Contents

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Copyright

Published by Hot-Lanta Publishing, LLC

Copyright 2018

Cover design by Meghan Quinn

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at meghan.quinn.author@gmail.com

All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

www.authormeghanquinn.com

Copyright © 2018 Meghan Quinn

All rights reserved.

Chapter One

CALDER

“No, daddy, like this.” Shea repositions the tiara on my head. “You can’t wear it sideways like that, you have to show off your jewels.”

“Showing off daddy’s jewels could get him in trouble. That’s called indecent exposure, sweetie.”

“Huh?” Shea’s head tilts to the side, a pull in her brow.

“Never mind.” I clear my throat and take a look at myself in the reflection of my car window.

Tiara . . . check.

Showing off the jewels (tiara jewels, that is) . . . check.

Pink scarf wrapped around at nipple height and tied like a bow . . . check.

Purple sparkly fairy wings strapped around my bulky shoulders . . . check.

Looks like I’m ready for lunch with my daughter. Let’s just pray there aren’t any super fans in the area, because I’m a walking Instagram story right about now. Although . . .

I squat down next to my daughter and pull out my phone. Opening up the Instagram app, I go to my stories and turn the camera so it’s facing me.

“Want to do a story with me, Shea?”

“Yeah!” She claps vigorously.

I press record and bring Shea closer to my side. “Off to lunch with this beautiful girl today. Fairy wings and tiara are on, I’m dad-ing hard right now. Blow a kiss.” She blows a kiss right before I stop recording.

“What is dad-ing hard?” She asks, twirling around in her pink, sparkly tutu.

“Eh, don’t worry about it.” I share my story and pocket my phone. “Grab daddy’s hand. We have some food to eat.”

I open the door to the restaurant for my little girl and usher her in, unfazed by the looks I’m getting. This isn’t the first time I’m dressed as Wanda the Fairy. Yup, I have a name and everything. I would do pretty much anything for Shea, not just because she’s my daughter and I love her more than anything, but because she hasn’t had the easiest life. Her mom, who we won’t speak of much, took off after one month of being Shea’s mom. She now lives in France, where she travels with her violinist boyfriend. We were never going to be a couple, ever—that shipped sailed after our one-night stand—so I’m not hurt about her being with someone else, but what makes me want to choke some sense into the woman is the way she totally abandoned her daughter. Especially since I play professional hockey for a living, and my schedule is demanding and hectic. It would have been nice to have her mom available to help out. Thankfully, my brother and his wife are there for me when I’m out of town.

“Wanda, what a treat to see you today,” Eduardo, the owner of Noodles and Donuts, greets me with a giant grin on his face. “And Little Miss Shea, looking beautiful as ever.”

“Thank you kind sir.” Shea curtseys then does a spin in her tutu. Kind sir . . . I shake my head, she must have picked that up from my brother.

“Would you like your usual table?”

“And two pink donuts,” Shea adds, holding up two fingers.

Eduardo tips her chin. “Coming right up, sweetheart.” He nods to the back of the restaurant. “You can go and take a seat. Coffee?”

“Please, and a Thai peanut chicken bowl for me, extra veggies.”

“Coming right up.”

We walk to the back of the restaurant and to the table that sits under the window, overlooking a tiny garden. Shea takes no time in hopping up on her seat and placing her elbows on the windowsill, looking out over the vegetation.

“One, two, three, four, six.”

“Five sweetie, don’t forget five, remember, that’s how old you are, you don’t want to skip it.”

“Daddy,” she gives me a “look.” “I said five in my head.”

“Ohh, okay, but when you’re counting let’s refrain from saying numbers in your head.”

“But it’s not fun like that, daaaaad,” she drawls out.

“My mistake,” I mumble.

Glancing around the restaurant, I’m surprised to see there aren’t a lot of diners today. Noodles and Donuts is a popular little hole in the wall in Philadelphia. It’s the perfect spot for something sweet and savory. What else do you really need besides noodles and donuts?

Well, plenty of things, but Shea loves it here, so it’s our special place.

“Eleven tomatoes, can you believe it dad? Eleven!”

“Wow, eleven, that’s crazy.”

“I KNOW!” She giggles and shakes her head. “Eleven tomatoes is definitely crazy.”

“The craziest.” My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. Most likely it’s either my coach or my agent, and I’m less than interested in talking to both of them right now, especially since it’s my day off from an arduous road trip and we are coming down to the end of the season with playoffs looming over us. I just want to focus on my girl.

“Two pink donuts for the prettiest girl I know,” Eduardo says, holding out a plate.

Shea goes to reach for her donuts but I snag the plate away before she can shove the whole thing in her mouth. She has a goal in life, a ridiculous goal mind you, to shove an entire donut in her mouth. She watched my brother do it once and now any chance she gets, she tries. Thanks, Chuck.

My leg bouncing, I really have to go to the bathroom, I point my finger at Shea and say, “Listen here you fairy princess, we are not shoving the entire donut in your mouth, and you will have a bowl of my veggies as well before you can even think about that second donut, got it?”

“But daddy, how am I going to fit a donut in my mouth if I don’t practice?”

Sighing, I eye Eduardo, who’s chuckling to himself. “Can you watch her for a second while I go to the bathroom?”

“No problem, man. But if she shoves a donut in her mouth, that’s her business.”

I stand, my height five inches taller than Eduardo. “Don’t let her shove the damn thing in her mouth, break her off a piece. Come on, be the adult.”

“But she’s so cute.”

Yeah, she’s cute, which makes it so much more difficult. I make my way to the bathroom while I pull my phone from my pocket.

Voicemail from Greg, yup, my agent wants something and I’m not in the mood to find out what it is. I love my job, being able to play hockey for a living, feeling the scrape of the ice beneath my blades and making money doing it, there is nothing greater than that, but I’m more of a homebody when it comes to the outside responsibilities that come along with the job. I just want to skate around, play the game, slam some guys into a wall, and collect my paycheck. The promotions, and marketing, and appearances, yeah I could do without those. Don’t get me wrong, six years ago during my rookie season when I was maybe a little too wild, hence the child I have, I had a damn good time, but now I’m a little older, a little wiser, and a little more banged up. Maybe a little boring.

When I reach the bathroom, I quickly take care of business, wash my hands, and take a look at myself in the mirror.

Fuck am I a pretty little lady.

Wanda, sparkling from glitter, pretty in pink, and shiny jewels for days. Even though I wouldn’t trade this life for anything, I kind of feel like I’m in a rut. Like I should go put on some nineties mom jeans, perm my hair, and start jogging around with a fanny pack.

I can’t remember the last time I went on a date, or even had a woman around. I don’t fuck around on road trips, and I don’t bring girls home because of Shea. So to say it’s been a while is an understatement. Maybe that’s the reason why I’ve been extra aggressive on the ice recently.

Sighing, I take one last look at myself, and exit the bathroom, just as my phone rings in my pocket again. Jesus, Greg.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the phone and see Chuck’s idiotic face displayed on the screen.

What does he want?

I’m about to answer the phone when I’m bumped to the side by a slim shoulder. I really must be off my game, because I lose my balance and fall into the wall, knocking down a picture frame. Before it can hit the ground, I spin to catch it just in time as I hear someone from behind grunt.

When I turn to see who so easily pushed my six-foot-three stature to the side, I’m greeted by a woman maybe five inches shorter than me, her blonde hair curled and bouncing at her shoulders while her bangs pull my attention to her deep blue eyes. Her hand is cupping her cheek as she looks me up and down, humor lighting up in her features.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” I ask, even though I was the one who flew into the wall.

“I think so.” She pulls her hand away and checks her palm then pats her face again. “This is the first time I’ve been bitch slapped by a fairy wing before, so I’m trying to see if you left any of your pretty fairy dust on me. I’ve never been tested to see if I’m allergic.”

A slow, lazy smile spreads across my face. “I heard getting tested is an intense process where they dangle fairy wings over your face and every thirty seconds they lower the wings and give you butterfly kisses.”

She tilts her head to the side, studying me intently. “From your knowledge of butterfly kisses, your obvious dress-up game, and the tiara that seems to fit you perfectly, I’m going to guess you either have a daughter, or are the best, most invested uncle or big brother on this planet.”

“Daughter,” I laugh. “She’s five and I don’t get to spend a lot of time with her, so when I do, I go all out.”

“I can see that.” The twinkle in her eyes that sparkles when she looks at me does something funny to my stomach, something I haven’t felt in a while. “If it matters, I have to say, you’re quite fetching in a tiara. It’s very becoming of you.”

“Do you really think so?” I pretend to primp my buzzed hair.

“Oh it’s so you.”

“Thank you.” I rearrange the picture back on the wall and then hold out my hand. “Calder, also known as Wanda, the fairy princess.”

Chuckling, she takes my hand in hers and says, “Rachel, also known as . . .hell, I don’t have a fairy name, and now feel like I’m missing out.”

“All the cool kids have fairy names.”

“Apparently.” She crosses her arms over her chest and looks me up and down. “You know, it takes a very confident man to strut around in your outfit.”

“Confident or desperate to put a smile on his daughter’s face.”

“I think both.” She eyes my hand and says, “From the lack of ring, I’m going to say there is no wife?”

“You’re assuming right.” Is she about to . . . ask me out? I don’t think I’ve ever had a girl ask me out before. I’ve had women throw themselves at me because I’m a professional hockey player, but from what I can detect from Rachel, she for one doesn’t recognize me and two, doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who just throws herself at men.

“And there is no husband in the picture either?”

Laughing out loud, I shake my head. “Definitely no husband. Straight and single.”

“Hmm.” Her hand plays at the base of her neck as I await her next move. “Well, Calder, it was a pleasure meeting you. Don’t forget to polish your tiara, a foggy headpiece is an ugly headpiece.” She taps me on the shoulder and starts to walk away, leaving me in a wave of what the fuck.

“Hey, hold up.” I jog after her and when she turns toward me, I’m hit with an unsettling yearning. For the first time in a long time, I actually want to spend some time with a woman, with her wit, with those beautiful eyes. Clearing my throat, I ask, “By any chance, would you be willing to go out on a date with Wanda?”

Shit, why did I say Wanda? The guys would just about roast me right now if they were hearing this conversation.

“Wanda?” She raises a questioning brow in my direction. Yeah, she doesn’t want to go out with Wanda. I don’t blame her.

Shucking the tiara and undoing my nipple covering, I tuck them in my back pocket and try to look like the masculine defender I am on the ice. Speaking in a deeper voice than normal, I repeat, “Would you like to go on a date with me? You know, since you asked about my relationship status and all.”

Eyeing me up and down, the wheels spinning in her head, she says, “You know, I’ve never picked up a fairy princess outside of the men’s bathroom before . . .”

Why do I feel like this is a moment that will forever be engrained in my memory, the day I tried to ask a girl out wearing a tiara and fucking fairy wings?

“Is that a bad thing?” I stick my hands in my front pockets and try to flex my arms at the same time, showing off my triceps. Yes, I’ve sunken to that level. I have to display any ounce of my masculinity I have.

Her lips twist to the side, it’s evident she’s trying to hold back a smile. “I think for a lot of women it is, but for me, I find it intriguing.”

“Sooo . . . is that a yes?” I wait on bated breath for her answer.

“You know, Calder, I think it is.”

A large smile spreads across my lips as I pull my phone out of my pocket, unlock it, and hand it to her. “Put your phone number in there and I’ll call you tonight, how does that sound?”

“Call, huh? That’s very old fashioned of you. I’m so used to a text, a call might be a little intimidating.”

I shrug. “Old fashioned isn’t a bad thing, just means under all this glittery dust and pink bedazzles, there’s a real gentleman waiting to take you out.”

She finishes typing her information into my phone. “A real charmer. My, my, my, I might just have scored myself a real winner outside the bathrooms of a donut and noodle joint. No one will ever believe me.”

“Especially if you tell them the man you scored got your attention by bitch slapping you with his fairy wings.”

She chuckles and shakes her head in disbelief. “You are so incredibly right. I might just have to make up a story. Maybe something like I met you outside the library, where I tripped and fell and you caught me and my books before we wound up diving head first into oncoming traffic. A hero, that’s how I could describe you. A true, spur-of-the-moment, meant-to-be-there kind of hero.”

I pull on the elastic of my fairy wings and snap it against my chest. “That’s what I am, a true hero.”

“I believe it.” Her eyes soften. “You probably are to that little girl of yours.” Patting my arm, she says, “I look forward to your call tonight. Until then, have fun with your daughter and don’t eat too many donuts. I love a good set of abs.”

Leaving with a brush to my arm from her fingertips, I call out, “A donut isn’t going to change these abs, I can promise you that.”

Walking backwards, she says, “We’ll just have to see.”

Well damn.

Commence countdown until Shea goes to sleep.

Chapter Two

CALDER

“Do I wear something nice?”

“What? Why would you wear something nice?” Hayden, my best friend and teammate asks. He’s a rookie this season and even though I’m older than him and have more experience, we’ve quickly bonded through the season and now he’s the guy I go to for everything.

“I don’t know. It just seems like something I should do. I took a shower, so I smell good.”

“Dude,” Hayden deadpans on the phone. “It’s a phone call. It’s not an actual date, you’re just going to be talking to her, it’s not like you’re going to be dry humping on your kitchen counter while she licks your Adam’s apple.”

“Have you had someone lick your Adam’s apple lately? Why is that something you would say?”

Frustration comes through the line as he sighs. “I’m trying to help you here, man. There is no need to get dressed in anything nice, just make sure your dick isn’t hanging out, because to me that seems a little inappropriate.”

“Why is that inappropriate?”

“I don’t know, you just met the girl, talking on the phone with your dick out almost seems like something a pervert would do. Like she’s telling you about her day and you’re over there on the other end, legs spread on the couch, your nuts snuggling against the fabric, and your cock bobbing up and down, just doesn’t seem right man.”

Naked phone talk with someone I barely know does seem odd, not that I planned on being naked for the conversation, but from the “pretty” picture Hayden just painted for me, I’m one hundred percent sure I won’t be dangling my balls against the couch while talking to her.

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to just put some sweats on.” I sigh and run a hand over my face. “Why am I so goddamn nervous? It’s a phone call. It’s not like I’m going on an actual date with her tonight.”

“Maybe it’s because you haven’t been interested in anyone for a really long time, someone you actually want to take out on a date.”

“For good reason,” I answer, thinking about Shea and all of my reasons for putting my personal life on hold.

“She is old enough to understand that you’re going to go on dates, that shouldn’t be an issue anymore.”

“I don’t want her to become attached. Her mom has already made things tough on me, bringing a possible date into the mix will make it that much harder. Plus, our schedule is fucking insane, how am I really going to date someone when I’m barely home? And who the hell knows if this girl wants to be in the spotlight? Because you know the minute the media catches wind that I’m taking someone out, they’re going to be all over her. I signed up for that kind of life but she didn’t. I should really just call her and tell her never mind, or hell, maybe I just don’t call her at all. Not get her hopes up, because you and I both know this is going to be a very bad idea.”

I take a deep breath just as Hayden says, “Are you done?”

“This is a bad idea.” I continue. “Besides the fact that I have no idea what to wear for a phone call anymore, I don’t know what I was thinking trying to pick someone up while I was wearing a bedazzled tiara.” I slouch on my couch and cover my eyes with my hand, trying to relieve the tension I can feel forming in my head. “What if she just felt pity for me? You know, look at the poor man dressed up like a lady, calling himself Wanda and flapping his fairy wings for attention. Maybe she was throwing me a bone.”

“Dude—”

“And Hayden, she was hot. No not just hot, but beautiful. So fucking beautiful and she had a quick tongue on her, good sense of humor. And her body, tits for days man.”

“Calder—”

“And who wants someone with a daughter? We’re young, she probably has better things to do than be some pseudo-mom for my daughter, especially when I’m out of town all the time. And who’s to say they’ll get along? They might hate each other, and then what? I like this girl but I can’t go out with her because what happens if Rachel says she likes Paw Patrol more than Sophia the First? That’s just asking for a living nightmare.”

“Will you shut the fuck up,” Hayden yells into the phone. “Fuck, man.” His tone and agitation are evident from the huff of breath he takes before saying, “It’s a phone call, that’s it. You’re not marrying this girl, she’s not moving in with you, and she doesn’t have to meet Shea any time soon. If you like this girl, just take it one step at a time. I know you’re a planner and you have a daughter to think about, but there is no need to do any worrying when you’re just going to make a phone call. Take the first step man and worry about the rest later.”

