Page 3 of Playing Santa

“Go large, my man or go home.”

Raising my paddle, I say, “Five-thousand dollars.”

Predictably there’s a beat of stunned silence, followed by a throb of oohs and aahs among the crowd, as the auctioneer pounds his gavel to get control again. But I’m watching my mystery woman’s face because it’s breath-stopping as it goes from shock and awe to soft melting resignation. She’s smiling broadly, grateful, even as her mesmerizing eyes look sad.

The auctioneer calls it sold after a few seconds of silence from the competition and I jump to my feet with Fontanna and we high five as if I’ve just kicked a sixty-yard field goal.

* * *

The shelter auctions off another dozen animals and Tate gets his kitten. The crowd breaks up and we sign autographs and help ourselves to more refreshments while the shelter workers pack up our new pets to take home. Usually I’m all in on the refreshments, but I have my eye and most of my attention on the woman with the oversized clothes and jewel-like eyes until she goes back into the kennel area with a puppy and her boy Jimmy in tow.

Chloe says, “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

“Huh?” She and Tate both laugh at me.

“You’re incorrigible and transparent as ice. Cold as ice too,” Tate says. “She looks far too sweet for a guy like you.”

“I think I’m insulted,” I say. “I’m not cold. In fact, I’m pretty damn hot right now if you want to know.” I flicker my brows up and down for the laugh, but seriously, there’s something about her that’s hitting my sweet spot, a soft spot I hadn’t realized was there. Since high school when I left home for college and the pros, it’s been seven years’ worth of endless beauties, women of all shapes and sizes, and in all that time and fun I never got this reaction, this gut deep impression.

“I think you should find out her name,” Chloe says, taking me seriously.

“Don’t encourage him,” Tate says.

“No, I think I see a spark of something,” she says.

Feeling the spark warm my face with something close to embarrassment, I wonder what the hell that’s about since I don’t remember ever having this reaction where a woman is concerned. Not since grade school, when I had a crush on my second-grade teacher and she told me she was already married after I proposed to her. My dad laughed and told me to own it. He’d been proud of my boldness.

“Time to own the spark,” I say and I head to the door where the mysterious woman with the sparkling sapphire eyes disappeared.

Chapter 2

Ronnie

Oh my God that man is crazy. Crazy hot and sweet. But nuts to spend so much money on a puppy. Then shaking my head, I laugh. Why shouldn’t he? He’s a freaking NFL player with loads of money, isn’t he? He must be used to getting everything and anything he wants. Still, it’s a generous gesture.

“What’s so funny Mommy?” Jimmy asks me as I take the first of the cardboard pet carriers from the pile.

“Nothing. Just thinking. Put the pink kitty blanket in this box while I get Tinkerbell.”

I’m not going to tell my son I’m laughing at how idiotic I am. Of course, Sean Patrick is a wealthy man and spending five-freaking-thousand dollars on a mutt, cute as she is, means nothing to him. Generosity? Or spoiled rich man? Who knows—or why should I care?

Me? Because he’s so damn good-looking and was so kind to Jimmy.

Lifting the calico kitten from her cage where her momma cat lounges, I notice my hands shake. Settle down girl. He’s a flesh and blood man like any other.

Sure. Not. Not like any other man I’ve ever met. He’s bold. But then so was my baby daddy, Mac. Sean is drop dead handsome and surprisingly well-muscled for a kicker. Mac was okay in the looks department, nothing special. Mac was a charmer, but Sean outdoes him somehow even in charm-appeal with a special liveliness. He has the kind of innate enthusiasm that I can feel down to my core, like we’re connected somehow.

But he’s like a lot of other men I’ve met in the way he strips me with his eyes. Only it doesn’t seem dirty when he does it. He doesn’t scare me. Probably because I’m doing the same thing to him. Plus, he has a way with kids and he likes animals. What’s not to like?

Nothing. Only problem? He may as well be from another planet because he’s a stinking gazillionaire pro football player. I know without knowing that he has the pick of any woman he wants and he’s not about to pick a pitifully poor single mom fresh from a rooming house. A loser with no parents and no relatives who care.

A woman who knows better and who has the responsibility of taking care of herself and her son. Period.

As I get the next cardboard kitty carrier from the pile, I’m startled when I hear someone come into the room.

“There you are.” A male voice full of good humor booms in the confines of the kennel lined with cages.

It’s him. I spin around to meet the eyes of the object of my fantasies as Jimmy rushes to greet him.