“You remember Mr. Jack?” I asked. “Say ‘hi, Jack.’”
“Hi, Jack.”
Jack’s eyes crinkled at the edges even if he didn’t outwardly smile. “Hi. You ready to see me play hockey?” he asked, and again, his voice had that tiny hint of baby intonation. “I won’t have you to help me like last time.”
“Hockey,” Hazel repeated.
“Yeah, good job, kid,” Jack said, with a genuine smile this time.
Okay, fine. The cute moments between Jack and Hazel were starting to pile up. I was never going to use my ovaries again for their intended purpose, but if I were, this is the sort of thing that would get them going.
Ovulating was still fun. And god, sex when you’re ovulating? Top tier.
Sex with Jack when ovulating? Who knows. I shouldn’t have been thinking about that.
I mean, of course, I had some sort of feeling about him. He had next to everything going for him in my book. He was a little gruff, sure, but he seemed like a good dad. And well, he was hot. His mop of dark curly hair had dashes of salt throughout. Then add brooding brown eyes and that scar in his eyebrow that was somehow hotter than the Disney lion. I’d seen his face in a few variations of shave, but never completely clean.
And the tattoos. Good god, the tattoos. Ink crept up the side of his neck, down his arms, across his hands, and from the times I’d seen him in exercise clothes, I knew he had a massive crow on one muscled thigh.
Those hands. I just. Ugh. I had a strong emo phase and inked up boys (and girls for that matter) were just my thing. I had a decent amount of ink myself: a My Chemical Romance art piece on my inner arm, a skull on my ribs, and the Believers Never Die Fall Out Boy album cover on my thigh. So yeah, Jack and I had that in common.
But then there’s the whole rich athlete thing that brings reality crashing back in. I was about as outrageous as a middle schooler thinking they’re going to marry their favorite boyband member (also something I may have thought).
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy the view.
I must have zoned out because Gabi tapped my shoulder. Jack was headed out the door and down my apartment’s steps with Hazel’s car seat in hand, Aspen already talking his ear off.
“I think he’s got a little buddy,” Gabi said.
“Stab me in the heart,” I muttered. “Or ovaries.”
“It’s cute!” she objected.
“Oh, I know,” I said, raising my eyebrows at her. “I’m well aware.”
We got to Jack’s giant SUV thing and he came around to open our doors, something I wholly did not expect from him. I pointed Gabi to the front seat and she shook her head, gesturing me on.
“Somebody has to get in,” Jack sighed, tired of our shenanigans already. “Hey, do you need your cane?”
“I’m good today,” I said. “Thanks for checking.”
“You sure? I saw you limp.”
“What are you, the walking police? Sometimes I don’t want to deal with it. If I’m mostly fine, I skip it.”
Jack bit the inside of his cheek. “It’s a lot of walking, sweetheart.”
I could feel but not see Gabi tittering like she’d explode. “Yeah, sweetheart. Go get it.”
Jack held out a hand. “Give me your keys. I’ll get it. Is it inside the door?”
I blustered, caught off guard by his enthusiasm. “Uh, yeah. There’s one in the front hall.”
Without a word, Jack took the keys from my hand and sprinted up the steps, his butt not even jiggling once. I had forgotten that little benefit of playing hockey. Gabi got into thebucket seat in the back and I climbed in the front. Before I could lean out to close my door, Jack was back by my side, laying my cane between my leg and the console and shutting my door for me. I turned around to shoot Gabi a look, but she was absorbed in the kids.
“Hey, Miss Ordoñez,” Harper said.
“Well, hello, Harper. Is this your car?”