“I don’t know.” I drag my hand down my face. “Am I ready for this? Rachel, she’s not a girl you take home for a night, you know? She’s more than that. I haven’t really dated since Shea was born, I haven’t had time between her and hockey.”

“And you’re a lonely mother fucker who watches 90 Day Fiancé at night once his daughter is asleep. It’s time, man.”

He’s right, I’m too invested in Antonio and Nikki’s lives.

“You know I’m right, I can tell by the silence that you know I’m right, don’t be shy, just come out and say it. Say Hayden, even though you’re younger than me and are a rookie with one hell of a slap shot, you know more about life than I do.”

Now he’s stretching it.

“Pushing it with that slap shot stuff. I’ve seen better.”

“Ha, okay man. Seriously though, stop coming up with excuses and just call her, alright? I can help you sort out the bullshit later, just go on the date and see where it goes.”

Even though I’m apprehensive and careful of my personal life and the decisions that affect it, I can’t help but think about Rachel and what it would be like to take her out on a date. I really want to see what makes her tick, why she would stop to talk to a guy in fairy wings and a tiara.

“Okay.” I take a deep breath. “I’m going to get off the phone now and just call her before I tell myself not to bother.”

“You know, you’re really losing that alpha card you like to slap down in the locker room. If only the guys knew about this conversation . . .”

“And if you want me to continue to bring my mom’s homemade brownies to the stadium for your eating, then you’d better keep your damn mouth shut.” The threat rings truer to my personality than the indecisive man I’ve been over the last few minutes.

“Don’t take my brownies . . . you animal.” He chuckles at the exaggeration. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Damn right it is.”

I say my goodbyes and hang up. Keeping my phone in my hand, I scroll to Rachel’s name in my contact list and stare at it, willing the universe to telepathically send me an opening remark full of swagger that will make Rachel all fucking swoony and needy to go out with me.

But I get nothing. I’m drawing a blank.

Maybe it will just come to me . . .

Before I can lose the courage, I press dial and put the phone on speaker so I don’t have to hold it up to my ear.

The phone rings three times before she picks up. “Hello?”

My breath catches in my throat and my voice comes out as more of a squeak than the voice of a manly hockey player with a set of abs that would put any body builder to shame.

“Hey.” Clearing my throat, I try again. “Hey Rachel.” There, that’s better.

“Is this Wanda?” She asks in a teasing tone, a tone that puts me at ease.

“Why in fact it is. Were you impatiently anticipating my phone call?”

“On the edge of my seat.” There is a teasing lilt in her voice. “So tell me,” Her voice drops to a low, sexy tone, “What are you wearing?”

“Asking what I’m wearing already? Seems a bit forward, don’t you think?”

“Never.”

Laughing, I look down at my red, faded sweatpants and say, “Do you really want to know? I kind of expected to start this conversation out a little bit differently.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know. Don’t get shy on me now, Calder.”

Chuckling, I answer with a hint of “seduction” in my voice, because I have to make sweatpants sound sexy somehow. “I’m wearing what I would describe as a sensual red sweatpant, a little racy, with no shirt, and no socks . . . eat your heart out.”

She’s silent for a second before she asks, “You didn’t dress up for this phone call? I wore my blue sequined ball gown with white, glittery tulle, and you show up in a pair of ratty old sweatpants. What’s that about?”

Even though I know she’s kidding, I still feel a bout of sweat form on the back of my neck. I knew I should have worn something nice, like jeans and a button up . . . although, that seems pretty dumb to dress up for a phone call, now that I really think about it.

“Blue glittery ball gown with tulle, huh? Does that dress come with a pumpkin carriage as well?”

“Are you calling me Cinderella?”

“Well, I mean you have the blonde hair and the ball gown, just need to prepare myself in case you decide to run out on our date at the stroke of midnight.”

“Oh no need to worry about that,” she deadpans. “I never stay out past nine-thirty.”

“Really?” That seems odd.

“No,” she laughs. “But on school nights I call it an early night because I need my sleep when my days call for wrangling children. It’s exhausting.”

“Wrangling up Shea is exhausting, I can’t imagine multiple kids. Does that mean you’re a teacher?”

“I am. Kindergarten. Want to show me how you can count to fifteen and then backwards? I’ll give you a scratch-and-sniff sticker if you nail it.”

Chuckling, I start to relax. Talking to Rachel seems almost too easy.

“Scratch and sniff, huh? That’s one hell of a prize.”

“Root beer is the favorite amongst the kids which I have low stock in, so don’t even try to ask for one.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I pause for a second before asking. “So about that date?”

“Yeah, about that . . .”

“When are you available?” I think over my schedule and cringe to myself when I recall all the nights I DON’T have off. This is going to be difficult.

“You tell me . . . Calder Weiss.” Oh shit, she knows who I am.

“Do some Googling when you got home?”

“Talked to my dad actually. Told him I met a guy outside the toilet and he was wearing a tiara and his name was Calder. I said you were positively irresistible.”

“Hell, you told your dad that?”

“Of course. I tell him everything. But in the midst of me describing the beauty that was your fairy wings and how they bitch slapped me, he interrupted me and asked for your name again. When I told him, he asked if your last name was Weiss and I told him I had no clue, which then spurred him to send me a text message with a picture attached and guess what? The picture was you.”

“Imagine that.” I chuckle.

“I asked him how he knew who you were, and can you believe he went on and told me you’re some professional hockey player with a knack for ramming full-grown men into walls with what seems like zero effort?”

“Oh believe me, there is effort involved. They’re not as light as they seem.”

“Shocking.” She laughs. “So, you’re kind of a big deal in the sports world. Now that I think about it, before we went on winter break, I saw some kids wearing Brawlers jerseys with Weiss on the back.”

I smile to myself. Knowing I’m a role model for little kids will never get old, it’s why I try to conduct myself in the best way possible, especially when it comes to my daughter. Setting a good example is one of my top priorities, besides taking care of Shea.

“I wouldn’t say big deal, but if you’re looking for an autograph, don’t think I’m just going to hand you one, you’re going to have to earn it.”

“Oh yeah?” There is humor and intrigue in her voice. “And how do you expect me to earn that precious autograph of yours?”

“I have a night off this Friday, go out with me.”

“Mmm . . . I like how forward that was.” She pauses and I hold my breath. “I think I can move things around so I can go out with you.”

“Yeah? You can clear your schedule for me? I feel honored.”

“As you should.” God, I like her. “Okay, so text me the details and if you really like me, don’t wear those ratty sweatpants on our date.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good, see you Friday.” Her voice drips with promise.

“See you Friday, Rachel. Have a good night.”

I hang up and rub my fingers up the side of my jaw while staring at the wall in front of me that’s covered in pictures of Shea from birth up until now. Frolicking in meadows, jumping in puddles, sitting in buckets, all personal photos I’d taken of my little girl. There’s a bright, beautiful smile on her little, cherub face, a light in her eyes that would make any father proud. I’ve done well raising her, I’m not ashamed to say that, especially given the challenges of my job and schedule. I’ve pulled in every resource I had available to me and spent countless hours making sure Shea has a normal life, despite being raised by a single parent.

I’m tired, I’m spent, and I’m lonely.

Shea is thriving. She’s kind, and sweet, and so goddamn funny—I created that. I’ve given her everything in me, the last five years of my life belonged to her and the Brawlers. I think it’s about time I give some time back to me. I think it’s time to do something for myself.

Snagging my computer from under the couch—not the best storage place, I know—I start searching for date ideas for Friday. If there is one thing I know, it’s that I want to impress Rachel, and since I’m out of practice, I’m going to need a little Google magic to help myself out.

Chapter Three

CALDER

Rachel: Have you ever been slapped in the back of the knees with a hockey stick?

Calder: No, but the hamstrings, calves, and ass, yes.

Rachel: Did the ass slap hurt? I would think it would actually feel more kinky than painful. If I was slapped by the blade of a hockey stick, I would probably welcome another one < - - too much?

Calder: LOL. Never too much. I appreciate your honesty. Question, did you have to look up the term blade?

Rachel: Are you stalking my internet search history? If so, please ignore the searches on there for resale value of Beanie Babies.

Calder: I heard the tie-dye rooster is going for a thousand dollars.

Rachel: Seriously???

Calder: No.

Rachel: You bastard! The date is off!

Calder: No it’s not, there’s no way you can get out of it now. You’ve committed, there’s no turning back.

Rachel: Damn it. You’re right, there’s no possible way I could stand you up . . .

Calder: Don’t even think about it. You already gave me your address. If I have to, I will camp out on your lawn until you come out for our date.

Rachel: Challenge accepted.

* * *

Rachel: Do you eat breakfast every morning? Are you one of those guys who eats half a dozen eggs, downs a rainbow sherbet flavored protein smoothie, and grabs a Power Bar on the way out to your gym session?

Calder: If I said you were almost one hundred percent accurate with that assessment, would you cancel our date on Friday?

Rachel: Yes.

Calder: Then nope, don’t eat breakfast every day, but when I do, it’s about a donut for each finger. I dangle them like rings and nibble away at them in the morning, just to feel whimsical.

Rachel: That’s my kind of man.

* * *

Calder: Have you ever gone skydiving?

Rachel: No, have you?

Calder: No, but I think we might on our date.

Rachel: You’re joking right? You’re drunk right now and have lost your damn mind. Tell me you’ve lost it, that you are truly certifiable at this moment right now.

Calder: Sober as sober can be.

Rachel: The date is REALLY off now.

Calder: I thought you had some adventure in you, maybe I read you wrong.

Rachel: Oh don’t get me wrong, there is adventure in me, but I like to keep it to a minimum. Jumping out of a plane with a guy I met outside a place where humans deposit their excrement doesn’t scream “best idea.”

Calder: Jumping out of planes with strangers is America’s new favorite pastime.

Rachel: Lies! America’s new favorite pastime is taking pictures of their food and letting it get cold until they get the exact shot they want. Cold fries is America’s favorite pastime, not plane jumping with bitch-slapping fairy men. Nice try, Weiss.

Calder: So I’m assuming that’s a no to the skydiving.

Rachel: That’s a hard no.

* * *

Rachel: Are you taking me to one of those wine-and-paint places? You know, where you get drunk and accidentally paint a nude-colored, phallic-shaped tree rather than what the instructor is teaching you to paint?

Calder: I take it you’ve been to one of those places before?

Rachel: I have two penis trees hanging above my fireplace. I named them Rueben and Jerry.

Calder: Are they . . . lovers?

Rachel: Who? Rueben and Jerry? Are you insane? Of course they’re not lovers, they’re brothers. God, what is wrong with you? Is that what you’re into, incestual dick paintings?

Calder: I can’t believe I gave myself away and you figured it out. God, I love some good brother dick-on-dick action . . .

Rachel: Okay, our date is REALLY, TRULY off now.

Calder: That’s what you keep saying, and yet you continue to talk to me.

Rachel: Consider it a sick fascination.

* * *

Calder: Thoughts on laser tag?

Rachel: Thoughts on spending Friday night alone?

Calder: Noted.

* * *

Rachel: How many times have you searched “Fun dates in Philly” on the internet this week?

Calder: About seven.

Rachel: Impressive, I would have guessed twice that amount.

Calder: I rounded down.

Rachel: How far did you round down?

Calder: Little less than half.

Rachel: That sounds about right. Are you having a hard time coming up with something?

Calder: The hardest. There aren’t many places that seem suitable for your ball gown-wearing self, who needs to be home by nine-thirty or else you turn into a ragged chambermaid.

Rachel: Don’t forget pumpkin carriage parking, it’s important that’s added into the mix.

Calder: Believe me, I’ve called two places already asking if they valet pumpkins.

Rachel: Any luck?

Calder: No, but I have received a few numbers for psychologists.

Rachel: Can you pass those along? From the sound of it, I might need to talk to someone after this date. . .

Calder: As a parting gift Friday night, I will hand you a laminated card with their numbers.

Rachel: A man who laminates, now we’re talking.

* * *

Calder: Hang up the ball gown and pull out your casual attire. I have our date planned and it doesn’t require you to drown yourself in tulle.

Rachel: What about pearls?

Calder: No.

Rachel: Sweater set?

Calder: I would prefer something not so . . . stuck up.

Rachel: Let me guess, you’re hoping for something along the lines of skinny jeans, tight shirt, heels, and a form-fitting leather jacket?

Calder: Now you’re talking.

Rachel: Too bad for you I’m ironing my peasant dress as we speak in preparation for Friday. And if you’re lucky, I might just don my bonnet.

Calder: Okay, I think it’s my turn to cancel the date.

Rachel: DON’T YOU DARE!

Calder: I don’t know . . . a bonnet?

Rachel: They’re very fetching.

Calder: Yeah, I think I’m busy Friday night . . .

* * *

Rachel: (Rubs hands together) Are you ready for tonight?

Calder: I thought we cancelled.

Rachel: Please, if I can look past your fairy wings, you can look past my bonnet.

Calder: I guess that’s fair. But for the record, I’m going to be sans tiara and wings tonight. Wanda will be nowhere near this date.

Rachel: But how on Earth am I supposed to recognize you then?

Calder: I’ll be the guy in the navy-blue button up and dark jeans.

Rachel: Aw, you already picked out what you’re going to wear.

Calder: After our phone call wardrobe mishap, I figured I better have an outfit picked out ahead of time, with a few backup options, just in case. I don’t want to disappoint again.

Rachel: Smart man . . . oh shoot (snaps fingers) looks like my bonnet is still at the dry cleaners. What a shame.

Calder: Oh no, how can we possibly go on? < - - said with all the sarcasm I could possibly muster

Rachel: I can feel the disappointment from here. Alright, Wanda, I’ll see you tonight. Can’t wait. :)

Calder: Me neither.

Chapter Four

Rachel

I take one last look in the mirror before I head to the front door of my apartment. Hair is in place, makeup is on point, and my boobs look amazing. I’m wearing a high-cut shirt, but it’s incredibly tight, perfectly framing my boobs under my snug leather jacket.

I’m nervous.

Yup, jittery, sweaty nervous. The worst kind.

I’ve been nervous since this morning when I was texting Calder. Knowing that I’m going out on a date with him tonight, with his charming sense of humor, it sets a ball of butterflies free in my stomach.

And it’s not because he’s a professional hockey player, or a celebrity, for that matter. I could care less about that.

No, I’m nervous because he seems like a larger-than-life man with enough confidence to rock me to my core. Hell, when I met him, he was dressed up like a fairy for his daughter, in public, completely and totally owning it while peeing into a urinal. If that doesn’t scream confidence in his manhood, I don’t know what does.

And what does confidence in one’s manhood lead to? Oh I’ll tell you . . . it leads to long, laborious, and mind-blowing nights in bed. Don’t get me wrong, Calder attracted me with his sense of humor and unabashed humility, but that confidence, that confidence I see in his texts, yeah, that’s what’s causing me to shake in my heels.

Knock, knock.

He’s getting impatient. But I don’t feel ready.

I bite on my bottom lip and take a deep breath. “You can do this. Be charming, be flirtatious, and be you.”

The pep talk feels foreign, since I really never do that, but for some reason, it has me puffing my chest forward and walking with a bit of a sway to my hips.

Opening the door, I plaster on a bright smile and cock my hip to the side, trying to put on a little bit of a show, but all the bravado I’d mustered up seconds ago quickly vanishes the minute I lay my eyes on Calder.

Standing before me, head tilted down, hand gripping the back of his neck, Calder is dressed in a navy-blue button up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark jeans—just like he said—and a panty-melting smile caressing those plush lips of his.

Oh hell.

I kind of wish Wanda had showed up.

“Hey there.” He gives me a once over, that smile growing bigger with each passing glance.

Swallowing hard and gathering my wits, I say, “Hey.” I shift on my feet, unsure of what to do next. Thankfully Calder is smoother than me.

He nods toward his car parked out front. “Ready? I don’t want to be late.”

“Sure.” I snag my purse and start to walk out the door when Calder stops me.

“Uh, is that shirt stretchy?”

I glance down at my shirt and then back up at Calder. “Uh, what does it matter? Do you plan on stretching out my shirt?”

“Maybe a little. Does it stretch?”

Confused, I pull on the hem of it. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Good.” He takes my hand and shuts my door behind me. “Let’s go.”

“Should I be concerned as to why you’re asking about the stretch of my shirt?”

