Page 96 of Puck Princess

I sit down on the floor with Nicky, pretending I’m not listening in on their conversation as closely as I am.

“He’s not the first guy I’ve talked to. He’s just the first to not care that I have a kid and not care about what is splashed in the media about me. He also doesn’t watch hockey, which is kind of a nice perk, no offense. I need my own life. Separate from everything I have been through in the past two years.”

I glance at Owen. I can tell that, while he doesn’t like it, he knows she’s right.

“Pin your location as soon as you get there,” he says gruffly.

“That really is a good idea,” I chime in.

“And send an SOS if he tries anything stupid.”

Summer kisses Nicky on the cheek and gives her brother a thumbs up. “Roger that. And thank you both. I’ll text you when I’ll be home.”

“If you come home,” I call out after her.

I hear her whoop from the hallway, but Owen doesn’t look as pleased when I turn around.

He watches from the window as she climbs into her Uber. “I don’t like it.”

“I don’t think it matters whether or not you like it. I know you want to protect her, but she’s doing really well.”

“I’m not worried about her. I’m worried about the guys.” He slides off the couch to sit on the floor with us. Nicky crawls over to him, pulling on Owen’s jersey. Owen smiles and picks him up. “But I guess if my sister is out at some tiki bar with a metalhead, at least I have a good distraction in front of me.”

He leans in to kiss Nicky on the cheek, but then recoils back. At the same time, we look down at Nicky’s clearly loaded diaper.

He holds him in my direction. “I think this is a you thing.”

“I think this is an Owen’s-going-to-be-a-dad-soonthing.”

The look on Owen’s face is enough to make me burst into laughter.

“You’re kidding, right?”

I toss a diaper and a package of wipes at him. “You wish. Now lace up, Sharpe.”

He lays Nicky down on his back who is clearly not amused and tugs at the Velcro on the diaper. As it unfurls, he stops and covers his mouth with his wrist.

“You might want to hold your breath.”

“Weirdly, I figured that out on my own,” he spits back.

Despite his hesitation, and the fuss he makes over the mess Nicky made—honestly, I think he does it to make Nicky laugh because the more he hems and haws, the more Nicky lays still for him, giggling—Owen doesn’t seem like a rookie. He has him wiped, powdered, and diapered in only a few minutes, and then Nicky is happily crawling away, digging into the pile of toys again.

I give him a slow clap. “Wow.”

Owen grabs the dirty diaper off the floor and struts his way to the kitchen where he sinks it into the trashcan like a basketball. “Piece of cake. We are going to kill it at this parent thi?—”

Owen’s words are cut off when Nicky starts to fuss. We both turn to see him throwing the teething rings at the TV.

“Yo!” Owen rushes over. “Chill there, little man, or Uncle Owen’s very expensive flat screen is going to be in the dumpster with your nasty diapers.”

And it begins…

We spend the next couple hours chasing Nicky around the house. Between his grabby little hands, his impressively fast crawling, and our lack of gates and baby proofing, he is getting into everything.

“Is this normal?” Owen asks, desperately snatching a pair of ice skates out of his duffel bag before Nicky reaches for the blade.

“You want the truth?”

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