Doing It Right (Babe Squad)

by Harloe Rae

“I’ll miss you, Peppy Girl. You’ll always be my first love.” His voice hitches with the admission.

“Our paths will cross again, Peppy Girl.” My exhale is thick while I paste on a grin. There are no more tears to shed. “I’ll never reject a reunion invite.”

It’s been six years since I’ve seen Mason Braxter, yet in this moment it feels like just yesterday. He’s broader and more filled out—the toned definition of a professional football player. Time has been very kind to him.

“I thought we’d always have kids together.” “So did I, once upon a time. But we haven’t seen each other in six years. The tide shifted, Brax.” “Damn,” I mutter.

“If it makes you feel better, Archie is the product of too many shots and a really terrible social experiment. Total accident. A big ol’ whoopsie. But I’d never take it back. Not even for a second.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. You’re right about us being different people, and I can’t blame you. I’m the past. Why would the all-star athlete want to slum it with his ex-girlfriend who stayed behind in their small town?”

That mends a wound I didn’t notice was still festering. The persistent throb in my temples ebbs. “I’m tired of pretending, Pep.” “Then stop,” she whispers.

Before I can do just that, Presley rips her mouth away with a gasp. “What was that for?” “The last six years without.”

Mason scoops up my palm, lacing our fingers together. “It’s easy to get lost you in, Pep.”

Presley waits at the end of this dark tunnel. There’s no convincing me otherwise.

Mason grabs my hand, threading our fingers together. “I’m home, Pep. Where I belong.”

“I love your mama, buddy.” There might be years of unanswered questions piled between us, and several challenges ahead, but my feelings for Presley remain constant. “Me too?” His sapphire eyes are filled with so much hope. The lump in my throat is a fiery ball that demands attention. I can’t concentrate on the numerous reasons why voicing his suspicion aloud is a bad idea. Fuck the repercussions. “Yeah, little man. I love you too.”

“You expect me to believe that you love my son?” The notion is outrageous, even if Archie is the cutest thing since puppies and kindergarten crafts. “Yes.” His casual tone rolls over my aggravated nerves. “How?” The thrum in my pulse skyrockets while I wait for his response. “He’s a part of you, Pep. It’s just natural.”

“Then why won’t you agree to be mine again?” “Because I still am.”

“You own me, Pep. From that first moment you smiled at me, dousing me in eternal optimism.”