“Not even a little.” Guiding me by the hand, he helps me into his black Range Rover and shuts my door. The seats are heated and immediately make me feel comfortable. New car smell still lingers, and I wonder how old his SUV must be. Can’t be that old if he has a five-year-old. Believe me, I know all about five-year-olds and the smells they’re able to create.

Calder hops in and roars the engine to life. He must have had my seat warmer on during his drive to pick me up. That’s a thoughtful man right there. Take notes, ladies.

“Are you ready for this?”

“I’m not sure. I’m telling you right now, if you take me skydiving, I’m going to give you a swift kick to the nut sac.”

He puts the car into drive and takes off down the road. “There won’t be any extreme sporting tonight. We’re going old school.”

“Old school?”

He glances over at me and says, “Just you wait.”

Zipping through the one-way streets of Philly, Calder drives with ease, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift, looking powerful, sexy, and commanding. While he maneuvers his way to our destination, I take the time to really absorb him. His square jaw is freshly shaven, his dirty-blond hair smoothly shaven all the way down, the buzz cut looking incredibly attractive on him, and those eyelashes of his, criminal on a man. Not to mention the fullness of his lips . . . I wonder what they taste like?

“Are you a chocolate candy girl or a fruit candy girl?”

“Eh?” I ask, pulling myself away from his looks and into the conversation he’s trying to have.

“Candy. Do you prefer chocolate base or a fruit-flavored base?”

“Oh. Hmm.” I take a second to ponder his question. “Depends on my mood.”

“What about tonight?” He switches his blinker on, looks over his shoulder, and pulls into a parking spot that’s parallel to a CVS drugstore. “What is your mood telling you tonight?”

He puts the car in park, turns off the ignition, and faces me, the street lights casting an orange glow over us. “Tonight? I’m not sure. You’re putting me on the spot. I don’t even know what my choices are.”

Shaking his head, he sighs and says, “Fine, come on.”

He meets me around on my side of the car, helps me out, then locks up. We walk into the CVS and I’m seriously concerned about where this date is heading. If he starts buying blood-cleaning supplies and tarps, I’m out.

“CVS, wow, you sure know how to woo a woman,” I joke, looking around the establishment, my eyes falling on the display of As Seen on TV products. Does that foot egg thing really work? You know, the thing that’s supposed to get all the dead skin off your feet? It seems too good to be true.

“CVS is not our date, just the beginning.”

“Are we getting supplies to kill someone? Because I don’t think we went over our hard limits when it comes to dating. Unfortunately, murder is on the no-no list for me.”

Not even sparing me a glance or a smile to let me know murder is OFF the table, he brings me to the candy aisle, where the bright colors of hundreds of candy bars stare back at me. This aisle is a child’s dream and a parent’s nightmare.

“Go ahead, pick out what you want.”

“What?” I ask, looking at him. “Pick some candy?”

“Yeah. Whatever you want. Just know, we’ll be having dinner, so don’t get too much.”

“And what’s for dinner? Lucky Charms and milkshakes?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, that would be my daughter’s dream dinner.” He almost mutters the sentence halfway through, as if he’s catching himself.

I press my hand against his arm. “You know, you can talk about her, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” He lets out a long breath. “But I don’t want to turn this night into a montage of everything adorable my daughter does because I could occupy your entire night about stories of Shea, and I really want this night to be about us, about something nostalgic I used to do before responsibilities and jobs, and being a dad came into my life.”

“Sounds like a dream.” I turn back to the candy. “Okay, so you have to give me some kind of information about where we’re taking this candy. What I choose really depends on what we’re going to do with it. I mean, are we playing fast and loose with this candy? Riding into the wind, candy bar in hand? Or are we taking it slow and easy, something where I can casually pop a few pieces into my mouth.”

He nods in understanding. “Ah, I get you. You’re very thoughtful when it comes to your candy.”

“I have to be. I know I’m an adult and I can do whatever the hell I want, but it’s not every day I get to dabble in the candy department.”

“No?” He quirks an eyebrow at me.

I shake my head. “No, I have to keep up a great figure if I want to attract tiara-wearing fathers like yourself.”

“If I wasn’t so confident in my own skin, you’d be giving me a complex about my choice of headwear.” Confident, oh believe me, I know.

Turning back toward the candy, I study it and ask, “So, what’s the plan? You have to give me some kind of information.”

“Fair enough.” He sticks his hands in his back pockets and for the first time since I met him, he shows a small bit of insecurity, making him more relatable, more human, easier to breathe around.

Okay, maybe he’s just as nervous as I am.

“I spent all week trying to come up with the perfect date for us. I looked into everything around the city, all the new fads and restaurants, and honestly, none of them seemed good enough. Hell, you wore a ball gown on our first phone call. How could I sit back and think you deserve a lesser date?”

“I am fancy.” I primp my hair and give him a smirk.

“I figured, so I thought, why not play it completely old school?”

“I’m intrigued. What’s old school to you?”

He reaches in his back pocket and pulls out two tickets. He holds them out to me and splays them with his fingers. In bold, black writing, right down the center, the tickets say “Die Hard.”

Brow raised, I give him my best are-you-kidding look. “Die Hard?”

Chuckling to himself, he put the tickets back in his pocket. “Old-school dating, to me, is sneaking snacks into a movie and making out the entire time.”

I snort and cover my mouth. Oh my God. “So when you say old-school dating, you don’t mean old school as in 1950’s gentlemanly actions, you mean . . . like high school dating.”

“Is there anything better than high school dating?”

“A lot.” I laugh, loving how his cheeks are starting to blush from his idea. “But I’m digging this. Still iffy about the make-out session, but we’ll see where the night takes us.” I turn back to the candy and start assessing what I want to grab. “Why Die Hard?”

Standing next to me, his shoulder brushing against mine, he says, “Seemed like the cheesiest thing to take you to, plus, I figured if I took you to the cheap theater that plays old movies, I have a higher chance of getting you to make out with me.”

“How do you figure?”

“Because if you’ve seen the movie, it’s not like you would be missing anything.” Looking down at me, a boyish charm exuding from his smirk, he sheepishly asks, “Have you seen Die Hard?”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I hold my answer back for a few seconds, just to make him sweat a little. “Lucky for you and your endeavors to get me to make out with you, I have seen Die Hard.”

Cutely, Calder does a small fist pump to the side, expressing his excitement over my answer.

“You know what’s funny?”

“What?” he steps forward, his space invading mine, heating my body up to dangerous levels, like sweat levels. I don’t want to be sweaty, not if he plans on making out with me, because I think you and I both know what happens during a make-out session: roaming hands. I love a good wayward hand that accidentally flicks a nipple, but what if I’m sweating and he grips the back of my neck, where it’s all dewy? What an embarrassing nightmare that would be.

Trying to hide the affect he has on me, I answer, “You’re a professional hockey player, very well known not just here in Philly, but around the country. Grown men would kill to have a make-out session with you—”

“That’s weird.”

“But true.” He takes a second but then humorously nods. “So you have all these men who worship you, children who want to be you, and a giant bank account with over a million reasons as to why men, women, and children adore you so much.”

“Your point?”

“Instead of taking me on a fancy date, you paid two dollars for a movie ticket and we’re sneaking treats in so we don’t have to pay for the up charge on movie theater goodies.” I smile brightly at him. “I like that a lot.”

“Yeah?” There is hope in his eyes.

“Yeah.”

“So,” he steps closer and grabs my hand with his. “Does this mean my chances of making out with you have grown exponentially?”

“I wouldn’t say exponentially, but I would say you’ve gotten closer to at least a peck on the cheek.”

“Damn.” He grips his jaw and stares down at me. “I don’t even have a peck yet? You’re a tough crowd, but I’m willing to work for it.”

“Good, because you’re going to have to.” I wink and start gathering candy. Little does he know, he’s not going to have to work that hard, because I don’t think it’s going to be possible to stay away from his lips for that long.

* * *

“If you think I’m wearing that, you can think again.”

“Come on, I can’t wear it.”

“You sure as hell can,” I protest.

“Men don’t get pregnant.”

I look him up and down and say, “Men get beer bellies.”

He looks down at his stomach and back up at me. “Sure, men get beer bellies, but star hockey players don’t. I was on the cover of Men’s Health, shirtless, sporting an eight pack last month. There is no way in hell I can walk in that theater with a beer belly.”

How did I miss that issue of Men’s Health? Note to self . . . subscribe!

“So when you were thinking old-school dating, you thought I would walk into the movie theater with a Styrofoam half circle under my shirt containing not a fetus, but a bag full of candy.” Leaning forward in the car, I say, “You want me to give birth to chocolate in the movie theater.”

Maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but never in my life have I ever seen this idea. And what’s super cute—and it’s weird that I think it’s cute—is that when Calder told me about his idea, he was genuinely excited, as if we were about to pull a fast one.

From behind his seat, he brought forward a hollow Styrofoam half circle and held it out to me, giddy to see me pretend I’m pregnant so we can smuggle in all our treats. He said his brother and sister-in-law do it all the time.

I mean, it’s a good idea . . .

“Is that why you wanted me to wear a stretchy shirt?”

“Maybe.” His guilty look weirdly warms my heart.

Sighing, I stare down at the circle. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“Insanely fun.”

I chuckle. “God, this is ridiculous.” I take the half moon, pour my twenty candy bars, Skittles, and Fun Dip in the shell and then stick it under my shirt. My shirt stretches around the little orb, and I’m relieved the only thing living inside my fake stomach is a toothache waiting to happen.

Laughing to himself, Calder asks, “Are you ready?”

“I’m going to get you back for this, you realize that, right? And your little make-out session is loooooong gone.”

“We’ll see about that.” He exits the car and rounds the front where he opens my door. Holding out his hand, he helps me out. My hand instinctively goes to my fake belly, and I hold it in position.

I glance at my belly, not able to see my cute heels, and say, “Never in a million years did I think you would impregnate me on the first date.”

As he closes the door, he starts laughing so hard, he starts coughing. I give him a few sturdy pats on his back, just to be nice, because honestly, what else do you do when someone chokes on their own saliva?

“Damn, I’m so good, I impregnated you without even taking your pants off.”

We walk toward the older building that houses the cheap movie theater, Calder’s hand on my back, his body especially close. “You know, I’ve heard of hot guys getting girls pregnant just from a picture on the internet, but I never thought it would happen in real life.”

“Do you feel special?” His smile is so brilliant.

“Yeah,” I rub my hands together. “Child support and the life of luxury here I come.” I point my finger at him. “Don’t you dare think I’m going to let you just walk away. You have responsibilities now, mister.”

“Ahh, you’re one of those girls, huh?”

“Better believe it.”

Calder hands the guy at the front door our tickets that he picked up earlier in the day, then walks us into the lobby. There is red everywhere. Curtains, carpet, counters, tables, and chairs. Track lighting frames the baseboards and molding, and the concession stand worker is wearing an old hat and jacket like they used to wear back in the day. The poor kid.

There are two theaters. One is playing Happy Feet, and the other is playing Die Hard. The movies change every week to keep things fresh. Between the two movies for today, I’m glad he chose Die Hard, because dancing penguins doesn’t quite scream sexy. But Bruce Willis killing people, showing off his man-chest, now that’s sexy!

When we reach the theater, I’m reminded how small the seating area is, and how tiny the screen is. I’m sure there are home theaters bigger than this place, but I’m kind of enjoying the intimacy. Calder picks a row with only two seats in the back. He takes the seat next to the wall and lifts the arm rest so there’s nothing between us.

I see what he’s doing, getting all snuggly.

Eyeing my “stomach” he says, “Are you ready to push?”

“Will you catch the baby?”

“Gladly,” he chuckles.

Peeling my shirt up, I lift it over the “baby bump” and release the Styrofoam that Calder expertly catches by the dome so the candy is right side up and ready to be picked at. He sets the dome on the ground and says, “Look, the perfect bowl. It’s useful in so many ways.”

I have to give it to him, he’s right. The damn thing is useful. I make a mental note to tell all my friends about this idea. Sorry movie theaters, maybe lower your concession stand prices and I won’t have to be so stealth, with my fake baby bump.

“I hate how much I like this Styrofoam thing.”

“Stick with me, babe, I have so much more to show you.”

Oh damn, I hope he shows me with his tongue!

* * *

“Does it sound like I’m ordering pizza?” Bruce Willis screams into a phone, making me chuckle.

I’ve worked my way through two candy bars; I kept it respectable, because I don’t feel like gorging myself on the first date. Now the second date, I hold nothing back, but the first, I try to present myself in somewhat of a dignified manner.

Since the movie started, Calder has been very much to himself. He’s kept to his side of his seat, leaning on the opposite arm rest, and he’s been focused on the screen in front of him, not once giving me the idea that he remembers I’m on the date with him.

It’s kind of weird actually, almost as if he’s been all talk this entire time and when the moment is here, to make a move, he’s choking. It’s seriously odd.

What happened to the suave man with all the confidence? Right now, he looks like a guy who has never been on a date before, or someone who’s so infatuated with Bruce Willis that—

Oh, hold on a second . . .

Calder shifts to the side, his shoulder brushing against mine now, his eyes still trained on the screen in front of us. From the corner of my eye, I watch as his hand slowly makes its way to the edge of his thigh, where my leg is brushing against his.

Is he going to make a move?

Wanting to make it easy on him, since he seems a little nervous despite his bravado from before, I move my hand close to his but keep it on my leg, not being too bold, just in case I’m looking too far into things.

Gunshots splash across the screen, Bruce Willis looking damn good in his white tank top, trying to defeat the Christmas Eve terrorists. The room lights up from the screen, giving me a quick view of Calder’s hand moving even closer to mine.

When he said old school, he really meant old school didn’t he? I don’t think I’ve felt this kind of innocent anticipation since I was in high school and went on a date with Ricky Kingston, who took an hour to even look me in the eyes.

Holding my breath, I wait for his next move, and when his pinky reaches out and touches mine, an entire wave of euphoric heat shoots across my body. It’s a pinky touch, just a pinky, but it offers so much promise of what’s to come.

At first, he’s hesitant, his pinky barely stroking my hand, but when I turn my hand over, wanting to clasp his, he doesn’t initially take the offer.

Instead, he does something I wasn’t expecting, something that has me squirming in my seat.

Carefully, almost feather like, he starts to brush his index finger over my palm, drawing lazy, slow circles, sending chills all the way up my arms and down my spine. It’s a small movement, something that shouldn’t have such a huge affect on me, but it does. Feeling his thick finger drag over my small palm has me thinking of all the other things he could do with that digit.

Now using all his fingers, he traces his fingertips up mine. His low-cut nails barely scraping along my skin, making the pads of his fingers feel so light, so unscathed, as if he doesn’t hold a wooden stick in his hand for a living.

Up and down, up and down, his fingers sending me into a blissful state. I curve my hand around his, so my fingers touch the back of his, and that’s when he clasps my hand and rubs his thumb along my skin, turning my hand over in his and resting our connection on my thigh.

He continues his slow, methodic movements, making the movie practically unwatchable because my mind is racing, wondering what he might do next.

Did he plan this? Did he do this little round about way of getting my attention on purpose? Is he slowly seducing me, turning me into a ball of putty?

If so, he’s damn good at it. I mentally slow clap for him, because damn, I’m in all kinds of need for him.

Chapter Five

CALDER

I’m so out of my fucking element right now.

It’s been five years since I’ve truly tried to impress a girl, truly cared enough to want to make her like me, and it’s showing right now, because it’s taken me a good portion of the movie to make my first move.

Hell, I’ve been all talk up to this point. Does she even know how nervous I am right now? How apprehensive I am about every move I make? I thought about taking her hand at the beginning of the movie but chickened out. I haven’t paid attention to one second of this damn movie because I can’t stop chastising myself for being a giant pussy where this woman is concerned.

Fuck, she’s so cool, and witty, and funny. I’ve never met another woman like her, and the more I get to know her, the more I like her, making me fumble and act like a fucking teenage boy, hence the delay in hand holding. I might as well have yawned and stretched my arm over the back of her chair at the same time. That’s the kind of “game” I have at this point. Completely pathetic.

When we had Shea and I became a single dad, the thought of jumping back into the dating scene never crossed my mind, not until I met Rachel, and now I’m kind of wishing I had a little bit of practice before meeting her, at least two other dates so I could fumble over someone other than Rachel.

