1. Don’t Call Me Ne Ne

Are adult-sized temper tantrums a thing? Looking at Brad's red face huffing at all the screaming kids right now, I'm pretty sure they are.

"Who could have known that a Thursday night at Pizza Play would be this packed?" I make light of it. "At least the Tiny Tot Town isn't so bad."

Brad scrunches his face and tugs at his ears because of the decibel level of kids running around crazy and playing. "If it were just the baby part, it'd be fine. It's the neighboring Big Block City and Bounce House Boulevard filled with loud grade schoolers that ruins it."

I ignore him and pat my little boy on the head as he explores. Oh, his fine blond feathery hair makes me want to weep at how he's grown so fast in a year. He's a month into this walking thing, and does it so well, too, sadly, favoring the floor more than my arms.

With big blue eyes and a toothless grin, he peeks up at me, then continues toddling around a house made of plastic. With rounded corners and windows to peek in, and fake flowers and a mailbox, the playhouse in pastel colors and soft, safe materials to explore sits behind a fenced off area in one corner of the restaurant just for babies.

"I thought you loved our outings with Remy?" I ask Brad.

"And I thought we agreed to not called him that? His name is Remington." My brother can be such a perfectionist, but I suppose that's why he's the best sports agent in Los Angeles—or anywhere.

As if the baby could back-talk, he babbles at Brad. "Ca, ca."

It's the closest thing Remy will get to Uncle, for now. I let a snort escape as I attempt to hold in a chuckle behind my hand.

Brad scowls, a wrinkle dares to appear on his Botox filled forehead, although a glimmer of a tease enters his eyes. "You think that's funny, huh? Ne ne."

Remy follows suit. "Ne ne."

"No, sweetie. It's Whitney—er, Mama." I try to correct him and ignore the grin seeping across Brad's face. He knows it irritates me that my son hasn't uttered the word Mama yet. Now I'm the one about to have a tantrum. In general, we get along as well as adult siblings can, but we sure can get under each other's skin.

"Come on, you. Let Uncle give you a proper tour of the town." He scoops up my boy and flies him high overhead. Given that Brad's well over six feet tall, a worry pinches my stomach at the height. But he'd protect Remy from any mishap. If anything, the little guy might throw up all over his coiffed hair and expensive olive-colored suit.

"Ugh!" Brad narrowly escapes a green block headed right for his chest. A red-headed kid points and laughs, calling him the Green Giant. "That's it. I can't stand other people's children. We're out of here." He shoves my son into my arms.

"You do realize Remy will soon grow up and probably be just like these other kids," I explain.

"No, he won't, not if I have any say in it." He scowls. "He'll be a proper boy, attending the best schools, and becoming a doctor or ushering in world peace. There won't be any time for sports or to get into any trouble whatsoever."

"This coming from a sports agent." I shake my head.

"I represent sports gods for a living. It doesn't mean I want their world bleeding into our family. Besides, you saw firsthand what happened to Mom and Dad." He shakes his head. "The things Dad tried to get away with and the hurt he caused Mom?"

I know what he's saying is true, but sometimes Brad can be a bit over the top, even though I know it's out of concern and care for us. With good reason. But not all guys playing a sport are bad, and in L.A., his guidelines for who I can't date cuts out like half the male population. Besides, it's a rather blanket statement.

"Don't scowl at me," he continues. "A lot of the players I represent try to get away with sh, er, crap. Partying, cheating, and more. They think just because they have money and celebrity status, they can get away with it. But you and I have both seen firsthand the damage these exploits can have on families. Nope. Remy will have nothing to do with the sports world if I can help it. I'll be the barrier that stands between you and any player who tries to come near you."

"Okay, Barrier Brad. Whatever." I sigh and grab the Baby Dior designer diaper bag, a recent random gift from him. He is good to me, and always has been since he took over guardianship of me as a preteen when Mom and Dad… Well, no sense dredging more of the past up. With Remy in my arms, I follow Brad to the exit, only to be stopped.

"Hey, look who's here?" Two men appear before us, each holding a toddler in their arms.

"Hi, Mark. James. Wow, the kids have gotten big. You remember Whitney, and this is my nephew, Remington." My brother boasts then fawns allover their kids, because he's on the clock twenty-four-seven like he can't shut down from his sports management business for a second.

I'm pretty sure the latter is one of his old college buddies and the other a client of his in professional soccer. I don't keep track, but I know we'll be stuck here another half hour now that Brad has clients and friends to schmooze.

I slide over to Tiny Tot Town behind them and let Remy play more. With my phone, I take photos of him, trying not to listen to Brad's conversation. I text my mature neighbor, Marie, to see if she'd watch Remy for a couple of hours tonight so that I could get some homework done. My law degree will not finish itself, and the woman is like a grandmother to him.

For a few seconds, I close my eyes and sigh, long enough to take me back to Montana, under the big sky of stars on a gorgeous summer's eve. While Brad had attended his client's wedding, I hung back at the hotel, feigning a headache. Only I really headed to the country bar next to our hotel alone, hoping I'd see some Montana cowboys for entertainment.

That's where I met him.

The stranger's eyes draw me in, locking together across the bar the second I enter. Kind eyes, keeping sight of my face, never moving down my body like the other dirty cowboys I pass.

I side up to him, taking the stool beside him.

"Under the neon lights of this bar, you look…like a lot of trouble," he says with a smoldering gaze.

"And you look like a bad boy willing to give me trouble tonight." Wow, who was I right now?

"Trouble is my middle name." He chuckles, a gleam in his hazel eyes. "Actually, it's Remington."

His broad shoulders in a black t-shirt fill it out so tight, the pectoral curves are visible. His biceps strain against the sleeves as well. No cowboy hat in sight, but shiny black boots instead. Oh, yes, he'll do. Plenty of pretty cowboy to look at for a while.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Funny, but it's Trouble, too," I tease, although I don't know why. Names wouldn't hurt anything, but this is about me getting to do something different for once without Brad around. I want control, and going nameless is one way to do it, to pretend I'm not me for a while. Suddenly, I feel more alive than ever. "So, why are you sitting here drinking alone, cowboy?"

"You think I'm a cowboy?"

I brazenly walk my eyes down to his chest and back up, heat radiating from his body next to me. I like what I see, doesn't matter if he is one or not. "If not, then what are you?"

A chuckle rumbles from his chest. "Guess I'm a man feeling sorry for myself, contemplating all my life's decisions. I'm on my third round of shots and beers, and when I peeked over at the door, I don't mind admitting my eyes were getting a little misty. Then you walked in with your gorgeous crystal blues, and suddenly everything became clear."

I burst out laughing. "That's some pick up line you have there."

"No, that's the truth. And you seem like the type of classy woman who deserves honesty, not some stupid line a man uses just to get into your pants."

He takes my breath away. I stare into his eyes and in an instant I feel close with him. Only I don't have all night to explore it.

In the arms of that handsome stranger, I found the thrill of my life. We danced, we kissed, and I let him take me to bed.But I left before he woke up.

I just needed something for myself for one night, and time away from my brother's overprotective heart.

Only a month or so later, I realized my night with a stranger also gave me the greatest gift ever.

Remy.