Page 7 of Playing It Forward

I peek around the corner. Once I ascertain there are no handsome blond football players, I accidentally had sex with in a closet in the reception area, I scurry through the area to the exit.

As soon as I’m seated in my car, I pause to catch my breath. This is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman. I’m allowed to have one-night stands – closet or no closet.

Except I’m not.

Not when the man is a member of the Steel City Seals – the quarterback no less – and my boss warned us he’d fire anyone who has a relationship with any of the players.

I’d argue a one-night stand isn’t a relationship, but Hudson made himself perfectly clear. No sex with the players. I’m surprised he didn’t have a sign made with the rule and hung it up in the employee breakroom.

It doesn’t matter. I plan to keep far away from Nolan from now on. My body protests. It wants another taste of him. Wants to feel his strong arms lift me up and prop me against a door. Wants to feel how he makes me explode in ecstasy.

I file those thoughts away. I’m on my way to visit my dad. I don’t want to think about sex when I’m around him. Ew.

I drive out of the parking lot at the resort and turn left toward Rogue’s Landing. There are three towns on the island of Smuggler’s Hideaway. Smuggler’s Rest is the largest one and where most of the tourists and attractions are. Rogue’s Landing is smaller and is mostly filled with locals, although there are a few rental cottages scattered around the town.

Pirate’s Perch is the smallest town of them all. It’s more a hamlet than a town. The only people who live there are natives from before the island became a tourist destination. They avoid the tourists like a mermaid avoids a pirate.

I arrive in Rogue’s Landing within minutes. Dad’s house is a bit out of town toward Pirate’s Perch.

I park in the driveway and study the house. The Cape Cod could use some work. The paint on the outside is peeling, and one of the shutters is hanging off. I’ll add the work to my to-do list. Although, how I’m going to fool Dad into letting me do the work is another challenge.

I climb out of my car and Dad steps onto the porch.

I wave. “Hey, Dad.”

I open my trunk to gather the food I brought, but before I can pick up the first bag, he’s there, grabbing them.

“Dad.”

“Don’t you dare dad me, kiddo. I’m old, but I’m not an invalid. I can carry the damn groceries into the house.”

“You’re not old.”

“Tell that to my bones,” he mumbles as he walks to the house.

I shut the trunk and follow him. I hurry to open the front door for him. He brings the groceries into the kitchen and I begin to put them away.

“I don’t need you to buy my groceries.”

I roll my eyes. “You can’t live on canned soup and frozen ready meals.”

He crosses his arms and grunts. “Who says?”

“Everyone.”

“Asparagus.” He scowls as I place the vegetables on the counter. “I hate asparagus.”

“Liar. You love it when it’s fresh and grilled.”

He perks up. “Does this mean I can start the grill?”

I giggle. “Go ahead. We’re having flounder with grilled vegetables for dinner.”

His eyes narrow on me. “What about potatoes?”

I sigh. Dad would lose his mind if we didn’t have some sort of potato with our meal. The first time I met him, he warned me he couldn’t handle it if I was a vegetarian. And if I was a vegan? He was prepared to return me.

He’s a liar. He would never have returned a young girl into the foster care system. By the time I arrived at his house, he already had one girl and two boys he was either fostering or had adopted.