had something to talk about, and I’d said everything I wanted to say to him at the meeting.