And then I remembered the end of the conversation. As soon as the words replayed in my head—“I wish I could warm you up”and“Well, maybe I should just warm myself up and think of you while I’m doing it”—a wave of desire rippled through me and I was instantly hard.
I envisioned her lying in my guest room, her hands in her panties playing in the wetness caused by thoughts of me…I had no choice but to jerk off right then and there in the middle of my morning shower or I would have had to get on the team bus and the airplane with a rock-hard cock. Blue balls at twenty-five thousand feet? No, thank you.
Now I’m freaking out at the prospect of seeing her again. I feel like she’ll know what I did—and I don’t know if I can look at her innocently and not think about what she might have done last night. And the more I think about it, the more my dick twitches in my pants, which does nothing to keep me calm.
I hold my breath and open the front door to the brownstone. I’m greeted by the sound of music. Old music—seventies music. I leave my suitcase in the hall and follow the sound into the kitchen.
It’s a band my parents used to listen to on actual records in the den when they were feeling nostalgic. Fleetwood Mac. “Don’t Stop,” I think the song is called. I turn into the kitchen and stare at the sight before me.
Callie and Conner are dancing around the room. She’s singing along with the chorus of the song at the top of her lungs, barely in tune. He is humming along completely out of tune. They’re both holding wooden spoons that are dripping with remnants of cake batter. Full cupcake tins are sitting on the counter by the oven and a dirty mixing bowl is on its side in the sink.
There are globs of batter on the counter and the floor where they are dancing, but neither of them seems to notice or care. I don’t either. I happily take it all in unnoticed. She’s smiling brighter than sunshine at Conner, who is clearly having the time of his little life.
Finally she notices me and her smile gets even brighter. “Hey! Daddy is here!” she tells Conner. He spins, drops his spoon with a splat on the floor and runs to me. I bend down and let him climb into my arms, not at all concerned about the chocolate batter his fingers are smearing across my suit. If it were Ashleigh, she would freak out and tell him to stop. But I don’t care. I have other suits. This moment is once in a lifetime.
“Daddy, we bake cupcakes and lick batters and dance!” he tells me in an excited rush.
“I see that,” I reply and kiss his sticky cheek.
The song starts to fade out as Callie bends and picks up his spoon. She’s in a pair of yoga pants and a gray tank top with the Rolling Stones tongue on the front, and her long wavy hair is pinned up on her head in not one but two knots. It makes her look like a punk Princess Leia or something. She smiles sheepishly at me, hurries to get the cloth from the sink and starts wiping up the mess.
“Ashleigh dropped him off. Said she wanted to save you the trip,” she tells me with a look that says it’s way more than that. “I promise to clean up the mess. Sorry we got carried away.”
“Don’t mind in the least,” I tell her honestly and walk over to where she is about to put the cupcakes into the oven. “What flavor?”
“Devil’s food cake.” She winks.
“Of course.” I laugh. It was her favorite flavor when we were younger and my mom always made it for her for her birthday.
She dips the tip of her spoon in one of the cups of batter and lifts it to my mouth. I taste it but don’t take all of it and she promptly bops me lightly on the tip of my nose with the spoon. A dollop of batter splatters across the bridge of my nose.
I give Callie a mock scowl but Conner squeals with laughter. The beginning chords of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” start to rift through the stereo. She places the cupcakes in the oven and then she closes her eyes and sighs.
“Best song ever!” she declares and spins away dancing by herself and singing again.
I put Conner down and he runs to join her. I can’t believe how happy I am in this moment. I don’t honestly remember the last time I ever felt this content. Callie Caplan is the best thing that ever happened to me.
Chapter 27
Callie
Devin!”
It’s been happening all night. It’s what is supposed to happen at these things. Rich Brooklyn Barons fans drop a ton of money on tickets to hobnob with the players and get drunk on free booze and fat on free appetizers. Well, maybe they weren’t doing the second part, but I sure was.
I grab a cream cheese crab puff off a passing tray and wash it down with a swig of Champagne. Devin asked me to come to the Annual Barons Winter Mixer and keep him company because all the players were bringing their significant others and he didn’t want to stick out. Plus, he said he needed the positive reinforcement. I agreed because I love a party, and if Devin needs me, I’ll be there.
Devin smiles brightly at the large man with a ring of fuzzy gray hair who called his name. He’s marching toward us with an overly primped woman with giant Southern belle gray hair and dark red lipstick on her thin lips. When they reach us, the man shakes Devin’s hand powerfully and grins.
“Good to see you again!” he says to Devin.
“You too, Mr. Kensington.” He turns to the woman and smiles even more brightly. “And you, Mrs. Kensington, are looking more beautiful every time I see you!”
I’m amazed at how comfortable he seems to be in this role of being on display and schmoozing these people. All night he’s been relaxed and friendly and he’s never had to ask a single person’s name, even though I know he only sees these rich hockey fans maybe twice a year at events like this. And all his inner turmoil, which I know is still brewing, is not at all evident. On the cab ride over here, he told me he told Ashleigh he’s hiring a divorce lawyer. When I asked how she took it, he said there was crying and accusations. Apparently now he’s the one ruining everything. I wanted to get out of the cab, walk to Ashleigh’s and kick her in the teeth. That woman was beyond delusional.
I know that’s the hardest decision he’s ever made. I know he thinks it means admitting failure even though I keep telling him repeatedly it doesn’t. But I also know that he knows, failure or not, that it’s the best decision possible.
Mrs. Kensington is delighted with the compliment and she giggles like she’s twelve. “Oh, Devin! You are too sweet. Isn’t he too sweet?”
