The minute the strip turned pink, telling me I was pregnant at nineteen during my freshman year of college, I settled into the fact that the fun, partying part of my life was over. Going to clubs, going to bars, and dating around weren’t in the cards for me anymore. I had a kid to raise, and Macie was going to come first no matter what.
I guess what I didn’t plan on was that kid growing up so damn fast or her wanting to spend time with her aunt and not her mother. Since when did she become so independent at ten?
So, when Bianca Macbeth, a mom from my daughter’s school, called to invite me out for a girls’ night, I didn’t have any reason to say no. In fact, it sounded like fun. A night out with fellow moms having a few drinks? Hell yes! It was just what I needed.
Now that I’m here, though, sitting at a bar surrounded by women I should want to hang out with, I’m miserable and would much rather be sitting at home on my couch with my kid and a Disney movie pulled up. Well, it would probably be a hockey game instead of a movie since she’s obsessed with the sport.
I hate saying this, but…I’m bored.
I’m not interested in the same drink I’ve been sipping for the last thirty minutes or the music that’s thumping through the speakers. Hell, the only thing that really has my interest right now is the TV sitting above Bianca’s head that’s playing a recap of the Carolina Comets game from last night. I blame Macie for that one, seeing as I was never interested in hockey until she became obsessed. Now, though, I can’t seem to escape it. Even my younger sister, Scout, is involved in hockey since she’s dating a player on our local team. My life is now more entwined with the sport than I ever thought possible.
It’s probably why I have zero interest in the conversation between Bianca and the other moms right now. They’ve been going on for ten minutes about the three Comets players sitting on the other side of the bar, but I’m just not as starstruck as they are.
I won’t even get into the fact that they shouldn’t be batting their lashes and pushing their tits up like they are, considering two of them are married and one is in a long-term relationship. That’s their business, not mine.
Besides, I don’t want to rock the boat with the only moms nice enough to invite me out. It would be an understatement to say it’s been a struggle to make mom friends. The groups are already formed, and the rumors about my failed marriage have already been spread. It’s hard to fix the image everyone seems to have of me.
“Seriously, he’s so hot. I want to lick his jawline so badly. I—oh god! He’s looking over here!” Bianca hisses, running her fingers through the ends of her hair.
“Never in my life would I think a guy missing a front tooth would be so cute, but oh my god, Fitzgerald makes me swoon.”
I can’t help but grin at that comment from Denise, another mom, because Fitzgerald is cute, especially when he has his tooth out. He also happens to be the sweetest guy ever. Quiet and polite, I love it when he stops by my sister’s donut truck.
But I don’t tell them that. I have no interest in advertising that I’m familiar with the players they’re fawning over. There’s no attention on me right now, and I’d like to keep it that way.
The girls keep giggling and staring at the hockey players. One must get up because Bianca’s eyes track him across the bar, and I swear she licks her lips. I want to laugh, but I don’t.
If only they saw the side of the players I see. They’re just like everyone else and not worth getting all flustered over. Some are sweet—like Smith, Miller, and Fitzgerald—and some are downright assholes, like Greer, the grumpy goalie who is never, ever nice, not even to Macie.
“So, Stevie, I heard a rumor…” I inwardly groan as Bianca turns her ultra-white smile on me. “Is your sister really dating a Comets player?”
Crap. So much for keeping that part of my life quiet.
“She is. Grady Miller.”
“Miller?!” Denise fans her face. “God, that man is so hot. He makes me tingle in all the right places.”
Hearing her talk about my sister’s boyfriend like that makes me uncomfortable. I don’t know how Scout handles this stuff every day, and I know she deals with it because I see her social media accounts. So many people accusing her of only having a publishing deal because of her “famous hockey boyfriend” is bullshit. If only they could have seen what I did over the years. She’s been through some rough stuff. I know how hard she worked for what she has, so the comments annoy me, just like Denise’s do.
“How’d she meet him again?”
“Well, she owns Scout’s Sweets. It’s—”
“That’s the cute little donut truck, right?” Bianca interrupts.
I force a smile. “Yes, that’s the one. Several of the players on the team stop by often.”
Sometimes too often if you ask me. Especially Greer. I could go the rest of my life without ever seeing him again, and it would still be too soon.
Is he possibly the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on? Yes.
Does it erase what a giant dick he is? Not even a little.
“What about Fitzgerald?”
“Hmm?” I ask.
“Does Fitzgerald ever stop by? Because if so, I might need to make a trip there.”
