Page 3 of Mother Pucker

Beckett reels back. “Ploys for what?”

“To get me to date one of the guys on your team again?” He’s been trying to set me up with random people in his network for the past few weeks, and I’ve been thwarting all his efforts.

I don’t have the time or energy to date. Not when I have goals andresponsibilities. Like raising my son, running my business, and growing old with my best friends. I don’t need more.

Beckett gapes at me animatedly. “I wouldnevertake advantage of a situation as serious as this to find you a suitable man. That you could eventhinkI was capable of such low-handed tactics, only so I could get you hitched and out of theridiculous pact you and your best friends, including my beautiful wife, made isbeyondhurtful.”

He groans when Liv elbows him again, and my squint gets squintier. “You’re a lying piece of–”

“Language,” he interrupts me before I can finish, gesturing toward the exit. “Come on. I’ll take you there myself. And as for legal repercussions, need I remind you my family owns the team?”

I take a breath before looking at Liv to see if she’ll come to my defense. Instead, she shrugs, covering the side of her mouth to stage-whisper to me, “I mean, there are worse things than having to examine the man who’s said to melt the ice just by being on it.”

Five minutes later, and after letting Kai know I’ll be back shortly, I’m standing outside the team’s locker room, adjusting the strap of my purse unnecessarily over my shoulder. I don’t know what Beckett said to everyone when he went inside ahead of me, but a minute later, everyone has shuffled out, except for the defensemen I’m here to see.

Beckett swings his head in the direction of the entrance, giving me the signal to go inside.

“Wait.” I furrow my brows. “You aren’t staying?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve gotta check on Liv and the kids. You’ve got this.”

I give him another knowing look before he takes off with a barely suppressed smile. The man always has something up his sleeve.

Clearing my throat, I place my mask of professionalism on before stepping into the locker room. Truth be told, the mask nolonger feels like one. The only people I let my hair down around are my best friends, but even they call me the “ball of nevers” for a reason. Because I tend to say no first, and then perhaps come around to saying yes, but only if I’m compelled to do so.

Sure, I’ve shown that silly side to my son when we’re having pillow fights or when I’m tickling him to get him to laugh, but otherwise, the fun-loving, carefree girl I used to be stays buried–and that’s exactly where she ought to be.

To the rest of the world, I’m a bit on the rigid side. Some may even call me anal, bordering on obsessive. While I wouldn’t say I’m ritualistic, Iamregimented.

I try to eat only healthy, organic food, limiting my intake of anything processed. I’ll have a glass or two of organic wine occasionally–and one other little vice I refuse to acknowledge at this moment–but I consider that a reward for being “good” throughout the week. I try to sleep at least seven hours a night, workout at least five times a week, and get all my annual exams done on time.

Because sometimes a missed annual exam can mean the difference between life or death.

I wasn’t always a “ball of nevers”.

My best friends know that better than anyone else. I was the crazy one of our group in college–staying out until the sun came up, drinking until Delia could wiggle the cocktail glass from my grasp. I was the girl who rolled into physics wearing pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt, smelling like last night’s bad decisions and minty toothpaste.

It all changed after I met my late husband, Ajay. And though I still miss his presence in my and my son’s life, I’ve finally come to accept his loss after three years. I’ve also come to accept that our marriage was far from perfect, and that somewhere in the middle of it all, I became less of the person I used to be and moreof the personhewanted me to be. Somewhere in the middle of it all, I forgot how to have fun.

But despite the fact that I’ve come as far as I have through therapy and the support of my best friends, neither they nor Beckett Langfield can convince me to take a leap for love again.

Not after what I endured right along with Ajay. Not after the way I watched him lose his battle with the C-word I’ve sworn to eliminate from my vocabulary. Not when I know the universe doesn’t give second chances, despite what my astrologically-inclined best friend Dylan believes.

That’s not to say I haven’t had a casual hook-up here or there.

I don’t use the Tinder app on my phone often, but when theneedarises and all I want is to feel a stranger between my legs for a night–instead of my collection of hand-operated toys, one of which is sitting in the safety of my purse right now–I haven’t shied away from finding someone on there.

But emotion and attachment? Commitment and love? Those are words from my past that I don’t plan to reinstate into my current dictionary. Not when my son needs me more than ever, not when he’s my only reason and focus.

I take another step forward when my eyes fall on a stretch of sun-kissed skin. The sinewy muscles in his bare back flex and strain like they’re both uncomfortable and content at the same time. He keeps his tattooed forearm above his head, leaning on it while keeping the weight off his injured leg.

Noting a glint of silver from his necklace, my eyes caress his broad back once more before trailing down to his tapered waist. Have I ever seen a more beautiful ass on a man? I honestly can’t recall.

He’s one hell of a prototype for physical human perfection. A colossus amongst ants. Sheer strength and beauty wrapped into one enormous form. And if my heart is galloping this fast fromjust ogling his back, then I might be in danger of heart failure when he turns around.

“You like what you see, Doc?”

The rumble of his voice hits me square in the ribs before my body jolts back to reality, as if his voice had an electrical charge. How did he know I was checking him out?

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