Biting the side of my mouth, I try to decide what do to next. This hand holding thing is nice, but I feel like I need to step up my game, especially after seeing from the corner of my eye how much my little palm tracing affected her breath. It became slightly labored as her mouth parted open in an “O” shape.

Feeling the warmth of her thigh, I figure I should just go for it, jump right into stage two of whatever the hell you call this pre-pubescent perusal I’m doing. The back of my hand is against her leg, so I casually slip my fingers away from hers and turn my hand over, placing my palm over her skinny-jean-covered leg. I hold my breath, waiting for her reaction, waiting to see if she’s going to slap me away, but she doesn’t. Instead, she places her hand on top of mine, giving me reassurance that what I’m doing is okay.

Loving the way her hand is eclipsing mine, I start rubbing the inside of her thigh with my pinky and ring finger. Her hand grips mine tightly so I immediately stop, thinking I might have pushed too far, that’s until her hand wanders over to my thigh—my upper thigh—where she rubs her palm up and down my jeans, just a few inches, but enough to have me squirming in my damn seat.

There are a few other couples in the theater, but they’re all sitting in front of us, giving us all the privacy we need. Well, not all the privacy, but enough so they don’t see the dance of wandering hands being conducted in the back row of the theater.

With every pass of her hand, it climbs higher and higher and closer to my crotch without actually touching me inappropriately, just enough to make me harder than a fucking stack of nails.

Fuck, I can’t remember the last time a woman made me this hard in a matter of seconds, like fucking seconds. One pass up my thigh and my dick is knocking against the zipper of my jeans, looking for more attention.

I clear my throat and adjust myself in my seat, pushing down on my jeans because I’m really unsure of how to react. She adjusts as well, crossing her legs in my direction, her perfume wafting towards me, making me hazy with lust as John McClane shoots off his gun, acting like a total badass. It’s a weird combination, being turned on while Bruce Willis does his thing, I just hope this doesn’t turn into some Pavlov mind trick. If I start getting hard when I see Bruce Willis, I’m going to have a huge issue with that . . . no pun intended.

Hand still on my thigh, Rachel leans closer toward me so I take the opportunity to lift my arm up and around her shoulders. At first, I miss the contact of her thigh, but once she snuggles into my side, I couldn’t care less about where my hand once was.

She feels so small up against me, so petite, and fragile, the complete opposite of her personality. She’s bold and almost larger than life when you talk to her. I love the stark contradiction, it makes her that much more special.

And fuck does she smell good. Like honey and fresh mint, it’s an addicting combination that has me taking deeper breaths to soak her all in.

She continues to rub her hand along my thigh and I continue to get harder and harder with each passing second. I’m biting my bottom lip to keep myself under control when she pulls on my shirt and looks up at me. I glance her way just in time to hear her say, “Thank you for taking me out tonight.”

Smiling, I say, “Thank you for saying yes.”

Her eyes go to my lips, just as her tongue peaks out and wets her mouth.

That’s the universal sign, the open invitation for kissing, the one and only way besides saying it out loud to tell someone to kiss you.

I’m not so out of touch that I don’t understand what she’s asking, or the moves she’s making. Does she sense my hesitation, my nerves? Can she tell I’m trying to figure this all out as I go? That I’m not as suave as I wished I was?

I sure as hell hope not.

Her eyes trained on me, the movie barely even noticed by both of us, I decide to take it to the next step, and if she wants to stop me she can, but from her signals, I’m thinking this is where this night is going.

With my hand that’s not wrapped around her, I cup her cheek and inch her forward.

“Are you going to kiss me?” Her eyes search mine.

Wanting to be assertive, I don’t answer her. Instead, I lower my lips and gently caress my mouth against hers. It’s the lightest of touches, nothing overly sexual, just a general getting to know each other, gathering the lay of the land.

Soft and smooth, just what I thought she was going to be like, with a slight hint of urgency in the return of her kiss.

I pull away just as there is a huge explosion on the screen. I glance to see what’s happening when Rachel turns my head back toward hers and presses her mouth against mine, taking me slightly by surprise, but I’m quickly put at ease once her lips start exploring mine.

Demanding but sweet.

She nibbles on my lower lip, parting my mouth open just enough for her tongue to touch mine. Fuck yes.

Wanting more, I turn in my chair so I’m facing her and grip her cheeks, locking her in place, giving her no wiggle room to retreat from me, and from the way she’s leaning her entire body into mine, I’m going to assume she doesn’t want wiggle room.

The way her eyes sparkle up at me, the way her lips part ever so slightly, and the tight grip she has on my shirt is a lethal combination that has me propelling forward, diving my lips into hers.

Instinctively, her lips part and my tongue finds hers, causing us both to quietly moan to ourselves. Mouths locked, tongues tangling, hands gripping, ready to wander, this is the old-school date I was hoping for.

There is something about making out with a girl, something so innocent about it, that has my balls tightening, begging for more.

I grab one of her thighs and drag my hand around her side to her ass, where I grip it tightly. Clad in jeans, and tight as fuck, I love the feel of her ass in my palm, how firm it is, but also soft. I squeeze tightly, sending her up and off her chair for a brief second.

I can feel her smile against my mouth, the humor a total turn on for me. She inches closer and I help her until she’s straddling my lap.

Rachel is straddling my lap . . . in a movie theater, with Bruce Willis in the background.

Anyone could turn around and see the compromising position we’re in, even possibly take pictures, but I couldn’t care less at this moment. I can’t remember the last time I did anything like this in public, and it’s igniting an old flame inside of me, an adventurous flame, a throw-caution-to-the-wind kind of flame, a flame I would have kept burnt out, until Rachel came and set it on fire.

Her hands fall to my shoulders, my hands find her waist, and our lips meet in the middle as her core presses against my very aroused lap. Either she can’t tell, or she doesn’t care, because instead of making it known that she can feel just how turned on I am, her lips go back to work.

When I said I wanted a make-out session, I was hopeful at best, I didn’t think it would actually happen, but now that it is happening, I tune everything around us out and focus on one thing and one thing alone: how perfect this feels, to have Rachel pressed against me, her lips branding mine.

I’m not sure this night can get any better.

* * *

Rachel tosses the Styrofoam “belly” in the back seat and buckles up before turning toward me. When the movie ended and the lights came on, Rachel quickly scurried off my lap, leaving me harder than stone, and so damn turned on that I made her sit with me until I could calm myself enough to make the walk back to the car.

We haven’t spoken a word to each other since we left the theater and now that we’re in the car, it feels incredibly awkward that we haven’t said anything to each other.

I grip the back of my neck and say, “So . . . you’re a good kisser.”

See that ladies and gentlemen? That’s something someone who hasn’t been on the dating scene for a while would say.

It seems so lame, so immature.

Chuckling, Rachel squeezes my arm. “You’re pretty good yourself, and feeling how hard you were underneath me was a welcome little treat.”

Oh fuck, she could feel me.

Swallowing as if my throat has compressed, I ask, “Yeah, you could feel that?”

“Hard not to when it was turning me on to no end.” She bites her bottom lip. “You’re big.”

Cue the blush.

Fuck, guys should not blush, but for some reason, I fucking do. Thankfully it’s dark enough in the car that she can’t see how red I just got. I know I have a big cock and I’ve had women tell me I have a big cock before, but it was in the middle of fucking, so hearing the words spoken from someone else never truly affected me, not until now.

Awkwardly, I answer, “Uh, thank you.”

“Like . . . really big, Calder.”

I chuckle awkwardly. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“It might be, but that’s not something we have to worry about just yet.”

Damn, I wish it was.

Clearing my throat, I put my hands on the steering wheel and ask, “Are you hungry?”

“After our little make-out session back there, I would say so. What do you have in mind?”

“I have the perfect thing.”

It doesn’t take us very long to drive through the city—surprisingly—and the dating gods must love me, because I pull up to the restaurant and find a parking spot on the side of the street, only a block away. I was convinced we would be driving around for a bit, looking for a place to park.

“Is it weird that watching you parallel park is a turn on?” Rachel asks just as I turn off the vehicle.

“Um, maybe? That’s the first someone has ever said that to me. Why is it a turn on?”

She gestures to my hands. “I don’t know, but there’s something about watching your forearms flex as you turn and reverse the car. You handle big machinery very well.”

I’m tempted to give her a cheesy joke like, “I’ve been handling big machinery my entire life,” but I refrain and hop out of the car. When I help Rachel out on her side, I catch another whiff of her scent, which just about knocks me back on the sidewalk of Philadelphia.

So fucking sweet.

So fucking addicting.

“I hope you like mac and cheese.”

Rachel links her hand with mine, the gesture calming my racing heart. Why does it feel like she was made for me? Is that weird to think so early? There’s just something about how she fits me so well, how when she was snuggled up against me in the theater, she was the perfect fit. And right now, holding her hand, it just feels so right it’s almost startling.

“Mac and cheese is one of my top-five favorite meals, along with tacos, beef stroganoff, pot stickers, and burgers.”

“Wow, you rattled those off pretty quickly.”

Leaning into me, she says, “I’m going to let you in on a little secret, I like food and I’m not afraid to admit it. My dream job would be to travel the world and eat all the food while someone records all my yummy noises. Who wouldn’t want to be paid to do that?”

“Someone with IBS?” I ask, no clue as to why. Believe it or not, I’m pretty sure IBS is on the list of things you don’t talk about on a first date.

Standing tall, Rachel thinks about my suggestion. “I don’t think you could be any more correct with that response. You’re so right, IBS would ruin that job. Thankfully I don’t have to worry about that. Next time I send in an audition tape for a traveling television show on Food Network, I will be sure to heavily emphasize that I do not have IBS. I’m sure that’s a plus for them, not having someone run to the bathroom all the time, especially when filming.”

Confused, I ask, “Have you auditioned before?”

“Just once,” she answers, her fingers squeezing around mine. “I sent in an audition tape for Top Chef.”

“Oh shit, really? You must be a really good cook.”

“I’m not,” she answers, “but I thought it would be fun to apply because if you never try, you’ll never know what you can do.”

“So that means you have at least some skills.”

“Not even in the slightest. In my audition tape, I cut a potato with a butter knife. Not my finest moment, but oh hell, did I tear open that potato. By the end of my night in the kitchen, that potato was asking me what it could do to make my job easier.”

I study her. “You really love exaggerating, don’t you?”

“One of my favorite pastimes.”

“Good to know.” I chuckle and open the door for her, the smell of melted cheese consuming us. Damn that smells good. Not as good as Rachel, but pretty damn close. “Have you been here before?”

“Never, and now I’m hating myself for it because from what I can tell, this is my new Mecca.” She releases my hand and goes straight to the counter, where she starts chatting with one of the employees. She’s animated with her hand gestures and speaks with such enthusiasm . . . about mac and cheese. It’s adorable.

Walking up behind her, I put my hand on her hip and listen to their conversation.

“Are we talking crispy bacon? It’s got to be crispy if it’s on top of mac and cheese.”

“It’s the crispiest, ma’am. I agree with you, soggy bacon is a travesty, especially when mixed with noodles and cheese.”

“Amen.” Rachel waves her hands in the air. “I’ll take the BBQ Bacon Bowl then.” Leaning her head back, she asks, “And what would you like, big guy?”

Big guy? Jesus.

“I would like the Crabby Mac Bowl please and two drinks.” I pull out my wallet and hand the guy some money while Rachel snuggles in close to me.

“We’re on our first date.” Rachel coos up at me. “Can you tell?”

The cashier smiles up at us and when he looks me in the eyes, his mouth drops open and he starts to point. “You’re . . . you’re Calder Weiss. Oh man, your game last night, when you slammed Declan into the wall, stole the puck, and shot it down to Holmes for that goal, dude, I re-watched that at least five times in a row. He had no idea you were coming for him.” He reaches his hand out. “Can I just shake your hand? Would that be alright? Just give me a sturdy shake.”

Chuckling, I reach out and take the guy’s hand. “Thanks for watching the games, man.”

“I never miss one. Even when I’m working here at The Mart. We have the game going on in the back.” He looks at me in disbelief, still holding onto my hand. “Man, this made my night. I’m so glad I work here now. Shit, I might start crying.”

Casually slipping my hand from his and placing it on Rachel’s lower back, I say, “No need to shed tears man. Hey, how about you give me your information on the receipt and I’ll be sure to send you over some tickets.”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Rachel giggles next to me. “No, it would be my pleasure.”

The kid rips paper from the receipt printer, pulls the cap off a pen, and starts writing frantically. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Calder Weiss is going to give me tickets. I can’t fucking believe this.” Holding out the paper, he hands it to me then oddly bows, clasping his hands together. “Thank you. Holy shit, thank you. This made my year.”

“It’s no problem.” I put the receipt in my wallet and give him a small salute. “I’m going to try to woo my date now, but have a good night.”

“You too.” The kid has tears welling up in his eyes and before he can set them free, I guide Rachel to a table and chairs, away from the potential crier. I like fans, I really enjoy them actually, but when they cry, that just makes me feel weird. I don’t think anyone should be crying over me.

I pull out her chair for her but before she sits down, she places her hand on my arm and says, “That was super sweet of you, to send that guy tickets. You truly made his day.”

“It was nothing.” I try to shake off the compliment, because I just did what any other professional athlete would have done, or at least should have done.

“No, it was everything.” Standing on her toes, she presses a kiss on my cheek and takes her seat.

Heat billows at the base of my stomach as I take a seat next to her, spreading my arm over the back of her chair, not really sure what to say. Thankfully, Rachel is talkative.

“So, since you’re handing out tickets and everything . . .”

I laugh. “Would you like to go to a game?”

“I would love to. I’ve never been to a game before, so it would be really exciting.”

“We have a home game tomorrow; do you want to go?” I hold my breath, wondering if that’s too presumptuous, too quick, but when she smiles brightly and claps her hands in excitement, I think differently. She is genuinely excited.

“Oh I would love to. That would be so much fun.”

“Do you want me to get a ticket for your dad, since he knew who I was?”

“Are you serious?” She presses her hand on my thigh and right about now, I would do anything she wanted just to keep it there.

“Yeah, of course. I’m assuming he would want to go.”

“Are you kidding me? He would die. Oh my God, look at me, I’m being just like that guy back there.”

“Nah, I think that guy was ready to kiss—”

Rachel leans over and presses her lips against mine, her hands gripping my shirt, her tongue pressing into my mouth. I grip the back of her neck, my fingers tangling with her hair while her tongue dances with mine in the most intimate way. Just like in the movie theater, I start to get hard, but before I can get comfortable with the way her mouth is moving across mine, she puts unwanted distance between us, her hand cupping my cheek, her eyes incredibly sincere as she says, “Thank you, Calder.”

Clearing my throat, I twirl a piece of her blonde hair with my finger. “Of course. Hell, I’ll get you all the tickets if that’s the kind of thank you I get.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

I hold my hands up. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Chewing on the side of my cheek, I think for a second before saying, “You know, if you want, after the game we can go out, maybe grab a drink with my buddy, Hayden.”

She raises a fucking cute eyebrow at me. “Are you asking me out on a second date, Calder Weiss?”

“I think I am. What would you say to that?”

She leans back in her chair, assessing me. “Let’s see, you’ve been a gentleman all night, aside from the blatant ass grabs in the movie theater. You make me laugh, and are very handsome. You are a safe driver, which is important since you have a daughter, and you have a huge cock. Hmm . . .” she scratches her chin. “I think I’m going to say yes.”

Laughing, I shake my head. “It’s the big cock that got you, wasn’t it?”

“Nope, it wasn’t the big cock, that’s just the cherry on top of the cake.”

“Then what was it?”

She presses her lips together, giving my question some serious thought. “Honestly? It’s the way you treat people. Your daughter, you dress up for her. The guy at the theater, you asked him how his night was going. The boy at the register back there, you’re giving him free tickets. You’re a genuinely sweet, kind, and giving man. It’s a very attractive quality.”

“Thank you.” I look down at my hands.

“And that right there.” She pokes my cheek. “The way you blush, it’s hot. You’re this confident, attractive man, but you can blush as red as a tomato in seconds. Some women like a cocky son of a bitch, not me, I like my men sensitive, sweet, and animals in bed. I know the first two are true, waiting to find out about the third.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

This woman, she has me by the fucking balls, and quickly. It’s scary how much I like her, and it’s not just because she’s smart, funny, and keeps me on my toes. It’s the way she can easily pick out my best qualities, the qualities I take great pride in.

