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“About?”
“About your man problem.”
“Gloria, I don’t have a man problem. He kissed me, that’s it. Besides, it wasn’t even real. He was either using me to get the other girl to leave, or he was pranking me. Either way, it meant nothing to him.”
“You sure?”
“Positive,” I nod, straightening my shoulders and taking a deep breath. “I just want to give Mason some snuggles and take a long bath before bed.”
“You’re no fun,” Gloria pouts and waves me off, “but I understand. I’ll go back home. Got to make sure Paul is wearing his sleep apnea machine anyway. Don’t want him dying off in the middle of the night.” She stands up and heads to the door, but pauses about halfway there and turns her head in my direction. “Or do I?”
She’s something else. I rub my face with a hand and mumble a curse.
“Kidding. If I didn’t like him, I wouldn’t have married him a second time. Night, Cinderella.”
“Goodnight, Gloria. As always, you’re a Godsend. Thank you so much for watching Mason.”
I give her a small wave goodbye, get up from the couch, and lock the door behind her. It’s not that late, but I am exhausted and could use a few extra hours of sleep.
After firing off a quick text to Rhett, letting him know I left early and will see him tomorrow after practice, I head to the nursery.
Mason is sound asleep, lying on his back with his head tilted to the side.
I stand there for several minutes, watching the rise and fall of his little dinosaur pajama covered chest. It doesn’t matter how tired I am—or stressed—coming in here and watching Mason sleep will always make me feel better.
He’s my tiny miracle.
He’s perfect.
Gently, I run a hand over his torso and through his soft brown curls.
This may not be everyone’s idea of a happily ever after, but it’s mine, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Not even for the hottest hockey player in the league.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After a full night’s sleep, I’ve determined I’m no Prince Charming.
In this story, I’m pretty sure I’m the frog; the frog that doesn’t deserve to be turned back into a man because I’m a twat.
And because I’m a twat and karma’s a bitch, I feel horrible and I didn’t even drink last night.
Okay, I didn’t drink that much.
I had a couple more glasses of mediocre champagne before grabbing Owen and Ian and getting the fuck out of that Halloween nightmare.
The brothers insisted on going to a titty bar, so I dropped them off and headed home, alone, where I promptly beat myself up for kissing Avery like I did—or at all—and then fell asleep.
Fuck. Why did I kiss her?
What’s wrong with me?
I don’t even have time to start the list before my phone rings. With a curse, I tighten the towel around my waist and walk around my bed to answer my phone and put Lucas Finn, my new agent, on speaker.
“Good morning, mate.”
“Well, if it isn’t the reformed bachelor,” he laughs, like he just told the punchline of afunny joke, and I don’t get it. “Or should I say the other half of the new power couple, Cramington.”
