Chapter 4

T oday is Maci's first day watching Amelia on her own. For the first few days when she started the position, Maddie was around. Now, she's gone out west to start the next chapter of her life. The next day, Poppy was there, but now, she's too busy with her own career.

I know I'm being overprotective, but I'm nervous. My one fucking job in life is to keep Amelia safe. And I'm freaking the fuck out that I might have left her with a very attractive woman—in cargo jeans, a loose T-shirt, and those ugly-ass sandals every chick over twenty-five seems to be obsessed with—who doesn't know jack shit about kids. Oh, and who writes the filthiest shit I've ever seen because, yes, I looked up her books and flipped through one.

They are fine , I tell myself again.

My phone hasn't rung, and I made sure to leave it on the bench, where I could hear it if it did. That pissed Coach off, but he knows that this week is hard with having someone new with my girl.

"Sterns, pick up the fucking pace!" Coach roars. "You look like my ninety-year-old aunt Florence out there. Hell, I think even she moves faster than you do! And she's been bedridden in a nursing home for years!"

"Sorry, Coach," I mutter before I groan at myself.

I know I'm not playing like my usual self today, but, Jesus Christ, I wish he'd cut me some slack. Unlike my teammates' children, Amelia doesn't have the luxury of having her mother at home with her. I'm doing the best I can, and I know it'll get easier. But right now, I'm stressed to the limit. So much so that my head aches and my jaw hurts from clenching it.

"Run it again," Coach Jacobs says coolly.

The thing with Coach is, he doesn't need to yell to instill fear in all of us. He just demands respect by being him.

"Get your finger out of your ass so we can do this and go home," Walker says, his mouthguard hanging from his teeth. "Poppy wants Chinese and pizza. Which means two stops for me."

"The baby hungry?" I grin, keeping my voice quiet enough for the others not to hear.

He gives me a look that says, Shut the fuck up, asshole, before I make you look worse in front of Coach .

And if anyone could do it, it's Walker James. Who is an absolute beast on the ice.

But instead, he slaps his stick to mine. "Like I said, let's do this so I can get out of here."

He skates off, and I head to where I need to be, telling myself over and over not to fuck this up. I don't want to be the reason why we can't leave on time just because my ass can't focus enough to do my job.

It's been less than a week since Poppy accidentally let the cat out of the bag that she's got a bun in the oven, and just to prove a point that I can keep a secret, I've refrained from decorating Walker's locker with baby stuff. But I mostly haven't because I know they've been pregnant before and lost the baby. I can't imagine how that feels, but I hope with everything I am that they get this chance to be parents because they'd both be great at it. Fuck, if I can do it, I guess anyone really could.

That's not true. There's a shit ton of babies who have the worst parents. And since Walker grew up in a household where his parents were drug addicts who cared more about getting high than feeding and caring for their kids, last year, Walker and I decided to start a charity to help feed hungry kids in the New England area. We started small, but we hope to reach the entire country one day—hell, maybe even the entire world.

Walker takes off down the ice, cutting across the arena effortlessly. Kolt Kolburne—our right winger—heads toward him, and Ryder moves across from me. I put everything out of my head as I move toward Tripp Talmage, who's protecting the goal, his huge body stretching across the damn thing like he's a monster. The puck goes to Ryder, who takes it right to the goal before he sends it to me. And before I can even think about fucking it up, I slap it in, getting it past one of the nation's best goalies as he falls to his knees.

Thank fuck.

Now, we can go home.

The scent of cookies hits my nose when I push open the front door. I set my stuff down and take off my sneakers, and before I can even make it to the kitchen, Amelia's feet pad across the floor as she barrels toward me with her tiny baking apron on.

"Daddy!" she squeals, a grin spreading from ear to ear as she leaps into my arms when I lean down.

Picking her up, I lift her high above my head so that her feet are dangling. "What's my favorite monkey doing?"

"Dad, it's just me!" she huffs out, annoyed. "I'm not a monkey. I'm Amelia."

Bringing her down, I narrow my eyes. "Are you sure? Let me smell you. You know, just to see if you smell like a monkey." I give her a sniff. "Yep. You sure stink like a monkey." I look at her again. "Hmm … monkeys are ticklish under their armpits. Let me check that out."

As I start tickling her, she flails around, giggling uncontrollably. And to be honest, the sound is the sweetest music to my ears. Because after I worried about her all morning, it's more than obvious she's doing just fine.

"What smells so good anyway?" I hold her against me, looping my arms around her legs as her hands rest on my shoulders, and I walk deep into the house, following the smell. "Did you make me cookies?"

She brings her lips closer to my ear, dropping her voice real low. "We burned-ed the first cookies, so we made new ones." The way she says burned , with an extra syllable at the end of it, cracks me up.

Just as I walk into the kitchen, Maci is transferring the cookies from the baking sheet to the rack. She's wearing an apron that matches Amelia's, tied around her waist, and when she hears us, she turns around.

