Page 47 of The Hard Hitter

“I’m going to work on your back deck. I picked up lumber.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I wanted to. And pie…”

I laugh at that. “You’re not getting tired of my pie?”

“I’ll never tire of your pie, Sam.”

She grins at me, and I stare at her sweet ass as she goes down the hall and disappears into the office with Daisy. I give myself a second to get my boner under control before I head outside to get to work on her back step. The late-day sun beats down on me, and in no time at all my shirt sticks to my body. I peel it off and toss it aside. I measure the wood, cut it with the circular saw I brought, then pound it into place.

“Hello,” a voice says over my pounding.

I glance up to see a woman coming my way. She doesn’t look to be much older than Sam.

“Hello,” I return.

Her mouth drops, and surprise registers on her face. “You’re Zander Reed!” she says, the can of soda in her hand nearly slipping free.

I nod. “Last time I checked.”

She glances at the door, then back at me. “I don’t understand, what are you doing here?”

“Sam is working with my daughter, Daisy, and I’m helping her with a few things around the house.”

Her gaze drops to my bare chest, and she goes silent for a second. I clear my throat, and she lifts her gaze to me. She lifts one leg, puts it on the new bottom step, and her short-shorts ride higher on her thigh. Toying with the low V-neck of her blouse, she holds her can of soda out to me. “Here. You look like you could use a drink.”

I get it. I get it really fast. Sam’s neighbor wants a piece of the Hard Hitter.

“I’m good, thanks.” I’m not interested in her soda, or her anything. Why would I ever want to bed another girl when I have someone like Sam? Someone who is good to both me and my daughter. Someone who sees me as more than the Hard Hitter.

Someone who has no interest in a real relationship.

“Oh, okay,” she says, like I’ve offended her, but she takes a drink and steps closer. “I’m Katrina, Sam’s neighbor.” She rolls her eyes slightly. “She has so many people coming and going from her place, I have no idea who’s a client and who’s…not,” she says, likes she’s privy to information I’m not—and is trying to paint a picture for me, in case my interests went deeper.

“Is that right?”

“The last guy who did work around her house…we’ll, let’s just say he wasn’t a famous hockey player.”

A strange burst of jealousy goes through me as I picture Sam with another guy.

I shake that thought off. She’s mine for the month, who she’s been with before—or who she’ll be with after—is none of my business.

Then why do I feel like it is?

The back screen door whines open, and I make a mental note to fix that next. “Zander—” Sam begins. But when she sees her neighbor, she says, “Oh, hi Katrina. I didn’t realize you were here. I was just checking with Zander to see if he needed a drink,” she says, and hold out a glass of lemonade.

“Thanks,” I say, accepting it and taking a sip. “How’s it going in there?”

“We’re just about finished. Five more minutes.”

I wipe my brow with the back of my hand, and Sam hovers in the door like she’s reluctant to leave me with her neighbor. Not that I can blame her. She is rather blatant, but Sam needs to know it’s her and only her I want to be with.

“By the way, Daisy wants to go for ice cream after her session. Why don’t you join us?”

“Oh.” She straightens a little. “I…I’m not—”

“Sweets has the best chocolate ice cream in the city. Chocolate’s your favorite, right?”

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