“Finlay?” Vero called out.
“In here!” I shut off the faucet and wrapped a starchy white towel around me.
The kids squealed, cartoons and snacks forgotten as they scrambled to greet Vero. She dropped my gym bag on the bench in time to catch Zach as he jumped. She spun him around, giving them both a squeeze. “What are you two nuggets doing here?” she asked in an overly sweet voice, the question clearly directed at me.
“Dad’s in the hospital with a kidney stone, so my sister brought them here,” I said, wrangling on a bra and dragging a clean sweatshirt over my head. When the kids had settled back in front of their cartoons, I whispered, “Did you return Ty’s uniform?”
She nodded. “Sent a naughty photo to his phone first and left his uniform in a trash bag outside his door. Don’t worry,” she said, clearly amused by my chastising look, “I didn’t include any identifying features. How about you? I thought you were bringing breakfast.” She stuffed a handful of Zach’s Cheerios in her mouth.
“Didn’t get a chance. Apparently, my sister needed a nap.”
Vero’s answering laugh was wry as I rummaged in the gym bag for the rest of my clothes.
“Where’s my underwear?” I asked, tossing aside a pair of jeans.
“Forget your underwear. Where’s Zach?”
Delia glanced up from my phone. “He went that way,” she said, pointing to the exit.
“Shit!” I dragged on my jeans, zipping them as I tore out of the locker room. I shouted Zach’s name, following a trail of Cheerios across the hall to the entrance to the men’s locker room. My son’s maniacal laughter echoed from inside.
I closed my eyes with a whispered “Fuck!”
I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. A wall of steam greeted me and the unmistakable sound of a shower turning off. Zach giggled. I whispered his name as loud as I dared, speed-walking down the aisle between the banks of lockers until I spotted his coat. He ran fast in the opposite direction, my panties clutched in his chubby hands as he grinned at me over his shoulder. I started after him, jolting to a stop as a man emerged from the showers. Nick limped into the dressing room, his hair damp, his chest bare, and a small white towel tied low around his hips.
Zach squealed as I lunged for his coat. It slipped through my fingers as he bolted toward Nick. The rest seemed to happen in torturous slow motion.
“Whoa! Hey, buddy. Ooof!” Nick scrambled to catch my son as he leapt. Zach’s shoe caught on Nick’s towel, pulling the knot at his waist free. Nick made a grab for it as the towel slid from his hips.
He held it with one hand, covering his groin, clutching Zach to his glistening chest with other.
Vero rushed into the locker room with my daughter in tow. She skidded to a halt and slapped a hand over Delia’s eyes. Her own were fixed on Nick, shamelessly wide with appreciation. “That’s … impressive,” she said in an awed voice.
“Cop reflexes,” he said, clearing his throat. Zach rested his head on Nick’s chest, holding my panties under his chin like a blanket, momentarily content and probably long overdue for a nap.
“Hi, Nick!” Delia said from behind Vero’s hand.
“Hi, Delia.” Nick cringed. “You mind?” he asked me.
“Oh, right! Of course!” I stammered.
“There you go, buddy,” he said, lowering Zach into my arms.
“Why don’t I take the kids to the vending machines and get them a snack,” Vero said, still a little breathless, “while you … you know … do whatever it is a grown, single woman might do when presented with a truly, truly spectacular research opportunity.” She leaned close to my ear as she plucked Zach away from me. “I want to hear all of it. Every. Single. Detail.”
“I’m still here,” Nick said.
“Right. We’ll wait for you outside.” Vero paraded my children out the door. The locker room fell abruptly silent in their wake.
“I am so sorry,” I said, turning my back to give him a moment of privacy only to catch his reflection in the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. His eyes found mine in the mirror as he secured his towel, and I dropped my gaze, my cheeks catching fire. “I know the kids shouldn’t be here,” I said to my bare feet. “Steven was supposed to have them, but something came up and he left them with my parents, and then my dad got a kidney stone and Mom called Georgia to watch them, but she’s teaching a class at ten and—”
“Hey.” He touched my shoulder, turning me gently around to face him, bringing me distractingly close to parts of him that made it increasingly difficult to think. “I know about the kids. Georgia called me this morning from your parents’ house and asked if it would be okay to bring them. I told her it was fine.”
I blinked up at him in surprise. “You did?”
“It was either that or let you leave.” Nick’s hair was darker, longer when it was wet. The damp waves fell over his warm, mahogany eyes, making them far too hard to look away from.
“I should probably go.” I stumbled backward into a locker. The tantalizing smell of his bodywash wasn’t helping my sense of direction. Or my traitorous hormones. “You’ve got class in a few minutes and you aren’t dressed … like, at all.”
The corner of his mouth twitched with amusement as he snapped open a locker. He pulled a dark blue dress shirt off the hanger inside and slipped it over his shoulders, leaving it open over his towel. “I think you mean we’ve got class,” he said as he buttoned the sleeves. “I expect you to be there on time, shoes on and everything.”
“I don’t have anyone to watch the kids,” I pointed out. “It wouldn’t be fair to ask Vero to miss class to babysit for me.”
His locker clanked shut. His eyes narrowed with purpose as he came to stand in front of me. “You’re right. You shouldn’t have to ask Vero, or your parents, or your sister, for that matter. What’s not fair, Finn, is your ex shirking his responsibilities and dumping them back on you. They’re his kids, too. You should be able to count on him, and it’s not fair to you that you can’t.”
A knot formed in my throat. “I’ll be sure to remind him of that if he ever decides to answer his phone. Meanwhile, I should probably take the kids home.”
Nick held up a hand, a muscle working in his jaw. “Just … wait here.”
He opened his locker and withdrew his cell phone. He picked a number from his contact list and held the phone out in front of him, putting it on speaker. “Hey, Roddy.”
“Go ’head, Nick.”
“I’ve got a 10–41 at the gym. Actually, make that two. Think you and Ty can help me out for a few hours with a couple of unattended minors?”
“Copy that.”
“And swing by the mess hall for some juice boxes on your way.”
“Roger.”
Nick tossed his phone on the bench. “See? Problem solved.”
“Thank you,” I said as he started to button his shirt, mourning the loss of the view and at the same time relieved he had covered it. His intoxicating man-smells were scrambling my brain, and after his heroic display on the phone just now, I couldn’t be trusted to stick to my resolutions when all he was wearing was a dress shirt and a towel. “You really didn’t have to do that.”