Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
“Let’s add that to the planner.” Isla is already typing, then hitting search. We pore over options and make an appointment for an hour later at a diamond merchant. No time like the present.
That afternoon, I ditch my ring for a cool five figures, field a call from Rhonda—her friend Starla is happy to rent her micro-studio to me this summer (emphasis on micro)—and then check in with my clients to let them know their regular lessons are back on if they want them. I might as well get back to work.
Later, I send Rhonda a thank-you gift: a brand-new cat sweatshirt, a nail salon gift certificate, and some of Birdie’s toffee brownies.
At least this hot mess still knows how to get things done.
The next day, I pack up Furby and move into Starla’s “micro-studio” above the garlic hot dog place. She might have been overselling it by calling it micro. It’s more like a walk-in closet. There’s not even a shower—just a sink and a toilet—but I can shower at the gym. I’m an athlete. I’ve been doing it my whole life. I retrieve my things from Fuck Chad’s while he’s not home, store them at Leighton’s, and then spend the night with Furby on a futon that smells like the strongest spice.
At least it’s mine for now, and that’s what I need.
There’s one more piece of unfinished business. I’ll have to face Tyler Falcon again at Luna’s skating lesson. And I’m not sure I’m ready to see the gentleman who kindly turned me down on my wedding night.
How do you face the man who left you ibuprofen and a tiara after you came on to him like a dog comes onto a bone?
But I know this much—I absolutely have to grab a minute alone with the man I propositioned.
I just hope that when I do, I don’t stink like garlic.
5
A GROWN-ASS ADULT AND HIS MANTRA
Tyler
Look, I’m not the kind of guy who throws a pile of clothes on the bed and debates what to wear. For anything. I don’t call my sister or my mom on FaceTime, holding up one shirt after another and fielding opinions.
But today? Today, I’m fucking annoyed at the mountain of shirts and the number of options I’ve considered. I blow out a harsh breath, shake my head at my reflection in the mirror, and mutter, “Get it together, man.”
Getting it together means closing my eyes, plunging a hand into the mountain of clothes, and grabbing the first shirt I touch. Doesn’t matter what it is. With my eyes barely open, I tug it on. When I glance back at the mirror, I shake my head.
“Of course,” I mutter.
The text on the gray T-shirt reads: Fun fact: I don’t care. My sister gave it to me because she’s nothing if not irreverent. It’s a little rude, sure, but what can I do? I made a deal with myself.
With that decided, I try to shake off my irritation. I shouldn’t be thinking this hard about what I look like in front of my daughter’s skating coach. I’ve been taking Luna to the rink for years and to Sabrina’s rink for the last five months. Since the second week of January, to be exact.
I’m just a dad taking his kid to a lesson during the off-season. That’s all.
Except it’s not. This is the first time I’ve seen Sabrina since her wedding night when she—let’s just call it what it is—threw herself at me.
Translation: offered me my greatest fantasy.
In a cruel twist of fate, she was far too tipsy for me to do a damn thing about it. Didn’t take much willpower to walk out of that room like I did, given those three margaritas she’d had.
But even though resisting her was the right thing to do, it was the hard thing to do as well. Watching over her? Taking care of her? Looking out for her? Easy.
Still, I have no idea how today is going to go. Or, honestly, if Sabrina still wants some of those things.
A man can dream.
But one thing is clear: things cannot get weird between us. Luna loves skating. She also loves Sabrina. She tried a few coaches when we moved here last summer and finally found someone she clicked with in the feisty, upbeat, bright, and enthusiastic Sabrina Snow, former competitive figure skater and performer turned coach. And nothing—not a thing—can mess that up. Which means I need to make sure Sabrina knows we are all good.
Even though I can’t help but wonder if it’d be the worst thing in the world to ask her out. We’re both adults. We could be cool about it, right? Doesn’t have to mess things up with the lessons.
Earth to Tyler—She’s barely single.
Right, right. It’s a bad idea for many reasons.
But, is it though?
I do my best to silence the devil on my shoulder as I leave my room and walk into the chaos of the living room of my home in Pacific Heights, the same neighborhood where most of my hockey teammates live. My son, Parker, is perched on the floor, building not just a Lego spaceship, not just a Lego space station, but an entire Lego space city. And he’s doing it with none other than my teammate, Asher Callahan.