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The little pixie is right in front of me, holding the baby on one hip while craning her neck up to look at me. I don’t know why she came over here, but we’re both just staring at each other. Does she feel it, too? Is she breaking out into a cold sweat? Is her pulse pounding out of control? Oh God, am I contagious?
Being this close to her is overwhelming. I need a momentary reprieve, so I stare at the kid. Switching into doctor mode, I check him over for distress or symptoms of a cold or an earache, or anything to distract me from the woman who is upending my life without even knowing it. He’s got a hint of copper hair, along with wide, dark eyes. Cute kid, but she’s not his mother. Again, I’m not sure how I know, but I do.
“He’s not my baby,” she confirms, whispering like it’s a secret. “I-I don’t know why I told you that.”
A chuckle rises up from deep in my chest, squeezing my heart on the way out. The beauty’s cheeks turn that lovely shade of pink again. “I know he’s not yours,” I whisper back just as secretively.
“How?” the little sprite asks, placing one hand on her hip.
“Two things. First of all, look at that kid’s giant head. It’d never fit through those narrow hips of yours. You would’ve had a c-section, but from the way you’re carrying yourself and carting him around, I don’t think you’ve had major surgery in the last few months. And your waist. It’s tiny. There’s no way you were pregnant a few months ago.” Her eyes go wide and then she nibbles on that pouty bottom lip of hers. “I’m a doctor,” I add, not wanting her to think I’m a creep for basically talking about her birthing canal. I’m still a creep, to be sure, for thinking all of these things about her tight little body, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Oh,” is all she says. Her eyebrows knit together and she tilts her head to the side, with the cutest, curious look on her face. “What’s the other thing?”
I smirk at her with all of my bad intentions and filthy thoughts shining in my eyes. I shouldn’t tell her the other thing I instinctively know. Idefinitelyshouldn’t be starting off a conversation with a stranger this way. And yet…
CHAPTER TWO
INDIE
My heart thuds in my chest, almost painfully, and I hold my breath as the sexiest man I've ever seen bends down and grazes his lips on the shell of my ear. I squeeze my thighs together to relieve the sudden ache between them. The man growls softly in the back of his throat like he knows what I'm doing and why I'm doing it.
“The other thing, pixie, is that I could fucking smell your virginity from across the ice-skating rink.”
My cheeks are burning, but I manage to step away and cover Carson’s little ears. “You can’t say stuff like that around babies!” I scold him.
“Why? He doesn’t understand language yet.”
“He’ll pick up on the vibes,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“You like vibes?” the man asks with a devilish grin.
“Uh...yes?” What a weird question to ask. “I mean, I like good vibes, obviously.”
“Obviously,” he says with a smirk.
Then what he really means hits me. “Hey! That is inappropriate! Especially around children!” The infuriating, sexy, confusing man chuckles again and shakes his head like I’m amusing him. That just pisses me off more. “Who are you, anyway? Why was I compelled to come over here? It was like you were pulling me along by a string.” I’m not sure why I confessed all of that to him, but it’s the truth.
He gets a dark gleam in his deep blue eyes, but it’s gone in the next second. The man opens his mouth to answer, but Carson saves the day by bursting into tears.
“Oh, sweet boy, it’s alright,” I coo at the crying child in my arms. I rub his back with my free hand and turn around, not saying anything. I definitely won’t look over my shoulder at him. No way.
Too late. Damn. The man is fine.
“Indie! There you are,” my sister, Melissa says, pulling my attention away from the mystery man’s sparkling eyes. “Need me to take him?” she asks, already reaching for Carson. “Mommy’s got you, little one,” she whispers while rocking him back and forth. Melissa closes her eyes and kisses her son on his cute little nose, smiling when he sneezes.
My older sister has been through hell these last few months. It’s good to see her smile, even if it’s small and tentative. We just moved here from San Francisco, and I must say, I miss the sun. I also miss my wheatgrass smoothies and good sushi. However, my sister said she needed a fresh start and more joy in her life, and what better place to do that in than Christmas, Michigan? Or so my sister’s reasoning goes.
I wasn’t super stoked about moving to the Midwest during December, but I wasn’t about to deny my sister anything. She found out recently that her husband had been cheating on her all throughout her pregnancy. When she confronted him about it, he said he was leaving her for the other woman. The asshole even gave up his parental rights. How could anyone spend time with Carson and then abandon him? Let alone his own father!
I close my eyes and take a calming breath, trying to block all thoughts of Joseph out of my mind. I don’t need to rehash everything. That’s exactly the kind of negative energy we came all the way out here to avoid. I get in tune with the positivity surrounding us, letting the universe ground me. I exhale bad thoughts and inhale good intentions and a clean mindset. Slowly, the tension and anger drain from me as warmth and light take their place. I have a feeling I’m going to require a lot more than breathing exercises and meditation to be the support my sister needs right now.
When I open my eyes, I'm staring into ocean blue irises from across the rink. My body turned toward him on its own while I was communing with the universe, as if in answer to my unspoken prayer. Even from this distance, I can make out his sharp features and the tightly packed muscles he's hiding underneath that starched, white button-up. Why do I get the sudden urge to tear it open like a package on Christmas morning? My fingers itch to mess up his hair, too. I want to see him when he's not all put together. I want to see him wild with hunger.
Where the hell are these thoughts coming from?
“Do you need some more hot chocolate?” I ask, my voice squeaky even to my own ears. I need an excuse to break the overwhelming connection I seem to have with the stranger. Plus, I’m a firm believer that sugar improves every situation. It seems like a win-win.
“Yeah, that sounds great, actually. I think they’re getting ready for the main event. We can sip it while we watch.”
