Page 37 of The Slapshot and the Single Mom
I don’t want to stop seeing Maggie.
But what am I gonna do come September?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Maggie
Jack
I miss your face
Is there any possibility of seeing you before Friday?
I smileat the text message, pausing in the middle of choosing a clip from one of Brock’s videos to read it a few times before standing from my chair and stretching, trying to figure out how to respond.
I miss you too
It’s true. We talked again on Sunday evening, and we texted a little yesterday, but I guess that’s not enough for Jack. Does him kissing me have anything to do with that?
Probably.
If seeing him before Friday means more of that …
Well, I have no objection. I low-key hate that he kissed me and then left so soon afterward. I would’ve liked more kissing. I haven’t been kissed like that in …
Too long, at any rate.
It feels good to be desired, even if I’m not sure anything with a childless younger man—and a professional hockey player no less—could ever work out long term.
But this was never intended to be long term. It’s a way to repair his reputation with the public, and since I feel some sense of responsibility for the hit he took, this allows me to make that up to him. Plus, I get to go out, have fun with another adult, and remember that I’m a whole entire person of my own apart from being a mother or Kyle’s (now ex) wife.
For so long I’ve been reduced to merely my roles, and even since the divorce, I’ve thrown everything I have into making sure Liam feels good and safe and loved that I’ve neglected to figure out—or remember—who I am apart from that. Being with Jack has let me do that, and it’s felt amazing.
Add in the kissing?
Even if it doesn’t last more than a few months, I’ll be sure to enjoy the whole entire ride. I know he said this could continue past the summer, I’m just not sure how that would work. With school and Jack’s schedule … it just sounds like a lot. And for a guy like Jack who hasn’t ever seemed to want to be tied down—I finally Googled him, went through years of press clippings, and have never seen him attached to anyone specific before me—deciding to take on me and all my baggage for more than a few months seems like a ridiculous flight of fancy. Sure, he might not’ve been scared off when I laid everything out for him, but it’s not like he saw this happening at that point either. Right now it’s just an intellectual exercise for him. Eventually, the reality will hit, and at that point, he’ll decide it’s too much for him.
Which is fine. Even if it makes me sad to think about.
Lunch? If not today, maybe tomorrow?
Smiling, I tap my fingers on the side of my phone, glancing at the time. I have too much to do today to take a long lunch—and I’m not silly enough to think that lunch with Jack won’t be longer than normal—so …
Tomorrow
Let me know the time and the place and I’ll be there
“Mag-pie!” Brock calls from my door, erasing the smile from my face. I hate when he tries to give me nicknames.
“Maggie,” I correct automatically, but he ignores me like always.
He drapes himself against the door frame, leaning into my little office. “When were you gonna tell me that you and Jack Bouchard are a thing? Is that why he agreed to do my show? Did you put in a good word for me?”
I jerk my head back, offended by the implication that I would try to convince anyone to do Brock’s show, especially Jack, and especially after what Brock did to him. “Uh, no. I had nothing to do with that. I hadn’t met Jack before he came in for his interview with you.”
Brock’s eyebrows lift, and he crosses his arms, letting out a low whistle and leering at me. “Good for you, Mags. I didn’t know you had that kind of game in you.”
“Gross.” The word is out of my mouth before I can stop myself, but rather than being offended by my disgust, Brock laughs raucously. Pointing at me, he straightens from the door frame. “I can’t wait to see what kind of inside scoops you’ll get for me with that kind of connection. Have you met any of his teammates?”
