Page 10 of Perfect Playbook

But if he doesn’t, he’ll have no doubts about it later when I have him in my bed.

Chapter Four

I takea moment to flop down on the bed in my room at the Firenze. I’ve never had a California King before. Not only is my bed big, I have a suite. When I checked in earlier downstairs, the receptionist asked if I was okay. Was it the hard lines between my eyebrows so deep I felt them in my brain? I was worried about Antonio. Nino and I have never been apart for a single day since he was born. Hours, yes. A night, no.

So at check-in, when the receptionist asked if I was okay, I blurted that I was missing my boy. He asked what his name was, and it turned out his brother is named Antonio, too. So he upgraded me. I’d say I wish everything in lifewas that easy, but if I had to choose between this room and being with Nino, I’d take my boy every day of the week. Being away is a necessary evil of my career, a sacrifice I must be willing to make.

I get up and head over to the window, snatch open the curtains, and laugh to myself. Yes, I may have a California King and a jacuzzi tub, but the bland view of the taupe hotel next door has nothing on the Starlight Canyon mountains.

It’s still an hour to the reception, which isn’t enough time to wash and style my long hair and more time than I need to tie it up. I’m useless when it comes to makeup so I probably won’t try anything special. Though I bought a pair of fake eyelashes at the pharmacy before I left, I throw myself down on my bed rather than search around for useless accessories. Fuck it. I’d rather relax than fiddle with those right now.

I close my eyes and suck in the perfume-laced air. This air smells faintly like my grandmother, and after a few more breaths, my muscles finally release and melt into the bed underneath me.

Getting that cake here was one of the most stressful things I’ve ever done, which is saying a lot because I’ve been through a few tough things in my day. In the last decade I’ve had two cheating exes, one who regularly “borrowed” my car and forgot to return it on more than one occasion, and one who ditched me when he found out I was pregnant. I’ve been through so many rock bottoms I’ve gone through one side of the earth to the other. And still, the stress of getting that cake here was up at the top of the list.

It represents something more important to me than finding love anymore; no, I’ve long since given up on that. The cake represents hope.

I can’t believe I let Logan carry it for me.

And I can’t believe he’s here. I figured he’d be invited, but the celebrity hockey player has time for an old hockey buddy’s reception? I thought he’d be too busy. Not that I wondered if he’d come.

You wondered if he’d come.

After all these years, fireflies explode in my belly every time I see him. It’s a mystery because with the man he’s become I’d rather he wasn’t my type. In fact, I’ve now, in my mid-thirties, finally learned to avoid that kind of heartache.

But I’m just a woman.Yes, I’m a strong-as-fuck woman, but a woman nevertheless. And Logan isbring you to your kneesgorgeous, and it’s undeniable. He’s attractive to any woman with eyes. On the backs of my lids I catch a glimpse of his dimples again, the way he licks his lips and wets them. His amber eyes, now framed by crinkles of a man who’s aged like fine wine, still mesmerize despite his boy-next-door ways.

I open my eyes and stare at the textured ceiling. I know he’s changed so much, but every time we see each other, he really feels like the same guy I fell for.

You let him carry the cake, for God’s sake.

I sit up and glimpse myself in a mirror above the adjacent desk. The back of my hair is a tangled bird’s nest, and my earring is upside down. Did I look like this down in the lobby? Logan is always so well put together. I’m going to see him later all dressed up in a suit. The man is insanely attractive in formalwear. I know because the paparazzi just love Logan Hunter. Unfortunately, they love all the women dripping off his arm, too, and those are his go-to accessory these days.

I get up and head to the mirror, bracing my hands on the desk and leaning over, closer to my reflection. No onewould ever believe it. No normal American citizen would ever believe that this curvy, cellulite-laden single mom with tiger claw stretch marks once had the dashing playboy. I’m fine with that because I’m not sure I’d want to be seen as just another tire track in the wake of Logan’s dust. But most of the guests at the party tonight know about us, and it makes me feel funny.

Maybe I should have a go with those eyelashes, after all.

No. There is no reason I need to impress him. Or anyone else. My inner matriarch crosses her arms and nods in approval, refusing to play that game. I have bigger plans than that now. A recent study told me women spend on average three hundred and fifty-five hours on their hair and makeup every year. Yet another reason why we have less time to get ahead.

Which makes me think of work again, so I grab my cell from my purse, slip off my shoes, and snuggle up against the plush assortment of pillows to see if Dad left me any messages.

There’s one. It’s a goodie. It’s a photo of him and my little boy. They’re in one of the tractors, and it appears they’re mucking out the cow barns. Nino loves anything to do with cleaning and putting things in order. It’s not a typical five-year-old going-on-six hobby. But the smile on Nino’s face is one of sheer delight, and his beloved Papá Luis is just as happy.

It’s hard to believe I ever had to endure my father’s one-hour rant in almost unintelligible warp-speed Spanish, swearing to the end of the earth about how disappointed he was that I got pregnant out of wedlock. He threw his arm in the air until I thought it might launch off into the sky as he lectured me on the contradictory Catholic view he himself didn’t seem to understand.

“It’s a sin,” he shouted. “But the baby isn’t a sin…”

When wedlock wasn’t an option—shit, even if the guy stuck around, I knew better than to bind myself to that one by marriage—Dad became slightly more sympathetic to me becoming a single mom. My new reality sank into his psyche, and he waited out the nine months mostly in silence. But then, our brilliant, unique little Antonio entered the world, and now this baby is the favorite of all he’s ever had in his life. It was as if something magical happened the day Antonio was born, and since, Dad’s always treated Nino like he was always meant to enter this world in exactly the way he did.

Satisfied that my men are alive and well, I switch screens to check my email for any new enquiries. It’s become my obsession since launching my new brand, Shino Cakes. Shay and Nino. By me. For my son. It’s time to elevate our lives. Not only do I want to offer Nino chances I never had, and all the gifts I got, too, I need to show him that no matter who you are, you can make something out of nothing. I want Nino to have a boss lady mom who leads by example, a mentor for his own life.

It’s the biggest financial risk I’ve ever taken since Nino was born, or even before it. But since my brothers ventured out years ago to Silicon Valley, determined to be tech entrepreneurs, they convinced me that time, belief and sweat is all it takes.

They still haven’t quite moved their business out of the red, but when it goes, it’s going to explode. And they are very, very close. If I can look up to them even though their business is technically still in debt, I can teach Nino a lesson or two with my tenacity alone.

I hope.

Sadly, my Shino Cakes’ inbox is empty, and there’s nodopamine hit waiting for me there. I switch over to my personal mails and scroll through the usual suspects. Credit card bills. Marketing from face cream and nutrition blogs. Then there, nested amongst the noise, is another email I’ve been waiting for. The principal from Nino’s school.

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