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If he would accept me.
But that’s a problem for a different time. I’m not ready to share that part of me with anyone yet.
Not even Rhett and Lucy know.
“That’s quite a bit of food.” I push myself away from the wall and head toward the kitchen, cradling Mason against my chest as he gets a good grip on a handful of my hair.
Foster smiles, and I swear my legs wobble with each step. If he keeps that up, he might get all the girls in the apartment building pregnant.
No wonder he was named one of the sexiest men in hockey.
So what is he doing here?
“I thought we could have dinner together.”
I nod, and suddenly my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I know whatever comes out of my mouth will be inappropriate or awkward. So I keep quiet and move around him to the other side of the kitchen, trying to ignore the way his muscles ripple with his movements.
Or the way he watches me out of the corner of his eyes.
I’m sure it’s nothing and I’m reading into it too much.
In what world would a guy like him be interested in a girl like me?
Mason coos and gives my hair a really good tug, making me wince. He’s really got a grip with those fingers.
I might have the makings of another Remington athlete on my hands, but maybe I can sway him away from hockey.
Football is good if you ignore the concussions. Baseball seems better.
Safer.
He gives me a quick smile, and as soon as he looks behind me and sees Foster, I no longer exist. He’s all smiles and is babbling away, either telling Foster his short life story or talking shit about me.
Either way it’s adorable, especially when Foster sticks out his tongue and makes a few funny faces at him.
Remember what I said aboutThe Crushbeing boxed, taped shut, and lost in an attic somewhere?
It is not happy being boxed up.
Not. At. All.
That thing has a mind of its own and is trying to fight its way out. It’s a beast, but I’m stronger.
I’ll sit on that metaphorical box if I have to. It isnotgetting out.
“Can I help?” Foster gestures to Mason, and gives him another one of those megawatt smiles. He’s going to be the death of me, I just know it. “I’m pretty good with kids. I can hold him for you while you get things ready.”
My hand freezes on the door to the fridge, and I can’t help the gasp that escapes. He wants to what? Did I hear him right? “You want to help me with the baby?”
“Yeah.” He nods before running a hand through his hair, making that one stray lock of hair flop on his forehead. “It’s not a problem. I used to help out with my baby brother.”
“You’re sure?”
It’s not that I don’t trust him… okay, fine, that’s exactly it. Foster is the kind of guy to sweep a lady off her feet and back to his hotel room for baby making practice. He’s never given me any sort of domestic vibes.
Ever.
“Positive.”
