Page 41 of Draft Pick
But not Dr. Juniper Wilde. She’s an extraordinary case of uniqueness.
And I can tell there’s much more to her story than patient check-ups and an all-black wardrobe.
I shake my head, knowing I shouldn’t be thinking about my daughter’s pediatrician in any way other than professionally. If only Tenley stayed in her lane and didn’t invite her to shit. Not that I don’t want her there—I do.
That’s the issue.
I want Juniper to make friends. She’s new to town, and everyone needs a friend. Plus, mine are the best ones to have. But sharing friends will only makenotthinking of her as anything other than friends that much more taxing.
The same way I shouldn’t be picturing her naked in my bed, sans slutty little glasses.
I’m supposed to be lessening my life load, not tempted to add a woman who could not only ruin my plans, butimprovethem in the best way possible.
The struggle is real.
I take a sip of my beer, humming as the bitter sensation rolls down the back of my throat. I should get some sleep. I know I need it, yet this seems to be the only time in my day when I can relax andnotthink. Joke’s on me, it’s when I haphazardly overthink. I’ve done so much fucking press and interviews lately that my head hurts.
What do you see yourself doing in ten years, Crew?
Any plans to be drafted by the San Francisco Staghorns in the next couple of years? We hear team manager, Clarke Harris, has his eye on you.
Plans to reveal your current love life? All of Atlanta wants to know.
It’s debilitating living up to the expectations of strangers. I just want to be a good dad, provide for my daughter, meet a woman who understands me, and not spend the rest of the very short life I have regrettingnotdoing something different.
I don’t think that’s too much to ask.
I’ve made the money. I’ve built the career. But when do I get to enjoy the hard work?
Deciding to shower and hit the sack, I stand from the couch but stop short at the sound of Addie’s voice singing from upstairs.
I check my watch. 9:30—she should be asleep. I set my beer down and make my way up the stairs. The closer I get, the more her spirit-filled song registers. And I use the word spirit-filled lightly. Really lightly because fuck Kingston Baylor for teaching Addie Lil’ Wayne.
“Go DJ” projects off the walls of my too-big home, my eyes homing in on Addie’s small frame standing in front of her disco mirror, hairbrush in hand as she sings her heart out.
I tap the door and lean my hip against the frame. “Sold-out show tonight, Doodle?”
Addie spins on her feet, eyes wide as saucers. “I couldn’t sleep. I promise not to do it again!” she rushes, and I step forward, wanting nothing more than to hug my little girl.
“Get over here, rockstar.”
Her smile is infectious as she abandons her brush and rushes to my arms. “I’m hungry, Daddy. Ms. Vanna gave me popcorn, but it was the yucky sweet kind.” Her face scrunches in disgust.
I had a feeling.
One of the side effects of the new medication Addie’s on is suppressed appetite. At night, when the medication has worn off, is when her hunger from the day is so strong it keeps her awake. Vanna and Hilary already preached to me about making sure any late snacking is kept to minimal sugar and higher protein so she stays full longer.
It makes bedtime a bit more of a struggle, but the benefits during the day have been much greater. With time, we’ve seen small improvements, both at home and school. I’m optimistic about what’s to come in the future, but know this is one of those things we give and take.
So, since Addie’s caloric intake is less during the day, she’s starving at night. Too bad she always wants junk food. “And let me guess, ice cream would make it better?” I tease, knowing what’s coming.
“I was thinking…” She taps her pert chin. “Pancakes!”
“Pancakes.” I gape. “It’s almost ten o’clock, Doodle. You have school tomorrow.”
“Please, Daddy. Please!”
This is why I have zero willpower with her. She’s so fucking cute. I’m a weak man.
