4. Rachel

CHAPTER 4

RACHEL

I can’t believe my car died. Another expense I can’t afford.

Staring out the window, the streetlights streak by as I silently add up each cost from today. Skates, hockey club membership fees, equipment, a freaking new battery for the ancient SUV. Plus labor.

Shit . I really am going to have to get a second job. Maybe downsize to an even smaller apartment, which seems physically impossible. We’re already crammed into the two-bedroom we have right now and Jett’s only getting bigger.

“Keep going straight?” Xander glances over at me.

I nod, twisting the thin stack of rings on my index finger round and round. My insides jitter, and it’s not just from the anxiety of the broken-down car situation. The man next to me is wickedly handsome, his presence large and intimidating in the enclosed space of his Porsche.

Everything about him screams masculine energy—the sharp lines of his jaw, dark stubble peppering his face, the slight crook in his nose, no doubt sustained during a fight on the ice. The scent of leather mixes with his crisp, clean cologne, winding around me, and I’m intoxicated with him.

A total stranger.

A hot-as-sin professional hockey player, but still a stranger.

What am I thinking, accepting a ride?

My other option was sitting in a dark parking lot and waiting for Charles the asshole to show up.

This choice somehow feels safer.

“Mommy, I’m hungry,” Jett whines from the backseat and I grimace, remembering my plan to stop at the store on the way home to grab dinner.

“We’ll be home in a minute.” I keep my voice upbeat and reassuring, trying to sound like I have my shit together.

“But you said we were going to go to the store, remember? That we don’t have any food at home.”

Dammit. Of course he remembers that. Kid forgets to brush his teeth every other night, but repeats the one thing I’d like him to keep to himself.

“Mommy—” Jett’s voice tips up and every muscle in my lower back tenses, my chest tight.

“Jett, it’s fine. I can throw something together, don’t worry.”

“I’m kind of hungry, too, little man, now that you mention it.” Xander’s eyes slide to mine. “If it’s okay with your mom, we can get some food on the way home. But I don’t know where to go.”

“Oh, yes please! Mommy, can we? Please?” Jett begs and I’m torn. I would love to eat out tonight, but given my current financial circumstances it’s probably not the most responsible decision.

“I don’t know—” I fiddle with the rings. “We’ve already put your coach out enough tonight.”

“It’s no problem—I have nothing to eat at my place. What do you like, Jett?” Xander glances at the rearview.

“Pizza!” Jett bounces up and down, pointing at Starlight Pi, the local pizza joint.

“Pizza it is.” Xander whips the shiny Porsche into the closest parking spot near the restaurant.

I’m in no position to argue. The man’s hungry and he’s the driver. I’ll get Jett a slice of pizza and I’ll just drink water. That won’t cost more than ten dollars, right?

Making our way into the dim restaurant, Xander requests a table for three. The young, attractive hostess blushes as she gawks at him. To my surprise, he doesn’t pay any attention to her, instead keeping his focus on me and Jett.

We follow behind the hostess. She seats us at a booth and scurries away. Xander picks up a plastic menu and studies his options.

“What’s good here, Jett?”

“Everything!” Jett grins. “I love this place. We don’t go out very much, though. Mom always makes us eat at home.”

“Oh, wow. She must be a good cook.”

“Not really. We don’t have any money.”

My face flames as my child spills our financial woes to the gorgeous hockey star.

“Jett—” I cut him off. “It’s more economical to eat at home.”

Jett frowns, crossing his arms over his narrow chest. “But not as much fun.”

“That’s true. You want a slice of cheese pizza, right?” I change the subject quickly, hoping Jett stops talking about money.

“One slice? That’s it?” Xander scrubs the back of his neck. “Let’s get a whole pizza. You can always take anything extra home.”

“That’s not necessary.” Hot panic flares in my gut. I don’t want to owe this man any money. He’s already doing us a solid and giving us a ride home.

“I know. But it’s my treat.” Xander’s voice is warm and tears prick at the corners of my eyes. Why is he being so nice to us? In my experience, there’s always a catch. But in this case, I’m not sure what to think.

The waitress appears and Xander orders the large pizza, a salad, a meatball sub, and waters for the table. I do the quick math and figure I owe him at least forty bucks.

Jett and Xander chat about hockey and I marvel as my normally shy child transforms into a bubbly, talkative boy. Xander grabs a crayon and scribbles a play on a paper placemat and Jett follows along, soaking it all in.

The food arrives, and the aromas of garlic and freshly baked dough have my stomach rumbling. Xander slides a piece of pizza onto a plate and hands it to Jett, then cuts a slice for me.

“Thanks.” I smile at Xander, accepting the food I swore I wasn’t going to eat. “Jett, be careful, it’s hot.”

“Right. That’s why you start with salad.” Xander plops a few pieces of lettuce onto Jett’s plate, along with some black olives and tomatoes. “Good?”

Jett nods. “If I have to eat it, I will.”

“You do,” I say, handing my son a fork. “And what do you say?”

“Thank you, Coach.” Jett spears a piece of lettuce and starts eating.

“Salad?” Xander offers the bowl to me.

“Sure.”

We eat in silence for a minute or two before Jett starts asking questions again.

“Where do you live?”

“Boston.”

“The city! That’s cool. Do you get to fly on airplanes all the time?”

Xander nods. “Yes. Usually about once a week.”

“I’ve never been on an airplane before.”

“Really?” Xander arches a brow.

“We were supposed to go to Disney World, but then Mom had to work. She works all the time.”

“Oh. Well, a lot of moms work. And I work all the time, too. It’s fun work, but it’s still work.”

“Wesley’s mom stays home. He got to go to Disney.”

“Maybe next summer, bud,” I say, trying to end this conversation. “Eat your pizza. We don’t want to keep Coach out too late.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” He smooths his hand over the checked tablecloth, our fingertips brushing, and I swear sparks fly up my arm.

Forget it, Rachel. The man’s a professional athlete. He may think about a quick fling while he’s in town, but no way will it mean anything.

“Mommy, is the pizza okay to eat now?” Jett’s voice interrupts my thoughts and I hover my hand over the cheesy slice.

“Should be fine.”

He bites into the pizza, a huge grin on his face, and despite the unfortunate circumstances, I relax and enjoy the moment.

The three of us eat and chat, Jett asking Xander a million questions about playing professional hockey. I sit back and marvel at the ease with which Xander handles the situation. Most men I know would sprint away from dinner with a mom and her five-year-old. Xander offered it up and seems happy about it.

“Do you have younger brothers and sisters?”

“I have a younger brother. My parents divorced when I was in eighth grade and my dad had another kid. So I spent a lot of time babysitting.”

“Ah, that explains it.” I fold my napkin, tucking it under my plate.

“Explains what?”

“How you’re so good with kids.”

Running a hand through his wavy hair, he shakes his head. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You skated onto the ice tonight and coached a youth hockey team. Of five and six-year-olds. Not many guys can do that.”

He locks his eyes on mine, sending my heart racing, my pulse fluttering in my neck.

“I’m not many guys.” Then he flashes me a cocky grin and heat unfurls low in my belly, my thighs clenching.

I’m in deep trouble with this one.