“Kerry! Don’t ask that. It’s none of our business,” Bianca scolds, but her eyes drift my way anyway like she’s waiting for me to say it’s okay and spill all the secrets of the players.
I’m not going to do that.
“Actually, I—”
“Hello, ladies,” a deep voice says, quieting me and the rest of the group.
I turn to find a stranger standing at the end of the table, a tumbler of something brown in his hand. He’s tall with deep blond hair and ruddy cheeks. The scent of alcohol wafts off him, and I’m certain it’s not coming from his glass. It’s him.
I glance at the other women, and none seem bothered by him interrupting our evening. In fact, Denise sits up higher, and Bianca grins his way like she can’t wait to sink her claws into him. Kerry seems interested as well.
“Hi,” Bianca says breathily.
“You ladies want some company?”
Before any of us can even respond—because I damn sure would say no—he sits down.
Right next to me.
I slide away from him as subtly as I can.
He grins over at me, and I muster up the tiniest of smiles back. There’s something about him I don’t like, something that puts me on edge that I can’t quite place my finger on. The other girls don’t seem to mind him, smiling and flirting. Maybe it’s all in my head.
A hand appears in my field of vision, and I jump in surprise.
“Hey, easy there, sugar. Just wanted to say hi.”
I glance up to find the guy smirking at me. I assume it’s supposed to be cute, flirty, or something of that nature. It’s not. It’s making me extremely uncomfortable.
I scoot away from him farther. He doesn’t miss it.
In fact, he laughs and leans into me. “Playing hard to get, huh? That’s all right. I like a good chase.” He winks, and I want to vomit. “I’m Kyle.”
It hits me.
Michael.
He reminds me of my ex-husband. His perfectly coiffed hair, his stupid collared shirt, those hideous khakis—even the red that’s staining his cheeks is reminiscent of my ex, who loved a bottle of whiskey more than he ever loved Macie or me.
Michael was a drunk and an asshole. This guy is giving me those exact vibes, and I really, really want to be anywhere else. My hands are clammy, and the pace of my heartbeat quickens.
I wish I were at home. I wish I were at home. I wish I were at home.
Shit. I didn’t tap my heels together.
“I’m going to use the restroom. Excuse me.”
I shove out of my chair and away from the table faster than I ever have in my life. I barrel through the bar and down the hall. I never thought I’d see a bar bathroom as a sanctuary, but the air that whooshes back into my lungs the moment I swing the door open makes it feel like one.
Pressing my back against it once it’s closed, I suck in breath after breath.
I’m not sure how long passes until my breathing finally evens out some, but when my racing heart finally settles down, the shame washes over me. I haven’t felt like this since the night I finally walked away from my ex. I hated it then, and I hate it even more now. I hate that he has a lasting effect on me.
I don’t want him to. I’m stronger than this—stronger than him.
Pushing off the door, I give myself a shake as I head for the stall. I didn’t really have to pee, but now that I’m here, I might as well.
I take my time, folding the toilet paper with precision instead of wadding it up. I wash my hands three times, doing everything I can to extend my time in here so I don’t have to spend another second at the table with the intrusive stranger who reminds me so much of my ex it makes my skin crawl. When I’ve exhausted all options, I take a steadying breath and pull the door open.
I’m two steps into the hallway when I regret my decision.
A dark shadow falls over me, and I don’t even need to look up to know who it is. I can smell him.
“There you are, sugar. Thought you ran out on me.”
In an instant, he’s in my space, crowding me against the wall and trying to get his hands on my waist.
“Don’t touch me.”
I hate how breathless I sound, hate the fear that’s racing up my spine. The same fear has me frozen in place instead of running.
“Oh, come on. You don’t mean that.” I’m sure he thinks he’s being charming, but he’s not. “I’d love to take you home tonight.”
“No.”
He laughs, reaching for me again, and I do everything I can to block his touch. How is nobody seeing this? Why is nobody helping?
“Stop, please.”
Another laugh that has my stomach revolting.
“I said no.”
I squeeze my eyes shut when he leans in, turning my head so if he does kiss me, at least it won’t be on my mouth. I want to puke. I want to scream. I want to run.
But none of those things happen. Instead, a rush of cold air hits me, and the breath returns to my lungs in a whoosh. There’s some grunting and someone talking, a few cuss words thrown around.
I swear I don’t care who my savior is; I’m going to give them a big ol’ kiss.
When I finally peel my eyes open, I hate myself for making that promise, because I know exactly who I’m staring at, and kissing him is the last thing I want to do.
Greer.