Leaning closer, I bring my hand to her hip and whisper in her ear while squeezing her. “I’ll tell you right now, you will be more than pleasantly surprised by the third quality you’re looking for.” I bite down on her earlobe. “You can count on it.”

“Oh sweet heavenly mother . . .”

Chapter Six

RACHEL

“Thank you for tonight, I had a lot of fun.”

Calder squeezes my hand, his thumb still rubbing my skin, the feeling so comforting. “So did I, especially when you manhandled me in the movie theater and took advantage of me.”

“Excuse me?” I put one of my hands on my hip. “Manhandled? Took advantage? You were the one begging to be made out with before we even got to the theater, I was just throwing you a bone.”

He raises both eyebrows, his forehead creasing with surprise. “Throwing me a bone?” There is humor lighting up his voice. “Are you saying . . . you felt bad for me?”

I shrug, not committing to his statement and loving the way he’s so easily joking around with me, how comfortable he feels. We’ve spent a few hours together, but it almost feels like we’ve known each other for years.

“I see.” He releases my hand and steps away, pulling on the back of his neck while staring down at me. I’m about to take back my teasing when he pins me with one of the most consuming and sexy looks I’ve ever seen. Eyes dark, heady, full of lust. His body powerful, heaving, ready to pounce. His lips wet, desirable, addicting.

Stepping forward, in one motion, he pins me against the door of my apartment, his hand to my hip, the other one by my head. His gaze locks on mine, the air suffocating me with his scent. His chest is so close, his head mere inches away, his lips glistening and ready.

I’m aware that we’ve already made out, that we’ve explored each other’s mouths all night, but right here, right now, this feels more intimate than anything we’ve done thus far.

“I don’t like it when people take pity on me, Rachel.” His voice is low, sultry, so freaking smooth. “I want a woman to want to kiss me, I don’t want her throwing me a bone.”

He knows I’m joking, there was so much humor in his voice a few seconds ago, but right now, it almost seems like he’s trying to prove a point, and oh boy, am I going to let him.

“Not only do I want a woman to want me, but I want her to crave me, to want to breath the same air as me.”

“You want them obsessed?”

He nods. “I want to consume them so I’m the only thing they can ever think about.”

“That’s pretty cocky of you, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “No, because I know when I’m with someone who I really like, someone who makes me laugh and smile, and someone who challenges me . . . someone like you, I will feel that exact way about them. I’ll be consumed by their scent, by their smile, by the way they gently take my hand in theirs. I’ll crave to hear their voice, to make them laugh, to catch a quick glance in my direction. They will be the only person I think about, the only person I want to hear talk on the phone, and the only person I want to see at night.”

I take in a deep breath, my lungs feeling shaky and my heart beating a mile a minute.

Calder’s eyes burn a path down my shirt, back up my neck, to my face, where he gently licks his lips and leans forward, his mouth a centimeter from mine.

“I like you, Rachel, I like you a lot. You’re someone I can get lost in, easily, without even trying.” His lips skip my mouth and direct back again, where he whispers, “Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with that, he pushes off my door and without a retreating glance, he takes off, hopping in his car and driving away.

My hands are pressed against the door behind me, granting me balance. My heart is nearly beating out of my chest while my lungs try to recover from the lack of oxygen inflating them.

On shaky legs, I make my way through my apartment and straight to my bathroom, where I grip onto the counter and look at myself in the mirror. There is a light smirk on my face, my eyes seem brighter, clearer, and there is a warm feeling inside my stomach—it’s all fluttery and gooey and excited.

God, I like him.

Scratch that, I’m borderline infatuated with him.

And that whole speech back there? He’s unlike any man I’ve ever met. One second he’s wearing fairy wings and a tiara for his daughter, and the next he’s handing out free hockey tickets to an unsuspecting fan, and then he’s pushing me up against my apartment door, telling me all the things that make me swoon and swoon hard.

There’s no denying it, I’m more than thrilled with my bladder, because if it wasn’t for its inability to hold onto one more ounce of Coke Zero the other day, I never would have run into Calder.

This is life-changing, I can feel it. You know how you can sense when something is so right deep, down in your bones? That’s what I’m feeling. This is so right.

* * *

Rachel: Are you still awake?

Calder: Yeah, staring at the ceiling. I feel like I can still smell your perfume on me.

Rachel: You didn’t take a shower?

Calder: I did, I had to . . .

Rachel: What does that mean? (Gasp) Did you . . . pleasure yourself?

Calder: Isn’t it a little early to be sexting?

Rachel: It’s never too early to sext, and I’m not sure this qualifies as sexting, more of an informative text. So, did you wank off?

Calder: Didn’t really have a choice. Do you not remember straddling my lap tonight? I swear to God, I can still feel you on top of me, barely rocking back and forth.

Rachel: It took all the energy in my body not to dry hump you right there while Bruce Willis saved the world.

Calder: You held back? That was you holding back? Damn, I can’t imagine what you would be like full force.

Rachel: I very well might be too much for you.

Calder: I’ll be the one who decides that.

* * *

Calder: Good morning, beautiful.

Rachel: Beautiful, is that your pet name for me? We’ve only been on one date and you’re using pet names already?

Calder: Not a pet name, just a . . . uh . . . term of endearment?

Rachel: Oh okay then. Good morning, prickly penis.

Calder: Prickly penis? Uh, how is that a term of endearment?

Rachel: I have no idea, it’s legit the first thing that came to mind.

Calder: Well that’s concerning. Especially since you were pressed up against my penis last night. Did something sharp snag you?

Rachel: If something sharp sprouted from your penis last night and “snagged” me, you can bet your beefy forearms I would have said something about it. I’m not one to be snagged by a penis and not say anything.

Calder: You’re right, you definitely don’t seem like someone to go quiet after being penis snagged.

Rachel: You get me. You so get me.

* * *

Calder: Tickets are being held at will call for you, under the name, prickly penis.

Rachel: They are not!

Calder: . . .

Rachel: Calder Weiss!

Calder: I thought that was our pet name for each other.

Rachel: You’re prickly penis, I’m beautiful. How could you possibly get those two confused?

Calder: Hmm, my bad.

Rachel: Are the tickets really under prickly penis?

Calder: If they are, what will happen to me?

Rachel: I’ll make your dick eat a cactus to ensure it really is prickly.

Calder: (Runs to will call)

Rachel: Smart choice, Mr. Weiss, smart choice.

* * *

Rachel: I just ate a protein bar. I never eat protein bars, but for some reason, I thought maybe if I eat a protein bar, in some cosmic way it will make you bigger and stronger for your game tonight.

Calder: You know, I picked up a car in the parking lot today and tried to understand where that incredible strength came from.

Rachel: It was me! You’re welcome.

Calder: You very well might have to eat a protein bar for me every day now if it gives me those kinds of super-human strengths.

Rachel: But it was so chalky.

Calder: But it gave me car-lifting strength.

Rachel: (sigh) Fine, stick one in my mouth, maybe sucking on it will help.

* * *

Rachel: I know you’re probably in game mode right now, but I wanted to say thank you for the tickets, my dad is in heaven right now, and good luck. Go kick some ass.

Calder: Thank you. Glad you got the tickets.

Rachel: Glad there was no prickly penis involved.

Calder: It was tempting, believe me it was tempting.

Rachel: I’m sure. Thank you again, I can’t wait to see you after the game.

Calder: Counting down the minutes. Enjoy the game. See you in the family suite afterward.

Rachel: Pummel some ass!

* * *

Calder skates across the ice, determination in his movements, and slams into the glass, his opponent being the cushion for his check. The sound of them both hitting the glass, followed by the roar of the crowd, sends shivers up and down my spine.

He’s hot.

Yup, Calder Weiss is extremely hot on the ice.

And it’s not just because I know the man outside of the rink and minus the giant pads on his body. His current hotness is distinctly superficial. There is nothing I can say to keep this from sounding superficial, but there is something about a grown man, playing a sport at the highest of levels, owning the game, taking charge, that turns me on so hard.

Like, I’ve been clenching my thighs this entire game because every time I look over at Calder, a long, deep yearning takes root inside of me. Oh, I want him, and I want him bad.

And the worst part about all of this is I can’t even sit here with my shirt up and over my breasts, flashing Calder just for the hell of it. Do you know why? Because the frog-like man cheering next to me is my father. And how awkward is that, to tell your father how turned on you are by watching a grown-ass man play hockey? Pretty awkward.

“Wooohooo!” My dad fist pumps the air then shakes my shoulder for the hundredth time. “What a game, what a game!” He clasps his hands together and shakes them, almost as if he can’t believe he’s sitting in the stands right now.

The Brawlers, Calder’s team, is up by three goals thanks to Calder’s superior defense and their goalie’s uncanny ability to do the splits every other shot made at him. I kind of want to yell, “We get it, you’re flexible!”

“I’m glad you’re having a good time, dad.”

“And your boy, look at him go.” He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t want to be caught in an alley with him. He looks really big in person, is he? I’ve only seen him on television, but even from this vantage point, he looks like a destroyer.”

If only my dad knew the kind of sensitive and caring man Calder really is.

But in real life, not on TV, Calder is huge. Larger than life, almost, with his broad shoulders, tapered waist, and long, thick legs only someone who’s grown up skating back and forth on ice would develop.

“He’s very large.”

My dad slaps his hands together. “I knew it.”

I hold back the roll of my eyes.

“And he’s nice? He was nice to you last night? Treated you like a gentleman would?”

“Yes, dad.” I smile to myself, loving how he’s still protective. Balding and older than ever, my dad, despite his age, still has a little spark inside of him, and there is no doubt in my mind that if given the opportunity, my dad would kick butt for me if he had to. “Calder is super sweet and thoughtful.”

“Not an asshole? You know all I hear about athletes is their penchant for having gaggles of women surrounding them. Is he a cheater?”

“No.” I scrunch my brow together. Honestly, I don’t know the true answer to that, but from what I gathered last night and through our texts, Calder is not the type of man who would cheat.

“Ohhhhhhh,” the crowd erupts as Calder slams into another opponent, this time, with his right shoulder leading the way. They both fall to the ice, the puck sputtering away.

I keep my eyes trained on Calder and watch as he slowly gets up from the ice. He rotates his shoulder in small circles before his coach changes the line.

Concerned, I watch Calder speak with a trainer and try to stretch out his shoulder while spraying water all over his face, trying to cool down from the fifteen pounds of gear he has to wear. I think it weighs something like that, at least that’s what Wikipedia told me, and you and I both know how reliable that is.

“Looks like Calder is hurt,” my dad points out, standing on his toes, trying to get a better look.

“That was a pretty hard hit.” I bite the side of my lip. Is he going to be okay? I sure as hell hope so, because I have plans for him. Wicked-hot plans that require him to be fully functioning.

Chapter Seven

CALDER

A hiss escapes my mouth as I attempt to put on my button-up shirt. I’m fucking sore, sore as hell. And even though I sat in ice for twenty minutes, hating that I had to make Rachel and her dad wait, I’m still sore.

I sent a text to Rachel, letting her know I was getting some extra treatment after the game and that I’d sent someone to bring them to the friends and family suite until I was done. She texted back with a heart emoji. It was simple, yet made me feel so damn special.

We ended up winning the game by four goals. Hayden was on fire tonight, it was a memorable game for him, especially because he scored a hat trick. The first hat trick of his rookie season. There will be lots of celebrating tonight, that’s for sure.

“You’re going to O’Houlihans, right?” Hayden asks, tying his tie around his neck.

“Yup. I’m going to go pick up Rachel and her dad and meet you there. Grab us a booth in the back?”

“Not a problem. I’m going to say a quick hello to my family and then head on over. Want me to order you a beer?”

“Nah.” I button up my shirt. “I’ll wait to see what Rachel and her dad want.”

“Sounds good.” Hayden grips my good shoulder. “Everything okay, old man? That shoulder going to hold out?”

“Yeah, just a little sore, it should be okay with some more ice and ibuprofen.”

“Okay, see you at the pub.” Hayden takes off.

I take a few extra minutes, struggling with my shoulder, taking deep breaths with each movement. A few more ibuprofens, some Icy Hot, and rest, and I’ll be better in no time.

Hurrying along, I grab my belongings and head out to the family suite, my nerves taking hold of me. My brother is being brother of the year right now and watching Shea for me, once again. When I asked him for the second night in a row, he wanted an explanation, so I had to tell him all about Rachel. His reaction was exactly what I expected: elation. He was so damn excited to hear that I was going out with someone that he even offered to keep Shea overnight. Now that’s a good brother.

As I make my way through the hallways, employees and media congratulate me on the win. It was a team effort, that’s for sure.

When I reach the family suite, I immediately spot Rachel—it’s hard not to, with her bright blonde hair and gorgeously blue eyes. She’s standing next to an older, bald gentleman with an impressive beer belly given how small his frame is. I’m going to assume he’s her father, even though they look nothing alike. Straightening up, I push forward, butterflies lighting up inside me. It’s been twenty-four hours since I’ve seen her, and it almost seems longer. Talk about infatuation at first sight.

When she spots me approaching, her face immediately lights up and for a brief moment, it almost looks like she’s about to propel herself forward and throw herself into my arms, but she stops herself and instead clenches her hands at her side and bounces in place. It’s a subtle bounce, but noticeable enough to make me grin like a damn fool.

Do I kiss her as a greeting? Do I just wave? Do I give her a hug? I have no idea, I don’t want to be awkward in front of her dad. We’ve only been on one date, what’s the protocol for that?

“Great game,” Rachel says, reaching out to me and pulling me into a hug. My shoulder strains under her hug and I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from making any noise.

“Thank you.” I give her an awkward pat and turn to her dad. “You must be Rachel’s father.”

“Staff Sergeant James Perry.” He grips my hand tightly, showing me that even though he’s sporting a cue ball of a head and a portly belly, he’s still got a little bit of gusto in his grip.

“Mr. Perry, it’s wonderful to meet you. I hope you enjoyed the game.”

“Splendid game. You gave those boys some really good shots.”

I grip my bad shoulder. “Yeah, did a little too much bruising, if you know what I mean.”

“Can’t run into a wall and think it’s not going to hurt.”

“Well said.” I chuckle. “Have you been a Brawlers fan for a while?”

“Ever since I can remember.” Mr. Perry looks around. “This has been a surreal night for me, so thank you.” Facing me again, he becomes stern. “But don’t think you’re going to win me over with your fancy hockey team. You still have to treat my daughter well to gain my approval and respect.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way, sir.”

Mr. Perry nods his head in approval and then takes a look at his watch. “It’s late, I best be heading home.”

“Oh, I was going to take you and Rachel out for some drinks.”

“I’ll take a rain check if you don’t mind. You two go have fun. But can I ask you to drive my daughter home safely?”

I glance in Rachel’s direction and then level with her father. “You have my word, sir.”

“Good man.” Reaching out, he shakes my hand again then pats me on the shoulder, causing me to wince. “Have fun, kids.”

Without a parting glance, he takes off, making his way through the crowd and almost running into a wall when he spots one of our forwards speaking with his family.

Pulling on my hand, Rachel grabs my attention. “Are you okay? You winced when my dad touched your shoulder.”

“Just a little banged up, nothing you need to worry about.” I take a look behind me to make sure her dad is gone before I grip Rachel at the waist and pull her in close. She wraps her arms around my neck and stands on her toes to press a kiss against my lips.

“Hey, there.”

“Hey.” That smile she garners from me reappears, spreading across my face.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Always,” I answer, loving the way she fits so easily in my arms.

“Tonight, watching you out on the ice, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so sexy. That was until you showed up in this suit.”

“Yeah?” My eyebrow rises. “You like the suit?”

“It’s super hot. Tailored so well to your body that I can still see your muscles, but it also has me begging for you to reveal just a tiny bit of skin.”

“If you’re lucky, maybe I will.” I wink and link my hand with hers, leading her out of the building and straight to my car. It’s time to get some drinks.

* * *

“Hayden, this is Rachel. Rachel, this is Hayden Holmes, our all-star rookie and a good friend of mine.”

“Aw,” Rachel coos. “Whenever I’ve been introduced to a guy’s friends, there’s always some ribbing involved, but you were very complimentary.”

I shrug. Should I have thrown some kind of friendly barb in there? Maybe, but nothing really came to mind.

“He loves me too much—he’s kind of infatuated with me, actually,” Hayden says, shaking Rachel’s hand and offering a seat in the booth across from him.