There's no question the woman is stunning. She's not like the women at the VIP events I have to attend, with their faces painted on and their skintight dresses. Or even like the models in makeup commercials. She's just … naturally beautiful.

She smiles at both of us, but her cheeks have a hint of red in them. "You didn't tell your daddy that we ruined the first batch, did you?" When Amelia nods her head, Maci puts her hand on her hip playfully. "So much for that being our secret!"

She glances at me, and I can tell right away that she's more comfortable when I'm not here. Since she's only been with Amelia for a few days, we haven't gotten the chance to really get to know each other. Not like we need to, I suppose, but when it comes time for us to travel, she'll need to come too. It'll make it easier if we're not total strangers.

I take a few strides until I'm next to her, and she freezes up, looking like a deer in headlights. Reaching behind her, I grab a cookie from the cooling rack and take a big bite. It's still warm and soft, and the chips have melted.

"Damn good," I coo, taking another bite before finishing the whole thing off. "I need about two more and a glass of milk."

"Hey, I want one!" Amelia whines, rushing to the counter and reaching her small hand toward the sideboard. "My daddy had one, so can I have one?" She glances up at Maci, whose grin spreads across her face.

"Yes, you can. I wanted to check that they were cool enough. But since your dad just inhaled one and didn't get his throat burned off, I suppose they are all set now." She passes her a cookie before looking at me. "Thanks for being the guinea pig."

"Hey, if it means I get cookies, that's a risk I'm willing to take." I shrug before turning around and leaning against the counter. "How was your and Amelia's day?" I quickly glance down at my daughter before looking at Maci again. "Hopefully, she was good for you?"

The corner of Maci's lips turns up as she smiles down at Amelia. "She's always good," she answers softly, and my heart swells in my chest.

Amelia is such a respectful human for only being three years old. And every time I hear it, I can't help but feel so damn proud.

"We had a very good day. We went to the park, we had a puppet show, and we made cookies. So, I call it a win."

"A puppet show, you say?" I widen my eyes at Amelia. "You don't like puppet shows, do you?"

"Daddy!" she squeals, jumping up and down. "You know I love them. I love them the most!"

"Hmm …" I pretend to be thinking. "That's funny. I thought … I thought I loved puppet shows the most."

"No, Daddy. They are my favorite!" she says, holding the now half-eaten cookie in her hand, chocolate smeared all over her face. "You like hockey, Daddy . I like puppet shows."

It probably makes me a toddler—the fact that I love to get a rise out of my three-year-old by pretending I love the stuff she does more than her. But, hey, she's my best friend these days. I can't help myself.

"All right, all right. Fine," I mutter. "You are the biggest puppet-show lover. I get it. I get it. Geesh."

"Yes, I am," she says, content with my answer. "Daddy, can Maci stay for dinner with us?"

"Oh, sweetie … that's okay," she answers before I get the chance to. "Your dad has had a long day at the arena, and I actually have some things I should get to at home."

"You mean Clyde?" Amelia says.

I'm sure I look confused because … who the fuck is Clyde? If it's her boyfriend, why is she with someone who has the name of a ninety-five-year-old dude?

"Clyde is her doggy, and he's so cute," she says, looking at my face. "We went and checked on him earlier."

"You have a dog?" I say, and she nods. "You can bring him here, you know. I love dogs."

"No, Daddy, I love dogs! Me!" Amelia says. In her mind, she's the only one allowed to like an animal even if it's one a big portion of the world also loves.

"Oh, I would never do that. He's … big. And he drools. A lot." Maci shakes her head. "My neighbor is a widowed lady, and she loves Clyde. She goes over throughout the day and checks on him and even brings him over to her place." She looks slightly embarrassed. "But, yes, sweetie, I do want to go home to my boy. He's probably missing me, and I have to admit, I miss that big, drooly man too."

"Can you go get him and bring him back, please?" She pokes her bottom lip out. "It's pizza night. Daddy lets us make heart pizzas. I get to put my cheese on myself!"

Maci's eyes find mine, and I tilt my head.

"She's right. It is pizza night. And it would be a shame if Clyde got excluded from that."

"Logan, he's a big dog." She widens her eyes. "He's like a bull in a china shop."

"He'll be fine," I assure her, waving down at myself. "I'm a big dude. So, maybe we'll hit it off."

I can tell she's thinking about it. I'm sure, deep down, the lady just wants to go home and relax. She's been with my kid most of the day.

But when she looks at Amelia one more time, she sighs. "All right, all right. I'll go get him." She heads toward the door, sliding on those bulky sandals that only she could make look cute. "But if he breaks anything or covers your hardwood floor in drool, don't say I didn't warn you."

"The housekeeper comes tomorrow anyway." I shrug. "We'll have the pizza ready," I call out. "What kind?"

