Chapter 6

six

EMMALINE

Gotta love bumper to bumper Atlanta traffic with people trying to weasel their way between two cars with no more than a foot between them. Horns blare and brake lights flash. By the time I meet my brother for lunch, my nerves are shot.

Roman sits outside a table that’s much too small for his long legs. A bread bowl of squash soup is waiting in the empty spot beside him.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“You should have listened to your big brother and left earlier,” he says as he gets up and hugs me. “Are you ready for your first day?”

Placing the straps of my purse over the chair, I huff. “Yeah. I wish it were full-time.”

“I don’t want you working full time. I need you at my games.” With his hands wrapped around a large turkey sandwich, he takes a bite and chews. “Besides, the wife of one of my teammate’s has started a dating app, and we’re going to be two of their beta testers.”

I’m in the middle of slurping my autumn squash soup and choke. “You’re joking right?”

“Nope. It’s anonymous, no photo trolling. No one will know I’m a professional athlete, and you’re doing it with me. We can laugh about it later. Or we’ll find the love of our new lives.”

I pinch a piece of the bread from the bowl and dip it into the soup. Using a dating app has never entered my mind. Most seem to be for hooking up, and that’s not what I’m looking for. And I do understand my brother’s anxiety about people wanting to date him for his hockey fame.

“When they meet you, they’ll know.”

Hesitating, he puts his food back on the plate. “This is Georgia. Their college quarterback is more well-known than any hockey player, except maybe Cross since his dad is the NHL commissioner, and Wynward who won the MVP. They might know them. But I’ve been playing in California. It’s Reed Cross’ wife who started the app, Real Life Dating.”

He takes out his phone and shows me the app. “See, you can put in what you don’t want. For you, check no hockey players.”

I lift an inquisitive brow as I think about Bryce Wynward lighting my body on fire one week after Grant gut punched me on our wedding day.

The moment Bryce gathered his new daughter from me, I knew it was him who I shared the most epic night of my life.

The scent of cedar and eucalyptus infiltrated my senses and sent flashbacks swirling through my brain of our night together. As he stood up, I breathed in his scent, letting it envelop me like a warm blanket.

“No hockey players, check. What else are you going to forbid me to say or do? I’m twenty-nine. I think I can speak for myself.”

“Download it and let’s fill it out together.”

There’s no arguing with Roman when he gets an idea into his mind, so I download it. “If I go on a date with a one-eyed creepy guy who carries around nude magazines, you’ll pay the price.”

He chuckles. “Don’t worry, sis. I’ve got your back.”

“You’re not going to be a third wheel on my date.”

“Why not?” he jokes.

I scroll through my phone answering the questions. No one will choose someone like me if I’m truthful. Who would want my insecurities? When it comes to my physical attributes, I don’t hold back. Honesty is the best policy.

Plus size. I type with resignation as it’s a politically correct term for overweight.

Red hair. Everyone doesn’t appreciate a redhead, but I love my hair and refuse to hide it. If no guy chooses me, then fuck them. They’ll miss out.

Attempting to strike a balance between truthfulness and self-deprecation, I let out a heavy sigh. I list my hobbies. Then it asks about past relationships.

Left at the altar. There’s the nail in the coffin. Every guy will believe I deserved to be humiliated. Being dumped on your wedding day only happens on television, at least that’s what I thought.

What I am looking for in a partner:

A man.

A ready-made family

Someone who can’t breathe when he sees me

Over six feet tall. (I’m tall, and I want someone who’s bigger than me.)

Protective

Possessive

Someone who finds pleasure in the little things.

Someone who loves the holidays

A hard worker

What I don’t want:

A professional athlete.

A pilot.

Egomaniac

No therapists or counselors.

Guys under six feet tall.

Quickly, we review each other’s profiles.

“No therapists?” Roman asks.

“I don’t want someone analyzing me all of the time.”

“But you put counselor as your occupation.”

“Yeah, I should take that out. I don’t need to hear someone else’s baggage. Speaking of which, I need to get to school, sign paperwork, and get my badge.”

I look through his profile and see that he put, “A woman who wants kids right away.” I smile. “Roman, the woman who wins your heart will be more than you’ve ever dreamed of. I’m not sure she’ll come from the dating app, but it’s worth a try.” I give Roman a peck on the cheek and head to Admire Academy.

After meeting with the human resources director, I’m ready to start my new job as the after-school counselor. A new lanyard and badge hang from my neck. A clipboard containing the children’s pictures, names, and ages sits firmly in my hand.

This job includes playing games with the kids. They have to trust you before they open up. This school is expensive, so I don’t expect any of the kids to have major issues, but you never know. Perusing the list, I see two kids with the last name Cross on the list who stay for the afterschool program on Wednesdays. It makes me wonder if it’s Reed Cross’ children, who plays on the Jets.

When the last bell rings, the kids flood into the gym where I’ve set up cones. I divide them up into four teams as I happily listen to their chatter. It’s so hard to be quiet all day in school. I would do fun things with the students all the time if I were a teacher.

“Hey, kiddos. I’m Emmaline, and I’m going to be here with you after school. We’re going to do a relay race. After you run and weave through the cones, high five the next person in line, and then sit crisscross behind the last person on your team. Winners get whistles and get to be in charge of the next activity. Sound good?”

They yell so loud, it shakes the windows in the gym.

From the beginning, the kids show their athleticism. Their parents have money and spend it on athletics. My parents did the same thing. We want what’s best for our kids, but sometimes, we put too much pressure on them. The teams are about halfway done with the relay race, and the yellow team is winning by a landslide. Tomorrow, I’ll move a few kids around to make it more competitive.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a gorgeous man in athletic pants—the shiny kind with stripes down the side. Not just any man, but Bryce Wynward. Sex God. Hockey God. What’s he doing here? My palms saturate with sweat, just catching a glimpse of him.

The principal is completely taken with him. She’s touching his arm lightly, and he smiles warmly as he asks questions. Annoyed that this woman is touching him, I turn my back and urge on the team of underdogs. They make a slight comeback, and I make a fuss over them. “See, kiddos, never give up. When life hands you lemons…”

“Make lemonade.” Bryce says as he walks toward me.

“Yeah, what he said.” A few of the older kids yell his name.

“That’s the center for the Georgia Jets. Wynward. Wynward,” they chant.

Mrs. Picklebaum says, “Children, quiet down. It’s time for a snack.” Then she turns to me. “I know it’s your first day, but can you answer any questions Mr. Wynward may have?”

If I can remember my name.

“Sure.”

Why are my legs sweating?

Why? Because the apex of my being reacts to this man in a way it hasn’t for anyone else.

He’s standing in front of me, and that same scent that intoxicated me years ago is begging me to move closer to him. I don’t .

“You look different with your hair down,” he says with a smile tugging at his lips.

At least he remembers me from the arena when my hair was in a ballcap.

“Are you thinking of sending Jolie here?”

“Reed Cross’ wife gave me a few schools to check out. So, are you a physical education teacher?”

“No, I’m a child counselor.”

His head bobs up and down. “Sorry, your brother mentioned it. I’m overwhelmed with the list of things I need to do today, this week, and for the rest of my life.”

And I have an overwhelming need to help him, touch him, and make him forget his worries.