“See, that’s what I was expecting.” She takes a seat and I slide in next to her. Gripping my thigh, she says, “This guy though, he’s just a giant sweetheart, isn’t he?”

“A real teddy bear, that guy. Did he ever tell you about the first away trip we had? What he did for me?”

Where is Hayden going with this?

“No he didn’t, what happened?”

Nothing, as I can recall, but I can’t wait to hear what Hayden has to say.

Taking a sip of his beer, he swallows and says, “It’s a scary thing, being a rookie on a professional hockey team. There is some light hazing, stupid shit like having to wear lady pajamas at night, real idiot things like that.”

“Lady PJs? Did you wear some?” Rachel asks me.

“Lavender silk ones, one of the best nights of sleep I’ve ever had.”

“I wore flannel, kind of wish I went with the silk,” Hayden adds, causing Rachel to laugh. A waitress brings the drinks we’d ordered at the bar, handing both me and Rachel a Guinness. I’m kind of impressed with her drink choice.

She takes a sip, a bit of the foam sticking to her upper lip before she swipes it away with her tongue. “So, what happened your first night.”

“Yeah, what happened?” I egg Hayden on and he leans back in his booth, a giant smile on his face.

Oh he’s getting ready to tell one epic story, I can feel it.

“It was after the game, the guys decided to go out and celebrate our first on-the-road victory. Being a rookie and wanting to fit in, I relished in the ability to celebrate with my boys, especially since I’d scored one of the goals to help us win.”

“Naturally,” Rachel adds.

“Now when you think of hockey players celebrating, what do you think of?”

Oh shit, I know where he’s going with this. “Eh, we don’t have to tell this story.”

Rachel turns to me, her eyes burning me with their gaze. “Oh, I’m pretty sure he does have to tell this story. Hayden, please proceed.”

“Like I was saying,” Hayden smiles at me over his beer. Shit, I lean back in the booth and put my arm around Rachel, and she snuggles into it. “What kind of celebration would you expect from a hockey team after a win?”

Rachel gestures around the pub. “Not to be stereotypical, but I would expect this, beers in some pub. Maybe a nacho platter split amongst two ravenous guys.”

“Exactly, but not this night, instead we went to a place I least expected . . . FroYo.”

“Huh?” she asks, a pinch in her brow.

“We went out and got frozen yogurt.”

“Like . . . what teenage girls take pictures of on their Snapchat? What women burn calories for? Frozen yogurt?

“Yup,” Hayden nods slowly, the opening of his beer resting on his lower lip. “Frozen yogurt, and the kind where you pay by the weight of your cup.”

“The kind where you get to pick from a million toppings?” Rachel leans forward, really getting into the story.

“That exact kind of place.”

“Well, that sounds delightful, what could be so wrong with that?”

Hayden shakes his head. “All the things, Rach, all the things.” He takes another sip of his beer and sets it on the table. “Let me ask you this, have you ever wondered what it would taste like if you not only picked up the biggest cup, but filled it with every ice cream . . . and every topping?”

“Nooooo,” she drags out.”

Hayden presses his lips together and nods. “Yup. As a rookie, I didn’t get to make my own FroYo cup, it was made for me and I had to sit there and eat it all. So you can understand how much we’re talking about here, my cup alone cost over twenty dollars.”

“Oh my god,” she chuckles. “You had to eat that entire thing?”

“Yup and it was fucking nasty. You know how as a kid, you would fill up your soda cup with every flavor at the fountain machine and it would form this magical concoction that was so damn good, you went back for seconds and thirds?”

“Of course, I always topped mine off with orange soda.”

“Smart girl,” Hayden points at her. “Well this was the complete opposite. All the flavors combined was not only a diabetic coma, but it was fucking nasty, especially when the ice cream turned into soup.” He shivers. “So fucking gross.”

“So you ate it all, then what happened?”

“That’s where your little friend comes into play.” Hayden nods at me. “He was the one to help me back to my room, he was the one to get me water when I was puking in the hotel toilet, and he was the one who . . .” Hayden eyes me, his smile so damn cocky. He’s waiting for me to stop him, but I don’t, instead I let him expose me. “And he was the one who laid next to me in my bed, whispering into my ear that everything was going to be okay, and when I asked him to rub my belly, he did, for an hour. He just laid there, rubbing my sicky belly, which was what he called it.”

“That’s what my daughter calls it,” I defend myself as Rachel laughs next to me.

“You rubbed his belly?” Rachel asks incredulously.

“He asked me to. What was I supposed to do? Let the man suffer? That’s not fair. He’s one of our top-scoring men. I wanted to make sure he was taken care of. I wasn’t just going to leave him there with a sicky belly.”

“Oh my god, this is too ridiculous.”

“But sweet, right?” I ask, cringing.

Rachel presses her head against my good shoulder. “Really sweet.”

“See, he’s a softy at heart,” Hayden says. “He spent the entire night with me. We watched old reruns of Seinfeld while he made sure I didn’t throw up again. He also made me drink a lot of water to flush all the sugar out of my body.” Hayden reaches over and grabs my hand. “We really bonded that night. He became my work husband.”

Okay . . . too far.

I shake him off my hand. “Okay, settle down, dude.”

“It’s true. After he met you, Rachel, he called me, told me all about his encounter with you by the bathroom. We talked for hours about it while lying on our beds. Just gabbing away. He loves to gab.”

“Yeah? Anything else he likes?”

“You know, I’m sitting right next to you, you can always just ask me,” I say, tugging on Rachel’s shoulder.

“No, I like Hayden’s exaggerated, borderline-lie version better. It’s more fun that way.”

“She likes me, Weiss, you better watch out.”

“I’m not worried.” I sip on my beer, entirely too confident in the connection I have with Rachel. Plus, Hayden would never step in. If anything, it’s all in good fun.

“He might be a teddy bear, but he’s also a cocky bastard.”

“I’m beginning to see that.” Rachel pats my thigh with her hand. “And I’m liking it.”

We spend the next hour telling stories about each other, doing that male ribbing Rachel was looking for, laughing our asses off, and sharing a plate of nachos—it was Rachel’s idea.

For the first time in my life, I actually feel like the woman I like is a contender for my heart. She’s smart, sweet, fucking sassy, and has no problem hanging out with my friends. She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever met. She’s so easygoing, so energetic, but not a pushover, not even close. She’s someone I would consider taking home to Shea, someone I could see having a part in Shea’s life, and if that’s not equal parts terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, I don’t know what is.

I barely know Rachel, but what I do know so far is that she makes me laugh, she keeps a smile on my face, and she has a way about her that makes me feel so fucking alive, it’s addicting.

Chapter Eight

CALDER

“Hayden is so much fun.”

“He’s a good guy,” I answer, pulling into Rachel’s apartment complex.

“Is he seeing anyone?”

“Why the interest?” I ask, with a teasing tone.

“I need to keep my options open in case this doesn’t work out between us. Now that I’ve been to my first hockey game, I think I might be addicted. I need to keep someone in my life who can continue to feed my addiction with free tickets. Hayden is hot, funny, and an amazing athlete. Total package, he’s a good backup.”

I put the car in park and turn toward her, my forearm resting on the steering wheel. “Sorry there babe, but if this doesn’t work out, there will be no dating my teammates. It’s bro code.”

“No dating your teammates?” I shake my head, no. “Well that seems ridiculous. What if one of them is my soulmate? Are you really going to deny me of being with my soulmate?”

“Yup,” I answer, not feeling bad about it at all.

I hop out of my car and open Rachel’s door for her.

“Calder, are you not good at sharing?”

I clasp her hand with mine. “I can share things, I just don’t share what’s most valuable to me, that’s all.”

“Are you saying I’m MVP in your book?”

“Ahh come on, Rachel, that was a total cheeseball thing to say. You’re better than that.”

“I am.” She pokes me in the side. “You must be having some kind of effect on me.”

We reach her door and I prepare myself to say goodnight to this woman again, but when she pulls my hand closer to the door, unlocks it, and ushers me in, I’m guessing she has other plans.

Flipping on a light switch, the living room brightens revealing a very, very white apartment. Her couch is white, her furniture is white, and her walls are white. The only “color” in the apartment are a few grey accents. It’s actually soothing.

“Nice place.”

“Thank you. Make yourself at home, I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

She takes off down the hall, leaving me to snoop. Not that I would, but the thought crosses my mind. It might be rude, but snooping is the best way to find out about someone you’re getting to know . . . well besides asking them, of course. But there’s something about revealing a bit of a mystery when you’re snooping, not that I would know or anything.

I take a seat on her couch and check out her coffee table. Books and magazines. What is this girl reading? With my toe, causally I knock the stack down so they spread across the table. Let’s see, what do we have here?

People Magazine—okay, she likes a little celebrity gossip, who doesn’t? A book on leaves and covered bridges—that’s odd. 101 crockpot recipes—crockpots are the shit. And . . . huh, will you look at that. I lean forward and pick up the magazine that’s garnered my attention. Maxim, I thought only men read this.

“Find some reading to keep you busy?” Rachel asks, stepping into the room.

I turn to answer her when I’m greeted by Rachel wearing a loose, low-cut tank top without a bra and a pair of boy-butt underwear, that’s it.

I swallow hard as she walks up to me, her hair loose and wavy around her shoulders, her bangs highlighting her brilliantly colored eyes. Fuck, she’s so hot.

“Uh, I didn’t think women read Maxim,” I answer, unable to take my eyes off her.

She sits next to me, her legs kicked up under her butt, her body leaning toward mine, her shirt dipping extremely low, giving me one hell of a view.

“It’s always fun to get inside a guy’s mind. I like to know what they want, what they fantasize about. Every woman should read Maxim.”

I push down on my thighs, trying to move my pants, but they seem to be growing exponentially smaller by the second.

“Yeah, the articles are good,” I answer awkwardly, keeping my eyes trained forward, but not for long, because Rachel turns my head toward that devastating smile of hers.

“Why aren’t you looking at me?” She tilts her head to the side, awaiting my answer.

Facing the music, knowing I’m going to lose control in two seconds, I turn toward her and let my body take over.

Placing my hand on her exposed thigh, I run it up to her hip where I grip her tightly, her breath hitching from my touch. My fingers graze the hem of her underwear, where they sneak underneath and gently push into her firm ass.

A low growl escapes me. “Do you always dress like this for your guests?”

From beneath her shirt, her nipples pucker, pressing hard against the fabric, making my cock swell to an uncomfortable state.

“Only the ones who I want to see me naked.”

Fuck. Me.

Where did this woman come from and why was I so damn lucky to find her?

Removing my hand from her leg, I take my jacket off, yank on my tie, and undo a few of the buttons to my dress shirt, as well as my cuffs. She gives me a once over before I yank on her arm and pull her on top of my lap, my erection pressing against her right away.

“Oh yes,” she whispers, grinding her hips gently, like it’s involuntary, her hips can’t help it.

Placing my hands on her hips, my thumbs finding their way under her shirt fabric, I say, “This shirt is revealing, you know that?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She releases my tie from around my neck and starts to unbutton my shirt. “Well aware of how revealing this shirt is. I thought about wearing lingerie for you, but then went with the whole casual, yet sexy, look. Do you like?”

I move my hips so she can feel just how much I like her outfit. “I think you and I both know that I approve of the shirt.”

“You’re not upset about no lingerie?”

I chuckle and move my hands further up her shirt. “Rachel, I’m not that kind of guy. I’ll take you any way I can get you.”

“Good.” She spreads my shirt, revealing my chest, and sits back on my lap. She sighs and dances her fingers across my pecs. “I knew you were going to be built, but abs, pecs, and big cock—you’re killing me, Weiss.”

Chuckling, I move my hands up even further, my thumbs grazing her flat stomach. “You think that’s bad, what about you? You think you can just waltz in here, wearing this thin tank top, and no pants, and not make me want to fuck you on this couch?”

“It was my intention.” She leans forward and presses her lips against mine, her hands moving up my neck until they grip my cheeks. She’s slow at first, her lips tempting me, teasing me, moving across my lips with absolutely zero pressure. It’s just a whisper of a kiss, a gentle reminder that she can easily hold the cards in this relationship, that she has the power to bring me to my knees, and that’s exactly what’s happening right now.

An ache builds at the base of my cock, her hips grinding down on me at a snail’s pace. Beneath my thumbs, I feel her abs flex with each movement, from the way she’s rocking back and forth, to the short breaths she’s taking.

Needing more, I try to pry her mouth open with my tongue, but she doesn’t budge, she continues to place small, short kisses along my lips, torturing me. Not wanting to wait any longer for more, I reach up with both hands and palm her breasts, her soft and full breasts. Just like I wanted, her mouth pops open and I slip my tongue inside while my thumbs graze her nipples.

She moans into my mouth and her body settles into mine, the tension between us easing as our tongues tango, tangling and twisting, our bodies warming up, our need for one another growing.

She releases my head from her grasp and moves her hands down my body, fingers grazing the light splattering of hair on my chest. She barely touches my nipples, giving them only a whisper of a touch, igniting a pulse in my cock, and then moves her wandering hands to the belt of my pants, where she scoots back on my lap and starts to undo my buckle and zipper.

The way her fingers brush against my stomach muscles and near my hardened length, I can feel my body start to tingle all over, the blood in my veins setting on fire, causing a light sheen of sweat to glisten my skin.

Squeezing harder, I focus on her nipples, pulling and pinching. Her head parts from mine as she leans back and moans from my touch. Reaching between us, she snags the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head, dropping the thin fabric to the side.

I release her breasts and take her in as she arches her back, her nipples tight, her expression one of utter pleasure as she rocks back and forth on top of me.

Holy fuck she is so hot, with her blonde hair swaying across her dark pink nipples, and her stomach contracting with each slide over my throbbing, needy cock.

“Babe, I need you to take my pants off. I’m so fucking hard for you.”

“Bedroom, now.” Rachel hops off me, and pulls me up in a rush. She ushers me down a hallway to a dark room lit only by the moon.

Spinning around, she pushes me down on the bed, causing me to chuckle from her impatient force.

I watch in fascination as she pulls down my pants and removes my shoes and socks, leaving me in nothing but my boxer briefs, exposing my straining erection. Eyes glued to my crotch, her tongue wetting her lips, she removes her boy shorts and stands in front of me completely naked, confident in her skin.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone more beautiful than Rachel in this moment, and I’ve most definitely never wanted anyone more in my life.

“Condom, in my wallet,” I stammer, unable to control the nerves coursing through me. I haven’t been with a woman in a few months, I just hope I live up to Rachel’s expectations.

She wastes no time in retrieving the condom from my pants and tearing it open. With heady eyes, Rachel approaches me, condom in hand, and pulls down on my boxer briefs, springing my cock free. Tossing my briefs to the side, she focuses on my straining cock, her eyes wide, impressed.

“Oh my God, Calder.” Her fingers gently touch the wet tip, moving my pre-cum over the head. A hiss escapes me, my toes starting to grow numb just from that little connection. Shit, I don’t want to know what’s going to happen when I’m finally inside her. “You’re so big.” In one swift movement, she sucks my cock into her mouth and licks the tip, causing my hips to fly off the bed and my hands to clench the comforter beneath me.

“Fucking hell,” I groan, her hot mouth so damn good on my dick. “Oh fuck.” She grazes her teeth along my sensitive skin. My head flies back as Rachel plays with my balls at the same time she sucks me, hard, the sensation overwhelming. “Fuck, babe, fuck, you need to stop.”

She lifts her mouth off me, slips the condom on and starts to straddle me, but before she can get comfortable, I flip her onto her back. Hovering over her, those beautiful eyes staring up at me, lust clouding them, I spread her legs and press the tip of my cock over her slit, making sure she’s ready. And holy fuck is she.

Wanting to feel how wet she is, I replace my cock with my fingers and I slide right in. “Jesus Christ, Rachel, you’re so goddamn wet.”

“I’ve been turned on ever since you took the ice,” she confesses, shifting underneath me, seeking my heat. “Watching you tonight, so powerful on your skates, so domineering, it was really hot, Calder. I couldn’t wait to get you back here, to see how domineering you would be in the bedroom.”

“Is that right?” I pin her hands to the bed, mine linking with hers, pushing into the mattress.

“Yes, all I wanted was this, to feel you, to have you buried deep inside of me.

“Fuck, that makes me so goddamn hard.” I kiss her, fucking madly, my lips and tongue working in tandem as they move across her mouth, not begging, but taking, taking every last ounce of her she has to offer.

