Page 47 of Second Chance for the Single Mom

“Shit!” I said.

“Want me to call an Uber?” Sara offered. “I’ll take him to practice, and you can meet us there whenever you get off work.”

I glanced at my watch. “If you don’t mind, yeah. I really don’t want him to miss practice so soon after joining the team. I’ll pay you back.”

“You’ll pay me back with babysitting favors when these twins pop out,” she said.

“You’ve got a deal,” I said.

After hanging up with her, I stared at my phone for a few seconds. Then I texted Jordan.

Me: Bran might be a little late to practice. I got stuck at work, and Sara doesn’t have a car today, so she’s taking an Uber. But he’ll be there!

I rejoined my indecisive newlywed couple, but Jordan didn’t respond to my text. I told myself it was fine—he was probably busy at work, after all, and then had to drive straight to practice.

One hour and three more showings later, my clients were no closer to figuring out what kind of house they wanted to buy. By the time I dropped them off at their car, my patience was about as thin as a sheet of wax paper.

I made it to the park in time to see the last ten minutes of practice. Bran was standing next to second base, fielding ground balls with the other kids. But when I climbed into the bleachers, Sara was nowhere to be found. I sat down and called her, fearing that she might have had another medical problem that forced her to leave practice early.

“Oh no, everything is totally fine!” she said after answering the phone. “I ended up not needing to call an Uber. Jordan picked up Bran on his way to practice. He said you texted him about it. Wasn’t that sweet of him?”

I turned my eyes to the field, where Jordan was hitting ground balls. As if he could sense me looking at him, he hit one more ball and then turned to meet my gaze. He suddenly grinned widely, then returned to hitting grounders.

“Very sweet of him,” I told Sara, my feelings even more confused than before.

After practice, I waited until the other parents had left before walking up to Jordan. Bran was helping him collect all the baseballs in a big plastic bucket, like some sort of baseball-themed Easter egg hunt.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I told him.

Jordan ran a hand through his blond hair, smearing a tiny trail of infield dirt across his forehead. “You call that your frumpiest outfit?”

Glancing down at my cotton wrap dress, I replied, “I didn’t have time to change. I came straight here.” I blinked innocently. “Why? Is there something wrong with it?” I twirled my hips a little bit.

“You’re evil,” he said, laughing deeply. “Do you have any idea how hard—or I should say, hownot hard—it is to suppress an erection while you’re wearing that?” He gestured back at the field. “The last ten minutes of practice were torture. I deserve a medal for bravery.”

I peeked over to make sure Bran wasn’t looking, then molded my body against Jordan’s just long enough to churn my lips against his for a heartbeat. As I pulled away, I let my fingertips drag across the rapidly-growing bulge in his pants.

“Thanks, Coach Jordy,” I breathed in a haughty voice.

The last thing I heard as I walked away was Jordan groaning to himself.

25

Shay

I loved my job. I really did.

But sometimes I fantasized about quitting and taking a job at McDonald’s instead.

My law firm worked to exonerate wrongfully convicted individuals through DNA testing and criminal justice reform. Some days, this job felt like a battle against time itself. I dug through decades-old case files, chasing down lost evidence. Begging the justice system to acknowledge its own mistakes. I’ve sat across from men who’ve spent more years behind bars than I’ve been alive.

A lot of the time, it was a losing battle. But when we did win—when a judge finally said the words that set one of our clients free—there wasn’t anything like it. Seeing a mother embrace her son for the first time in years, watching a man step into the sunlight after half a lifetime in prison…

It made every sleepless night, every frustration-filled day, worth it.

Today was one of theotherdays, though. That McDonald’s job sounded really nice.

“Julie!” I leaned out my office door. “I need you to pull the deposition transcripts from last month—specifically Carter’s testimony. There’s something off about his timeline, and I want to cross-check it against the security footage we got from the hotel.”

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