Page 18 of The Overtime Kiss

The text on the gray T-shirt reads: Fun fact: I don’t care. My sister gave it to me because she’s nothing if not irreverent.It’s a little rude, sure, but what can I do? I made a deal with myself.

With that decided, I try to shake off my irritation. I shouldn’t be thinking this hard about what I look like in front of my daughter’s skating coach. I’ve been taking Luna to the rink for years and to Sabrina’s rink for the last five months. Since the second week of January, to be exact.

I’m just a dad taking his kid to a lesson during the off-season. That’s all.

Except it’s not. This is the first time I’ve seen Sabrina since her wedding night when she—let’s just call it what it is—threw herself at me.

Translation: offered me my greatest fantasy.

In a cruel twist of fate, she was far too tipsy for me to do a damn thing about it. Didn’t take much willpower to walk out of that room like I did, given those three margaritas she’d had.

But even though resisting her was the right thing to do, it was the hard thing to do as well. Watching over her? Taking care of her? Looking out for her? Easy.

Still, I have no idea how today is going to go. Or, honestly, if Sabrina still wants some of those things.

A man can dream.

But one thing is clear: things cannot get weird between us. Luna loves skating. She also loves Sabrina. She tried a few coaches when we moved here last summer and finally found someone she clicked with in the feisty, upbeat, bright, and enthusiastic Sabrina Snow, former competitive figure skater and performer turned coach. And nothing—not a thing—can mess that up. Which means I need to make sure Sabrina knows we are all good.

Even though I can’t help but wonder if it’d be the worst thing in the world to ask her out. We’re both adults. We couldbe cool about it, right? Doesn’t have to mess things up with the lessons.

Earth to Tyler—She’s barely single.

Right, right. It’s a bad idea for many reasons.

But, is it though?

I do my best to silence the devil on my shoulder as I leave my room and walk into the chaos of the living room of my home in Pacific Heights, the same neighborhood where most of my hockey teammates live. My son, Parker, is perched on the floor, building not just a Lego spaceship, not just a Lego space station, but an entire Lego space city. And he’s doing it with none other than my teammate, Asher Callahan.

Parker and Luna’s mom is pretty busy with med school—and I’m seriously proud of my ex-wife for pursuing her lifelong dream to become a doctor—so the kids are with me a lot of the time. Or their nanny, Agatha. Or my mom.

Today though? Agatha’s off, and Parker asked Asher to come over and build, so my buddy showed up for my son. I fucking love my teammates.

“I bet I can finish it faster than you,” Parker says, glancing at the star winger on our team.

“No way,” Asher replies with a smirk.

“Way.”

“Dude, we’re building this together.”

Parker huffs, then smiles like the little devil he sometimes is. “I was just kidding. I’m not that competitive. Like my dad and you.”

I smile. “It’s our job to be competitive.”

Asher laughs, ruffling Parker’s hair. “But right now, we’re a team, little dude.”

“I know,” Parker says, then grabs a yellow piece, squinting as he studies where it goes.

They both turn toward me, and Asher’s smirk deepens. “Wow. Did you just turn into a dad in a fun fact shirt or what?”

I give him a side-eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s charming, man. You’re pulling it off. Own it.”

I arch a skeptical brow, then pluck at the tee. “Should I—” Nope. Not going to second-guess. I made a deal with myself, and I stick to my deals. I’ve never once broken a New Year’s resolution. Not going to break this either.

“Keep it on, man,” Asher says, reading into my unfinished sentence anyway.

---