Page 36 of Lucky Shot
“Anyway, I can’t have you writing a hockey book where you call the puck a disc.”
My mouth curves up. “Hey, I came a long way in a single day I think.”
He huffs a quiet laugh.
“You’re really okay with this?” The “this” being me staying in a cabin on his property and asking him more questions. Before he apologized, I was prepared to stay here regardless of how he felt about it, but now he’s being nice and my need for retribution is fading.
“Yeah.” He dips his chin in a nod.
“Okay.” A wave of relief floods through me. “That would be great. I will work around your schedule.”
“The easiest thing would probably be to stop by the rink. I have about thirty minutes first thing before the campers arrive and I can get away during breaks or lunch.”
“What time?”
“Eight.”
I know that eight o’clock isn’t that early but one of the perks of working for myself is setting my own schedule. And that schedule usually doesn’t start until after nine. But I will take what I can get.
“Perfect,” I say as I mentally calculate how many hours of sleep I’m going to get tonight.
“You can ride with us if you want.”
“Us?”
“My son, Aidan, and me. He’s part of the camp.”
“Oh.” My mouth drops open with the reply and I tilt my head to the side. Having a kid is a perfectly normal thing for someone his age, but I was not prepared.
The hot hockey player has a son.
11
RUBY
The next morning, I walk up the path to the house with my laptop and notebooks in tow. I slept incredible. Nothing like a near-death experience to lull you to sleep.
And I woke up excited. I texted Molly to let her know the change in plans, as well as Olivia. Now it’s time to get to work.
Nick is already in the driveway. A little boy with the same messy dark hair walks down the front steps with a large duffel bag over one shoulder.
The kid’s steps slow when he sees me approaching.
“Who’s the chick?” he asks.
Nick steps forward and takes his bag, tossing it into the bed of his truck. “Don’t call girls chicks. And that’s Ruby. She’s coming with us to the rink today.”
Nick tips his head to the kid while looking at me. “This is my son, Aidan.”
“Hi, Aidan.” I lift a hand in a small wave.
“Hello.” He opens the rear right-side door of the truck and gets in. Not rude, just unphased by my presence.
“Sorry about that,” Nick says more quietly to me.
“It’s fine. He looks just like you,” I tell him. And acts like him. A little grumpy around the edges.
In reply I get a small huff. He’s freshly shaved this morning. His chin dimple is prominent and there are small wrinkles on either side of his mouth where the other two dimples would be if he smiled.
