Page 31 of Hat Trick Holidate

After I hang up, I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how to get Jolie to speak to her dad and others. What kind of games we can play or what activities we can do. Leading, open-ended questions, so she can’t shake her head. I make a mental list to tell Bryce no more yes or no questions.

Then my thoughts drift to when Bryce’s mouth was on mine. The way his tongue demanded attention, yet it was gentle and unhurried. When his fingers touched my skin, it felt like I was drenched in accelerant, making the fire burn faster, brighter, and hotter.

I don’t know how I’m going to be around him daily without aching to have him. If I didn’t know what it was like to have him buried inside me, it would be easier. But I do know what he feels like. What he smells like. How his body, slicked with sweat, dotted my skin.

As I drift to sleep, deep in my mind, I know I should turn down this offer. But sometimes the good girl needs to bebad, which is why I’m in this mess. If I weren’t reeling from Grant dumping me on my wedding day, I wouldn’t have had my only one-night stand with the star Georgia Jets center.

eleven

BRYCE

Before Rusti arrives,I wake up Jolie. She tosses and turns until I say, “Emmaline is coming to spend the day with you. Let’s go make her breakfast.”

A yawn rumbles from her throat. I know her voice works; she just doesn’t use it.

“Hop up,” I say cheerfully. When she doesn’t move, I pull back the covers and pick her up. “Do you want to make her bacon and eggs or pancakes?”

When she doesn’t respond, I ask, “One blink for bacon and eggs or two blinks for pancakes.”

Pancakes win.

She drops her little face into the crux of my neck, softly breathing.

This is one recipe I don’t have to look up. In college, my roommates and I made pancakes on Sunday afternoons.

Jolie sits on the counter, and I show her the measuring cup and have her shake the mix into the cup until it reaches the red line. Then she does the same with the milk.

“Do you want to crack the egg?” I ask her, and she nods her head up and down. A smile crosses my face. Progress. “Tap it lightly against the edge of the bowl and then pull the shell apart.”

She lights up as I hand her the egg. Her little hand smacks against the bowl and when I say smacks it, I mean she obliterated the shell, screaming as she tries to jump off the counter. Somehow, I’m able to grab her before she falls.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll get another egg.”

Snot is running from her nose, and she wipes it on the sleeve of her gown. At the same time, the doorman buzzes up. “Mr. Wynward, Ms. Rustavelli is here. Should I send her up?”

Thank God. “Yes, Felix.” I look at Jolie. “Do you want to meet Emmaline at the elevator?”

She nods. I really think we’re getting somewhere. Swiveling her around, I get under her arms and put her on my shoulders. “Emmaline won’t believe how much you’ve grown since last night.” My voice is more chipper than it’s ever been.

The elevator doors open, and I’m blown away by her fresh face without any makeup. She has a tote bag thrown over her shoulder. Emmaline drops her jaw and says, “Jolie, how did you grow taller than me?”

Jolie giggles as Emmaline moves into my personal space, and I know there’s not a single chance I can keep this platonic. Emmaline reaches up to tickle her. Then she grabs her from my shoulders and puts Jolie on her hip and follows me into the kitchen.

“We were making you pancakes. Are you hungry?”

“Yes. I had to rearrange my schedule a bit, so I worked out this morning.”

“You are welcome to use my home gym.”

“I might.” She spots the bowl and the shattered egg, then reaches in the fridge, taking out another one and giving me a conciliatory glance “Jolie, let’s crack it on the counter instead of the bowl and if the shell doesn’t shatter, then tomorrow you can do it by yourself. Would you like that?”

Jolie acknowledges her with a head nod. She covers my little girl’s hand with hers, gracefully cracking the egg.

“Good girl,” I compliment Jolie, but Emmaline’s lips curl into a mischievous smile. I make a mental note to praise her if I ever get another chance. But right now, she wants to focus on Jolie. I’ll probably have to stand behind something every time Emmaline’s here.

As I stand with the spatula in hand, my daughter looks at me and then the mix. “Do you want me to stir, or do you want to do it?”

“Can you use your words and answer your dad?” Emmaline asks as she rubs Jolie’s back.

---