As my tongue fucks her mouth, my stance keeping her in place, I push my knee against her inner thigh, making sure she’s spread as wide as possible before I sink myself inside of her. When my cock reaches its hilt, she gasps, her words of surprise caught against my tongue.

My shoulder is screaming with pain from the weight of holding my body up, but I don’t fucking care, there is no way in hell I’m stopping now.

Taking a deep breath, her chest heaves and pants. “Oh God, Calder. You’re . . . you’re so big. So thick. I don’t know . . .”

“I’ll take it slow,” I mumble, my control hanging on by a thread. She feels so good, so tight, so warm, so everything, like I belong here.

“I don’t know if I can handle slow. I want you now, you’re just so overwhelming . . . so thick.” She moves her head to the side, her teeth biting down on her lip. “Take me, Calder, make me feel so good.”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be able to go slow if you keep contracting around me like that.” I groan, squeezing my eyes shut.

“I’m not . . . meaning . . . too.” She moans even louder. “Oh God, Calder, I’m so close, just from you, just from your cock.”

What a fucking turn on.

Willing myself to go slowly, I clench everything in my body and start to thrust into her, as slow as I can. My length gliding along her tight sheath, torturing me with every inch. My breath becomes labored, my toes start to curl, my legs going numb. Oh fuck I’m going to come, there is no denying it, there is no stopping it.

“Babe . . .”

“Harder, fuck me harder, Calder.”

“Christ.” My voice sounds so deep, so tortured that I almost don’t recognize myself.

Giving up on my slow idea and capitulating to Rachel’s demands, I let go of one of her hands and bring her legs over my shoulders, pressing into her until my thighs are slapping her ass over and over again. The sound is so erotic, so damn sexy.

“Yes, harder. Oh God, yes, Calder.” She’s so vocal, I love it. I love knowing how I make a woman feel, if I’m pleasing them or not, if they’re on the cusp like Rachel is.

My impending orgasm looms over me, knocking at the base of my cock as my balls tighten up, a wave of pleasure shooting up my spine.

“Fuck,” I grunt. “Fuck, I’m going to come, baby.”

“Me too.” Rachel bites down on her lip just as her pussy contracts around my dick, milking me so damn hard my vision goes black, the only sensation rocking through me is my throbbing cock, pulsating over and over again into Rachel. Spurt after spurt, I come, I come so fucking hard.

“Oh God,” Rachel screams, her fingers digging into my skin, her beautiful tits bouncing as she finishes rocking back and forth on my cock, her movements slowing with each pass, slowly falling from the euphoric bliss we both experienced.

Holy shit, it’s never been that good, ever. I’ve never come like that, as if I was about to black out from the pleasure, and there is only reason why: Rachel.

It’s been two dates, two fucking dates and I already believe this woman was made for me, that she was brought to me for a reason. I can only hope she feels the same way.

“Oh Calder, oh hell.” She drapes one of her arms over her eyes. “What just happened?”

“I don’t know.” I answer, peppering her face with soft, slow kisses.

“That was . . . incredible.” She moves her arm and looks up at me. “Why did that feel so good?”

I shrug and kiss her lips. “Maybe because we were meant to meet each other.”

Chapter Nine

CALDER

Rachel: Remember when you licked my nipples for ten minutes straight and I came? That was fun.

Calder: Babe, you can’t text me stuff like that when I’m in the locker room with a bunch of guys, they’ll think I have a boner for other reasons.

Rachel: Well . . . do you?

Calder: Yeah (deadpans) I just love staring at all the dicks and nut sacs in the locker room.

Rachel: That’s disappointing for me, but yay for Hayden, you two would make a cute couple.

Calder: Why do you torture me like this?

Rachel: Because it’s too much fun.

* * *

Calder: I miss you.

Rachel: This text made me smile. When do you get back to Philly? P.S. I miss you more.

Calder: Two more nights.

Rachel: Ugh, that seems like forever. Can’t you just always have home games?

Calder: I fucking wish, then I would be able to fuck you before and after every game.

Rachel: Mmm . . . I love it when you say you like to fuck me.

Calder: Seriously, it’s my favorite thing to do.

Rachel: So the blow-up doll Hayden keeps saying was your girlfriend before you met me, she’s not your main squeeze anymore?

Calder: That isn’t a real story. I don’t have a blow-up doll. Fuck.

Rachel: Awfully defensive, for someone who “doesn’t have a blow-up doll.”

Calder: That’s it, you and Hayden are no longer allowed to hang out together.

Rachel: Hey now, what about our little tripod?

Calder: The tripod is over.

Rachel: You savage!

* * *

Calder: Shea is with my brother and sister-in-law, are you coming over tonight? Please say yes, I miss you so goddamn much.

Rachel: I can’t drive to your place fast enough. I need to be in your arms tonight. Will I be able to stay?

Calder: Yes, there is no way in hell you’re going back to your place tonight. Fuck, I need you so damn bad.

Rachel: The feeling is mutual, Calder. These road trips are killer.

Calder: I know. Just a few more months and then it will be over.

Rachel: I like our late-night phone calls though, hearing your voice through the phone, it’s one of my favorite things.

Calder: Personally, I like having FaceTime sex with you.

Rachel: How did I know you were going to say that?

Calder: Maybe because you rocked my world last night with your striptease. Fuck, I’m hard just thinking about it.

Rachel: I’m wet thinking about it too . . .

Calder: Get that beautiful ass over here, NOW! I want to fuck you against a wall, then in the bathtub, and most definitely eat you out on the kitchen counter.

Rachel: Your tongue, oh my God, Calder, it’s magic.

Calder: I know, baby. Shit I’m hard thinking about that sweet pussy of yours. Hurry up.

* * *

Rachel: Have you ever thought about what life will be like after hockey for you?

Calder: Are you asking this because you didn’t like the fight I got into tonight?

Rachel: You got punched in the face, Calder.

Calder: Well aware, baby. I have the headache to remind me. It’s part of the game though.

Rachel: I don’t like it. You’re so handsome, I don’t want fists flying at your face.

Calder: You’re cute . . .

Rachel: Hmpf (folds arms) So . . . about life after hockey.

Calder: Not for a long time. You’re going to have to get used to the fights.

Rachel: Orrrrrrr instead of fighting, you can do a thumb war. Those can be very riveting. Oooooo who’s going to win? (twiddles fingers)

Calder: You want me to challenge a hockey player to a thumb war? Yeah, that’s just asking to get my ass beat. I’m okay, babe, really.

Rachel: Really? Because it looked like he got you good.

Calder: He did, but don’t worry, I’ll get him next time.

Rachel: THERE WILL BE NO NEXT TIME! No more fighting.

Calder: You’re cute.

* * *

Rachel: Question.

Calder: Possible answer, depends on what the question is.

Rachel: Now I don’t want you to get upset that I’m asking you this through text, but I’m nervous, and you know what happens when I’m nervous, I clam up, and if I don’t get this off my chest soon, I might combust.

Calder: Oh shit, now I’m nervous. What’s up?

Rachel: Well, we’ve been dating for two months now.

Calder: Yeah, best fucking two months of my life.

Rachel: You’re sweet, but I kind of want to know something.

Calder: If you don’t spit it out I’m going to call you.

Rachel: Fine, why haven’t you introduced me to your daughter yet?

I pause, staring down at my phone, my heart rate picking up, my eyes reading her words on repetition. She wants to meet Shea? I knew this time was going to come, that they were going to have to meet at some point, but I never prepared myself for it.

There are so many factors that go into introducing your child to your significant other. She is so young, so impressionable, what if Rachel and I don’t work out and Shea has already fallen in love with her? Then what?

And I know that would happen, that Shea would immediately take a liking to Rachel, it’s hard not to—she has a contagious personality that puts you in a better mood no matter the circumstances. Shea would love Rachel right off the bat, and it terrifies me to wonder what I would do if Rachel and I break up. Shea already lost her mom, I couldn’t stand for her to lose Rachel too.

Fuck, I can’t stand to lose Rachel.

But meeting Shea? I don’t know if I’m ready for that, I don’t know if I’m ready for the impact Rachel would have on my daughter, the kind of love Rachel so easily exudes.

I can’t risk it.

Biting my cheek, I read Rachel’s question over again, trying to figure out what to say, how to break the news. Conflicted, I start to type out a response but erase it, several times. After the fourth time, I give up and pocket my phone, my stomach flipping on itself. Shea is not ready, I don’t want to disappoint her again . . .

Chapter Ten

RACHEL

“Jace, I don’t know what to do,” I say, talking to one of my best friends on the phone. I finally got in touch with him after playing phone tag. He plays shortstop for the Colorado Boulders and he’s in the beginning of his season, making it almost impossible to touch base with him given all of the media, practices, and games he has to attend.

“He hasn’t responded to you yet?” I’ve updated Jace briefly through text about my dating life, but this is the first time I’ve gotten to talk to him on the phone, and it’s really nice to hear a friendly voice, since I haven’t heard Calder’s in two days.

“No, nothing. He’s gone radio silent on me. I knew I shouldn’t have pressured him. I should have let him introduce me to his daughter at his own pace.”

“No, don’t do that, Rachel. Don’t make excuses for him. If he wasn’t comfortable with you meeting his daughter, then he should have respectfully told you that.”

Jace is right, if Calder was the kind of man I thought he was, he would have just been open and honest about his feelings, instead of running away, which really doesn’t seem like him.

It makes me wonder . . .

“What if something happened to him? What if he got hurt and I can’t get—”

“Pretty sure the dickhead is fine, at least he looks fine on TV, skating around the rink, warming up.”

Oh, right.

“Then he’s just an asshole.”

“Seems like it.”

I sigh, leaning back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. “Ugh, what do I do, Jace?”

“Let me ask you this, do you like the guy, or do you really like him?”

Knowing this is the God’s honest truth, I answer, “I really, really like him, borderline L-word status.”

“Oh shit.” Jace pauses and asks, “Are you okay, Rachel? I didn’t know you liked him that much.”

I bite on my lip, willing the tears away. Don’t cry, DO NOT cry, it only makes Jace feel awkward and it will solve nothing.

Taking a deep breath, I answer, “I’ve been . . . better.”

“Are you going to cry?”

“Maybe.” I sniff.

“It’s official, I’m going to kick his ass.”

“He’s bigger than you, Jace, if that’s possible, and he fights other big guys for a living, when he’s not pushing a puck around on the ice.”

“But I have the best-friend rage.”

“True.” I laugh, letting silence fall between us.

Finally, Jace chimes in. “Just confront him. What will you lose? It’s not like he’s talking to you now. At least if you confront him, he’ll have to give you a direct answer.”

“But that’s scary.”

“Yeah, it is, but it’s better than sitting around wondering. You deserve better than to be pushed to the side. Take what you want and go ask him in person. Be the assertive girl I know.”

“And if he breaks up with me?”

“Then he’s the biggest moron on the planet.”

I really hope he’s not the biggest moron on the planet, because I’m not sure my heart will be able to take it.

* * *

Shea should be at Calder’s brother’s house, she always is when Calder has a late game. After his game ended in a loss—good timing on my part—I waited two hours before heading over to his place, giving him time to settle in, and giving myself a little more time to gain some courage.

I’m not nervous to confront him, but I am worried about how he’s going to react when he sees me on his doorstep. I don’t want him to break up with me.

Please don’t let him break up with me.

Taking one last deep breath, I knock on his grand door and shift on my feet while I wait for him to open it. It takes a few seconds before the locks are shifted and the door opens. Calder is wearing a pair of pajama pants and that’s it, showing off his well-defined chest, muscular arms, and cut stomach, where I could count each and every ab with my tongue.

I’ve missed him so damn much, from his buzzed hair, to his soulful eyes, to the warmth of his arms. Seeing him like this, not feeling comfortable enough to dive into his embrace, makes me feel not only awkward, but also incredibly sad.

“Rachel,” he says with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Twisting my hands together, I try to steady my voice, not wanting to show how much he affects me. “I . . . I came to confront you.” Not the most eloquent or the best way to ease into the topic, but there’s something to be said for getting to the point.

He grips the door, his muscles straining under the tension I just laid in front of him. “Rachel—”

“No,” I cut him off. “Please, don’t lie to me, okay? Please don’t give me some spiel about how you’ve been so busy, because that was never the case with us, you always made time for me. So the least you can do is tell me the truth.”

Lowering his head, he stares at his feet for a few seconds before opening the door wider and welcoming me in. That’s right . . . you jerk!

I take in my surroundings, his house feeling so much like home it hurts. When he turns toward me, door shut behind him, there is regret written all over his face, regret and pain. And even though I’m mad at him for shutting me out, I can’t help but be drawn toward him.

Pressing my hand against his chest, his heat encompassing me, I ask, “What happened, Calder? Do you really not want me to meet your daughter that much? I can wait, I really can, but I just don’t want to lose you.”

He presses his hand against mine and twines our fingers together right before he pulls me into a hug, his chin resting on my head. I melt into his embrace, my eyes welling up with tears. It’s been two days, two days of not talking to him, of wondering where we stand, of not being able to get lost in this man, and it’s been torture.

I try to hold back the tears, I really do, but when he squeezes me, as if he never wants to let go, the floodgates open.

“Shh,” he coos into my ear, hearing the silent sobs coming from me. “I’m so sorry, baby. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

In the entryway, we hold each other, my heart slowly healing with each kiss he presses against my head and with every sorry he mutters under his breath, his voice filled with self-hatred.

He’s regretful, it’s evident in the way he’s holding me. This gives me hope, just a glimmer of hope, but hope, nonetheless.

When my crying subsides and I gather myself, Calder brings me to his couch, where he pulls me onto his lap and holds onto me tightly.

“Rachel, I’m so fucking sorry. There really is no excuse, other than I was scared.” He takes a deep breath, so I place my hand on his chest, trying to calm his racing heart. “Shea asks about her mom almost once a week, and it kills me having to tell her why her mom is no longer in her life, that she’s never coming back. I fucking hate that her mom just up and left and I can’t do anything about it. It’s the reason why I’ve been super selective when it comes to bringing people into Shea’s life, it’s the reason why I went on a dating hiatus for so long—I didn’t want to fall for someone and introduce them to Shea, just to have them leave her too.

My heart aches for Calder and Shea, and the pain they have to face on a daily basis because of someone’s selfish needs.

“Calder, I had no idea, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, there is no need for you to. I’m the one who should be apologizing. Things just got really intense with us really quickly. I’ve never . . .” he holds his breath and then he says, “I’ve never truly loved someone like I’ve fallen in love with you, and that terrifies me, because what if you don’t love me back? What if you don’t get along with Shea? What if you decide to leave us, not only breaking my heart, but my little girl’s heart, too? I don’t think—”

“Stop.” I gently place a kiss on his lips, lingering for a few seconds. “Calder, I love you. And every day we’re together, I fall deeper in love with you.” I tilt his chin so he’s forced to look me in the eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. I have plans to stick with you for as long as you want me. And as for your daughter, as for Shea, I know that she’s your world, and I will do anything to not only gain her love and respect, but to keep her safe.”

Calder shakes his head in disbelief and squeezes me tightly against his chest. “Fuck, I love you so much. Thank you, baby.”

“No need to thank me, just don’t shut me out. You about destroyed me, Calder. I’m kind of addicted to you. I need you like I need air to breathe. I’m sticking around, I think it’s time you get used to it.”

Laughing, he answers, “That’s a pretty easy thing to get used to.”

* * *

“Why am I so nervous? She’s five. I work with five-year-olds day in and day out. I shouldn’t be this nervous.”

Calder laughs next to me, the rumble from his chest easing me slightly. “Trust me, babe, she’s going to adore you.”

“I hope so.” I adjust my shirt and watch as Calder’s brother pulls up in the driveway of Calder’s house. It takes all of a minute for Shea to pop out of the car and sprint to the house, right into her dad’s arms.

And oh boy, is she the cutest little thing. She shares Calder’s eyes, but everything else about her must be her mom. Wearing pink leggings, a pink sweater, and her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head, she is everything I expected.

“Daddy, you didn’t win last night.”

“I know, love bug, that’s okay though.”

“You’ll get the next game.” She gives her dad a little fist bump and it melts my heart. “Do you like my hair, daddy? Carissa helped me style it this morning. Don’t I look so cool?”

Chuckling while Shea tosses her head from side to side, he says, “The absolute coolest.” Standing tall, he continues to hold Shea’s hand when he says, “Hey, I have someone I want you to meet.”

