Page 9 of Pucking With My Head

Jensen sighed. “We try to get her to bed around eight, but she’s got a mind of her own, and I’m sure all the excitement of having you in the house will mean she’ll be hopping around like a bunny on crack for hours.”

“That’s a mental image.” I smiled. Kids had boundless energy—it was something I loved about them, even when I was bone-deep tired myself.

“That’s a seven-year-old.” He laughed. “She’s a good kid, though. Since it’s the weekend, she can stay up a little later if it makes things easier for you. Just make sure she brushes her teeth when you sense she’s getting sleepy. If you leave it too long, it becomes a battle that you’ll never win.”

I nodded. “Noted. Sleepy women should never be messed with.”

Jensen raised his brow and nodded. “A sentiment I completely agree with. I don’t know who will be home first, me or Cullen. Usually, I’m back about midnight from games like this, but Cullen will come home whenever the restaurant dies down and he can leave it without the place imploding. How late can you stay?”

“I can stay as long as you need. I’m not working in the morning.”

“You teach in the mornings?” Cullen asked, confused. They had inquired once about morning lessons, and I had explained it was something I didn’t do.

“No, not at the ice rink. I have barista shifts at a café on campus a couple of times a week. The pay isn’t great, but they provide plenty of caffeinated drinks.”

“You work two jobs and take classes?” Jensen asked, a frown marring his features. “How did we not know this?”

Because I didn’t like to advertise it.

“It’s how I pay for college—well, that and a few scholarships. Don’t you guys need to be getting to work?” I asked pointedly.

They both nodded.

“Okay, you go do that. Joey and I will order pizza and watch one of those animated movies she’s been telling me about. Don’t worry, you’ll come home in a few hours, house still intact and child happy and healthy—though I plead the fifth if she eats too much sugar.” I smiled easily at them, my words a diversion. I wanted the topic to move away from me and the mess that was my life and onto the situation at hand.

Joey tugged my hand. “You know, the pizza place near us makes warm cookies as well!”

Thirty minutes later, Joey and I were settled on the plush seats in the theater room.

You heard me right. Theaterroom.This pack was so freaking fancy, they had a room just for viewing movies. Joey had directed me through the house with all the skill of a tiny dictator. We had gathered a variety of pillows and blankets from the storage boxes in the room and spread them across one of the three-seater recliners that sat in front of the projector screen.

The added layers of alpha scents only made the room feel that much more luxurious and welcoming. I could easily sleep on the plush chairs surrounded by those smells.

For a moment, I had panicked, thinking I wouldn’t be able to set up a projector to play a movie, but the tenacious child had simply grabbed the remote and started swiping through.

As she did, I looked up the number for the pizza joint. It was fancy, but what else could I expect from this neighborhood?When every house cost at least seven figures, even the fast food was going to be impeccable.

Cullen had left his card on the table, but I was pointedly avoiding that. There was something about using his debit card that felt oddly intimate, and I wasn’t sure if I should.

So I paid for the pizza.

It cost way too much, but Joey was so excited for the cookies that I didn’t mind. Maybe I would see if there were any extra barista shifts I could snag over the next week to cover the difference.

“How many times have you watched this movie?” I asked.

“Too many to count.” Joey shrugged as the animated film started playing, pulling the blanket up around her. “Do you watch anything again and again, Beth?”

I nodded. “There was this movie about a girl who wanted to be an ice skater when I was your age, and I loved it so much. My mom was a skater, so she would watch it with me.”

“Do you miss her?” Joey asked the question casually, but her body tensed as she spoke.

“I do,” I said softly. “I love my family, but they’re all boys, and boys can be smelly.” I scrunched my nose playfully.

A giggle escaped her. “They can! Well, my daddies smell good, but at school, some of the boys are so stinky! Some of the girls are stinky too—you’re not stinky, though. You smell nice.”

“Thank you. You’re not stinky, either,” I assured her with a grin.

“Where do your daddies live?”

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