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I make Friday pizza night a tradition with Bryce and Ford. Ford and I steal snippets of time in the morning, at lunch, after Bryce has gone to bed, the two of us stripping down silently like the experts we’re becoming. We’re not so silent the one time we fuck on his boat while docked at the marina, although that got a little too steamy, literally speaking, for us to sign up for a repeat.
He invites me to join in on his family’s Sunday night suppers at his parents’ house. I invite him over to hang out with mine over burgers and beers on a Saturday.
I blog and write and cook like a madwoman. Whenever I have a spare minute, I’m thinking of ways Ford and I can work each other—and Bryce—into our insane schedules.
My plate gets very, very full.
Whatever it is I’m doing, I’m doing it full speed ahead. Especially when it comes to Bryce. I feel relatively confident about my cooking, my writing, and my blogging. The stuff I’ve been doing for years now; the stuff that filled my life prior to Ford.
But the being-around-a-kid thing? I’m clueless when it comes to that. And I’m not used to not knowing my way around something. I’m not used to not knowing how to do it, and do it well at that.
Going from being a single woman living on my own to being with a man and his daughter is a big shift. But I’m determined to crush it, just like I’ve crushed every other challenge that’s come my way. I figure if I just try my best, I’ll eventually get the hang of it.
I try, remember? I’m a hustler. And I’ll be damned if I don’t hustle on behalf of the motherless little girl I’m really starting to adore.
Bryce and I have taken to each other like peas and carrots. Once you’re in with her, you’re in. I try to squeeze in as much one-on-one quality time with her as my schedule allows. We have the best time together, bonding over glitter and pasta and classic Disney movies, and I can’t get enough of it.
I download a handful of books on step-parenting. Fiction, memoir. Self-help. I spend my breaks poring over websites and blogs on the subject. I duck out to coffee dates with my friends who are mothers, and friends of friends who have gone through the same thing.
I also end up agreeing to coach Bryce’s soccer team over pizza one Friday night.
“Miss Eva, guess what I’m doing tomorrow?” she asks, legs swinging as she chows down on her usual—cheese pizza “with just a little little little bit of sauce.”
I smile at Ford across the table. He smiles back. My body leaps, despite being bone tired after a very long week. Jesus, I’m attracted to this man. Can’t get enough of him. Good thing our sexting has become part of our new Friday night tradition. I just hope I can stay awake late enough tonight. I’ve got some serious PMS happening, which always makes me feel completely and utterly zonked.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Soccer!” she cries.
Ford reaches over and wipes her hand on his napkin. “Tomorrow is the first game of the season. First game ever for this one. We’re kind of beside ourselves with excitement—mostly because Hannah found some sweet unicorn sneakers for Bryce to wear.”
“That’s exciting,” I say. “I played soccer when I was younger. I loved it.”
“Were you a good soccer player?” Bryce asks.
I laugh. “I was all right. Not the best. But I certainly tried the hardest.”
“You? The hardest worker on the team?” Ford cocks a brow, hooking his foot around my bare ankle underneath the table and proceeding to start a game of surprisingly erotic footsie. “Never would’ve guessed.”
“We don’t have a coach though,” Bryce continues.
I frown at Ford. “Can they not find someone?”
Shaking his head, he stuffs what’s left of his crust into his mouth. “Not yet. No one really wants to volunteer. For obvious reasons.”
“What reasons?” Bryce asks.
“Uh.” Ford clears his throat. “Because—”
“Because your team is so good,” I say, glancing at Ford. He glides the toe of his shoe up my calf in gratitude, sending an entire body shiver through me. “Not everyone will be up to the task of taking on such…incredible athletes. I imagine y’all are very intimidating out there.”
“I am pretty good,” Bryce agrees. “Better than Olivia or Sterling, that’s for sure.”
Ford smiles. “A fact we’ve confirmed after all of one practice.”
“Hey.” I wink at Bryce. “When you got it, you got it. Right?” I hold out my hand for a high-five.
Bryce hits it with enthusiasm. “Amen, Miss Eva.”
“I’d volunteer to do it,” Ford says. “But I’m kinda playing my odds. Hoping someone else will be guilted into it first.”
I look at Bryce. She grins, mouth smeared with sauce, and my heart twists.