Reaching out, Calder clasps my hand and says, “Shea, I want you to meet Rachel, my girlfriend.”

My stomach flips as Shea looks me up and down, her once-over making me more nervous than any job interview I’ve ever had.

“Girlfriend?” Shea crinkles her nose. “Like, you guys kiss?”

Pressing his lips together for a second, holding back his laugh, Calder says, “Yes, love bug, we kiss.”

“Huh.” Leaning closer to me, Shea asks, “Is daddy a good kisser?”

I nearly lose it as I throw my head back and laugh, way too hard, letting all my nerves fly out of me.

Kneeling to her height, I look Shea in the eyes and say, “Your dad is a very good kisser.”

Looking up at Calder, Shea gives him a tap to his flat stomach and says, “Good job, daddy.” Then she turns toward me and holds out her hand, which I take without pause. “Do you want to see my stuffed animal collection? It’s huge!”

Smiling, I answer, “I would love to.”

And that right there, that’s the moment I fell for not only Calder Weiss, but also his darling little girl. Calder was so worried about me going somewhere, but he has absolutely nothing to fear. There is no possible way I could leave, not with this little girl’s hand gripping mine so tightly, and the look of absolute adoration beaming from Calder.

Nope, I’m here for good.

THE END

One Baby Daddy

Meghan Quinn

Chapter One

HAYDEN

“Do you have any regrets about getting into that fight with Marcus Miller?”

“No.”

Flashes of light repeatedly go off, the clicks a sound I’ve become accustomed to.

A sound I hate.

Sip my water.

Look around the room.

Cameras point in my direction, stage lights blare from above, the bill of my hat being the only protection from the onslaught of light. I adjust it, curving down the sides as reporters raise their hands for the next question.

I know what they want to prove, what they want to get at, but I’m not taking the blame.

“So you don’t think the fight cost you the advancement in the playoffs?”

Of course the squirrel-faced guy would ask that question.

Bob I think his name is.

He’s a dick. He makes it his mission to turn any story into something completely fabricated for more reads on his news site. I’ll never understand why the Brawlers still let him in the media room.

“The shots O’Reilly deflected cost us our advancement. He played a hell of a game and shut down our offense.”

“But you were tied heading into the last five minutes of the game, right before you were sent to the penalty box, leaving your team short a man. You don’t think that has anything to do with the loss?”

I place the cap on my bottle of water and clear my throat. Pinching the microphone with my fingers, I lean in and look directly at the smarmy reporter with yellow teeth, sporting a brown suit and a cue ball of a head. “Tell me, Bob, if someone came up to you and slapped a hockey stick across the back of your legs, would you bend over and ask for another? Or would you have retaliated?” He’s about to answer, but I cut him off. “From the look of it,” I eye him up and down, “you would have bent over, but that’s not how I handle things. Miller deserved to be brought down to the ice and I won’t apologize for my actions.” I grip the table’s edge and look around, ready to stand. “Unless you have any other questions about the actual game, I’m done for the night.”

Questions fly but I don’t listen, I zone out and stand from the table, taking my water with me.

Gripping the curve in the bill of my hat, I walk down the steps of the podium and head out of the media room, my publicist hot on my heels.

“You could have handled that better.” he says, trotting next to me to keep up with my pace.

“Well, we just lost our chance at fighting for the cup, so excuse me for being fucking pissed.”

“Steinman is not going to be happy about that comment.”

Greg Steinman is the owner of the Philadelphia Brawlers and the controlling nitwit sure as hell won’t be happy with that comment but he can deal with the repercussions. I’m allowed to be pissed. I answered their questions, I played the media game but I don’t deal well with being blamed for the loss. There are a lot of factors that went into that game resulting in us being knocked out of the playoffs.

Do I regret cracking Marcus Miller’s jaw with one solid punch to his face? Fuck no. That dickhead has been on my ass the whole series taking cheap shots with his stick, this was the only time when I lost my cool, which is hard for me to do. It takes a lot for me to shuck my gloves and fight on the ice.

And maybe the Renegades will be going to the championship, but Marcus won’t be playing, that’s for damn sure. I made sure of it when my fists connected with him over and over.

I squeeze my hand, pain searing through my bruised and swollen knuckles.

“I’ll deal with Steinman,” I huff out. I turn the corner to the locker room, the space silent, my teammates either quietly packing up or already gone after coach’s speech.

Next year, we will train harder. We will study harder. That cup will be ours.

It’s the same damn thing you hear after every hockey season. I might be a rookie in the NHL but I’ve heard my fair share of end of the year speeches and this one is no exception. Did I think we would win the championship my rookie season? No, but fuck it would have been awesome.

“Are we not meeting?” James asks, looking so goddamn put together that it’s pissing me off. One hair out of place would have been nice, one button undone, one showing of how upsetting our loss was would be fucking comforting right about now.

“Does it look like I want to meet with you right now?” I toss my water bottle into my locker and shift around my gear, pulling my wallet and keys from my lock box. My phone is already in my pocket and the suit I’m supposed to be wearing is hanging from the coat hook. Fuck that shit, I’m walking out of here in a t-shirt and athletic pants. “Can’t you tell now is not a good time?”

“When will be a good time then?”

Head turned down, my hand gripping the back of my neck, I answer, “When I’m fucking ready.”

Doesn’t he get it? The last thing I want to talk about right now are endorsement deals and positive publicity during the off-season. Let me fucking mourn my loss for a day. He should know this, working with athletes, we take a loss hard, let alone a loss that ends your season.

Shifting behind me, his shoes rubbing against the short carpet of the locker room, he says, “I’ll call you tomorrow then.”

Tossing an almost empty roll of tape across the room, I spin on my heel, suit hooked in my finger and hanging over my shoulder, I say, “Don’t bother. I’m heading up to Binghamton for a few weeks, clear my head. I’ll call you.”

“Hayden.” He walks next to me as I make my way to the parking lot. “We have some important matters to discuss. You have business meetings you have to attend.”

I ignore him and continue on my path.

“What about the power drink deal? They have a promotional photo shoot scheduled.”

“I’ll be there, just send me the information.”

“I really think we need to talk about this.”

Halting, I come inches from James face, bending at the knees to meet his shorter height. My voice is menacing when I speak, my jaw tight with each syllable uttered. “If you want to keep your job, I suggest you leave me the fuck alone for now. Give me fucking space, man.”

Startled, James backs up, hopefully well aware of the kind of damage I can cause despite my usual sunny and outgoing disposition.

I’m a fucking fun guy, easy-going, but when it comes to my sport, my job, I take it seriously and expect nothing but the best from myself, so when I lose, I need time.

Succumbing to my request, James backs off and leaves me to walk alone to my black Range Rover, one of three cars still left in the parking lot.

Unlock, toss the suit in the back.

Sitting behind the wheel, I let out a long breath and press my forehead against the cool leather.

“Fuck,” I whisper and push the start button, the car coming to life.

The windshield is frozen, the leather seats freezing, and since I’m just wearing a t-shirt, my entire body stiffens, my body aching from the temperature.

But I welcome the cold.

Philadelphia in the winter, it isn’t pretty and it isn’t easy on you. It’s cold and dreary which is perfect because that’s how I’m feeling right about now.

Letting my car warm up for a few minutes, I take my phone from my pocket and let out a long sigh.

After the game text messages are either fun to read, or fucking dreadful. Tonight’s round of messages are going to fall under the category of torture, especially when I get to my dad’s text. I know it’s sitting in there and I can tell you what it’s going to say before I even read it.

Call me.

It’s two simple words that hold so much weight in them that I dread seeing them come from my dad. I might be an adult now, twenty-three to be exact, an old rookie in hockey years, but I still fear the wrath of my dad, the lecture I get whenever I get in a fight.

I’ve taught you better than that.

True men don’t fight on the ice, they prove their point with their foot work.

Do you enjoy upsetting your mother?

It’s the same thing every time and frankly, even though I am grateful for the time my dad has put into getting me to where I am today, I’m not up for the lecture.

Bringing my phone to life, I press on the green text message button.

Ten.

Scrolling through, I see a few from Calder, one of my best friends, telling me to call him when I’m done with press. Some from my friend Racer congratulating me on a stiff right hook—I chuckle at that one—one from my publicist—insert eye roll—a few from my mom and the infamous text from my dad.

Ignoring the text from my dad, I can deal with that when I’m in a better headspace, I call Calder.

“Where are you?” he answers.

“In my car, in the player’s parking lot.” The ice starts to defrost and I use my wipers to remove it from my windshield.

“Rachel made some bread pudding and I have some beer chilled. Come over.”

I strap my seatbelt on. “Does the bread pudding have raisins in it?”

“No.”

“Be there in twenty.”

***

My keys fall against the marble counter top as I take a seat at the kitchen island of Calder’s house. One of our defensemen, Calder Weiss knows exactly how to sulk, in private with beer and sweets.

When I joined the Brawlers, Calder took me under his wing and through the season we grew incredibly close, relying on each other for the good and the bad. This being the bad.

“Saw your interview.” Calder hands me a beer and chuckles. “Steinman is going to have your ass.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

He chuckles some more. “But the guys are worshipping you for finally telling that piranha off. Bend over . . .” Calder sips his beer a smile on his face. “Man, that was great.”

Taking a gulp of beer, I feel the faint tug of a smile on my lips. “I’m not sorry.”

“It’s evident.”

Rachel strolls into the kitchen wearing an apron, looking domestic and right at home. A month ago Calder met Rachel at a Mexican restaurant . . . outside of the bathroom. Romantic, right? The best part, Calder was dressed up for his little girl, Shea, as a fairy so he was decked out in fairy wings and a tiara, looking like a real man-lady and for some reason, Rachel couldn’t say no to giving him her phone number.

That’s some game right there.

They’ve been together ever since and I have to admit, I adore Rachel. She’s perfect for Calder and has really taken on the role of a female figure in Shea’s life. You can tell Rachel loves that little girl.

“Are we ready for bread pudding, or do you need more time to drink your manly beer?”

Calder takes the seat next to me. “Bread pudding.”

I nod in agreement. “Bread pudding.”

“You got it.”

Making her way around the kitchen, she pulls a couple of plates from the cabinets, some spoons, and dishes out three heaping helpings of her banana bread pudding. She tops them with some melted caramel and a little scoop of vanilla ice cream.

God bless this woman.

“Here you go, boys. Sulk away.”

“Thanks, babe.”

“Yeah, thanks, babe,” I mimic. Calder territorially eyes me, a playful warning, and then dives into his dessert.

I do the same, scooping up ice cream, caramel, and bread pudding all in one bite.

Heaven.

“Was this supposed to be a celebration dessert?” I ask, mouth full.

“I figured it could go either way but I did pop the congratulations balloons I got, figured a congratulations on our loss wasn’t appropriate.”

“It’s appreciated.”

We sit there in silence, enjoying our dessert, no need to speak about what happened on the ice. No need to hash it out. What’s done is done, we can’t go back.

When I finish my dessert, I take my plate to the sink, rinse it and then stick it in the dishwasher. “That was really good, thank you, Rachel.”

“Anything for the tripod.” She winks.

It’s what we jokingly call ourselves, a nickname Calder doesn’t quite appreciate, being that Rachel and I get along so well that we joke around with Calder more than he wishes.

Calder takes his empty plate along with Rachel’s, presses a light kiss across her temple then hands me the dishes and I take care of them. It’s hard not to be a tripod when we look like a goddamn old married couple, a weird threesome married couple.

Wrapping Rachel up in his arms from behind, Calder asks, “What are you going to do now? Take some time off?”

Propped up against the counter, I grip the edge of the marble. “Yeah. I’m sure my parents are going to want me to stay with them for a few weeks.”

“Where do they live?” Rachel asks.

“Scranton.” I drag my hand over my face and let out a long breath of air. “Not sure I want to go there though. I know my dad, he’s going to want to rehash every angle of the game until I’m blue in the face. And staying here in Philly,” I shake my head, “I don’t want to be sequestered to my apartment out of fear of running into Brawlers fans.”

“They’re brutal.”

And that’s the goddamn truth. Beyond brutal. They’ve been known to flip cars over from a loss, I can only imagine the kind of beating the city is taking tonight.

“Vacation then?” Rachel asks. “I heard Europe is beautiful during the summer.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, I wish. As much as I would love to leave the country after tonight’s game, I have some obligations that are keeping me close to Philly and New York City.” I push off the counter and snag my keys. “I think I might go visit my hometown, spend a few weeks up there.”

“Binghamton, right?” Calder asks.

I nod. “Yeah, my friend Racer lives up there. It might be good to play catch up. Thanks for the dessert and half a beer. I’m going to head out.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to you guys later.”

As I’m leaving, Rachel calls out. “For what it’s worth, Miller deserved a hell of a lot more than the ass-beating you gave him.”

I shut the door with a smile, Marcus did deserve so much more. What a prick.

Reaching into my pocket, I scan through the contacts on my phone and press send.

Hopping into my car, I turn it on, and listen to the phone ring on my Bluetooth.

“Dude!” Racer answers. “You dropped that mother fucker so hard.”

I pull out onto the street and head to my apartment. “How are you, man?”

“Semi-drunk after watching that game, a little turned on from your right hook, and wondering why you’re calling me when most likely your dad is frothing at the mouth to recount your entire game for a good three hours.”

Racer is one of few people who knows my family so well, that’s what happens when you grow up together, you end up knowing the ins and outs of each other’s lives.

“Haven’t called him yet. Kind of waiting on that phone call.”

“Smart.”

Feeling awkward, I ask, “So, what would you say if I decided to come up to Bing for a few weeks?”

He doesn’t skip a beat when he asks, “Too afraid to go home?”

I laugh. “Not afraid, more like not in the mood.”

“Yeah, I would avoid that lecture train for as long as I could.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Are you asking if you can stay at my house? Because I’m on the hunt for a girl and I don’t want you stealing her away with your brawny athletic body and good looks. It would actually be detrimental to have you around.”

Racer is such a nitwit.

“I was going to ask Mr. Lockwood if I could stay at his place for a few weeks, he’s offered it up before.”

“You fucker. Of course he would offer up his house to you. Let me guess, you leave a few signed hockey sticks around the house and you call it even?”

Pretty much.

Mr. Lockwood is a teacher Racer and I both had in high school. He lives on a hill in a little cottage that over looks the area. He is retired now and spends his summers up in the Adirondacks, leaving his cottage up for grabs for any of his friends or formal students.

“If I leave a signed jersey for the man, that’s between me and him.”

“Such bullshit.” He huffs and says, “So you’re coming to Bing, huh?”

“I think I need to.”

“Then let me throw together a welcome home party, but you’re paying for it.”

I roll my eyes. Of course I am, the cheap fuck.

***

Hayden’s story, ONE BABY DADDY, the final book in the Dating by Numbers Series is releasing this Summer! To be the first to find out about release dates and be one of the first to preorder, click here. And don’t forget to add the book to your TBR!

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Dating by Numbers Series

(Adventurous dating series full of laugh out loud moments and very heated scenes)

Three Blind Dates

Two Wedding Crashers

One Baby Daddy

Back in the Game

The Binghamton Boys Series

(Full of heart, humor, and heat and some HOT CONSTRUCTION WORKERS)

Co-Wrecker

My Best Friend’s Ex

Twisted Twosome

The Other Brother

Standalones

(Full of heart, humor, and heat and some real laugh out loud moments)

The Mother Road

Newly Exposed

Dear Life

The Romance Novelist Series

(Hilarious, laugh out loud romantic comedies)

The Virgin Romance Novelist

The Randy Romance Novelist

The Stroked Series

(HOT sports romance with plenty of humor)

STROKED

STROKED LONG

STROKED HARD

The Bourbon Series

(Sassy, erotic romance with a gorgeous, protective alpha male)

Bourbon Sins

Bourbon Deceit

Bourbon Kingdom

Bourbon Truths

The Love and Sports Series

(New Adult, college football forms into professional football careers. Love triangles.)

Fair Catch

Double Coverage

Three and Out

The Hot-Lanta Series

(My first series ever. Baseball sports romance with lots of drama!)

Caught Looking

Playing the Field

Warning Track

Hit and Run

The Warblers Point Series

(Three Irish brothers, their younger sister, and the drama they get into. Love triangles. Book three still to come.)

Beers, Hens and Irishmen

Beers, Lies and Alibis