Grabbing her bag from where it hangs, she pushes her hair over her shoulder. "Anything is fine. Really." She looks at us once more and waves. "Be back in a bit. But I'll tell you now, if pizza is around, he's going to beg nonstop."

As she leaves, closing the door behind her, I can't wipe the stupid smile from my face. Because for the first time in a long time, I'm actually excited to hang out with someone who isn't Amelia.

"You weren't kidding about the drooling thing," Logan says, looking at Clyde. "That drool hit the floor when it was hanging from his jowls. He's like the kid from Big Daddy ."

"I know." I look at my dog, who would undoubtedly sell his soul for a piece of pizza crust. "He's gross. But he's a good boy."

At the words good boy , Clyde wags his tail, and he glances at me before going back to begging Logan. Eventually, Logan gives up and tosses him the crust before patting his head.

"What kind of dog is he anyway?" he asks. "And how old is he?"

"He's a bullmastiff. And he's two," I say, smiling sweetly at Clyde. "He's the best boy. And I promise, he's a gentle giant."

Once Clyde sees there's no more pizza left for him to beg for, he walks over to where Amelia is playing on the floor and lies down next to her, putting his head near her lap.

"Oh, buddy!" Amelia coos, giving his huge head a pat. "You're such a good boy."

"I meant what I said," Logan says, looking at me from the other side of the couch. "Bring him here. And when you stay, he can stay too."

Logan Sterns has this way of making me blush, even when he hardly says anything. I could chalk it up to the fact that I haven't been on a date or had sex in three years, but I know it's really because he's got this hot-boy thing about him. Even when he's being goofy, he's sexy.

And as much as I hate to admit it, Holly might be right. He might be just what I need to get inspired to start writing again. He embodies so many of the male characters I've written about before. Because what can I say? I've always loved a funny dude. Oddly enough though, my ex-fiancé, Gavin, wasn't funny at all.

"I don't want to completely take advantage of you …" From my words, my cheeks heat, to the point where I feel a burning sensation on my flesh. "I … ugh … I meant, you know, take advantage of your home. I don't want to overstay my welcome." I swallow roughly. "Besides, he humps everything. So … yeah." Now, I just sound like a fumbling idiot.

"Wow, we have a lot more in common than our size," he coos, and I think my body might actually melt into the couch. He's clearly amused as his lip twitches. "And, Miss Maci, I somehow don't think you could ever take advantage of me," he muses. "Bring him. Or I'll send someone to go pick him up myself."

"We'll see," my voice barely squeaks. "I should clean up and head home."

"I don't have to be at the arena until tomorrow afternoon. You should stay and hang out for a while. There's a new Disney movie that Amy's been wanting to watch." He grins, nodding toward the floor, where Amelia is now cuddled up with Clyde. "Looks like they are already ready for a movie night."

I know he doesn't have any romantic intentions with me. He's simply being nice and trying to get to know the woman who is going to be watching his child for the next six weeks. But still, it feels wrong. Like … watching a movie together is too far.

"I really should head home," I say reluctantly as I stand and gather up the plates and napkins. "What time would you like me here tomorrow?"

I swear there's a look of disappointment on his face, but before I can read into it too much, he stands and grabs Amelia's empty plate from beside her. "Noon will be fine, thanks." He heads toward the kitchen and sets the plates in the sink before turning it on and rinsing them off.

I watch in awe as he flips open the dishwasher and puts the plates inside. I was with Gavin for three years, and I don't think he knew we even had a dishwasher. But Gavin was a boy. Logan Sterns is a man. I suppose he has to be because he's a father.

Walking toward Amelia, I bend down and give her a small hug. "See you tomorrow, girlfriend."

"Do you have to go?" she says, making me feel terrible for leaving. "I wanted to watch a movie with Clyde. And my dad could watch the movie with you."

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I have some things I need to take care of at home. But I'll be back tomorrow, okay? Maybe we can even take this big fella for a walk." I take in Clyde, who is sprawled out, living his best life, as she sits beside him. "Come on, boy. Time to go home."

Amelia puts her face to his and kisses his giant head. "Bye, Clyde," she whispers sadly.

He doesn't get up right away, instead ignoring me.

Dipping my head down, I make my voice a little deeper. "Time to go— now. "

I clap my hands together, and slowly, he rolls over and stands up before reluctantly making his way toward the door.

Following behind him, I grab his leash and hook it on his collar. "See you tomorrow," I say to Logan.

"See you later, Boston," he drawls playfully, and I wonder how he knows I'm from there when I've never told him. "Thanks for bringing your horse over."

"Anytime." I giggle and head out the door.

Part of me didn't want to leave. The part that genuinely enjoyed hanging out with Amelia and didn't hate spending time with her dad tonight. But I know that's inappropriate. So, instead, when I get home, I will try to use the inspiration from the hot dad and write some words.