Page 48 of The Slapshot and the Single Mom
I kiss her and settle in even more, grinning too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Maggie
It’s beenyears since I’ve shared a bed with a man. The first year or so after Kyle and I split up, Liam would climb into bed with me pretty regularly. But even that dropped off a while ago, and I’ve been sleeping in the center of my queen-sized bed ever since.
So sharing a bed with Jack seems like it should be jarring or awkward.
But it’s not.
We seem to exist in this bubble of perfection. He says and does all the right things, makes me come like it’s his job—which he did again this morning before we got up and had breakfast—and is the perfect bed companion—doesn’t snore, doesn’t hog the blankets, doesn’t crowd me.
It feels almost too good to be true.
But I try not to think about that. I decided weeks ago that I wasn’t going to think of him astooperfect while waiting to seewhat dark secrets lurk in his closet. So far I haven’t found any. And it’s less crazy making to accept him at face value rather than constantly looking for glaring flaws. I wouldn’t want him to treat me that way, after all. It’s not fair to do that to him.
And if, by chance, some deal-breaking flaw comes up at some point, I can deal with the situation then.
After a lazy morning, a shower together, and a decadent breakfast where he makes me French toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon in a pair of electric blue briefs and an apron that saysKiss the Chef, dancing around and cracking me up, I insist we need to head to my place.
“I need cloooothes,” I moan.
He looks me up and down, still wearing his oversized Emeralds hockey T-shirt. “I think you look fine the way you are.”
“But I thought we were going to go somewhere and do something? Or did we scrap that plan in favor of me staying here in your shirt?”
A mischievous glint appears in his eye, and he slides around the breakfast bar and wraps his arms around me, still only wearing those electric blue briefs. “That doesn’t sound like a half-bad plan to me.”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “I know you. You’ll be bored in an hour, tops.”
He presses his lips together, his eyes darting back and forth between mine. “Fine. You win. Let me get dressed, then we’ll head to your place. Do you want to drive, or do you want me to?”
When I hesitate a second too long he says, “You know what? I’ll drive. That way you can save your gas, and we can figure out what to do from there. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect.”
We’re at my house a little while later, and I’m finally wearing my own clothes—shorts and a T-shirt—and I’m packing a bag so I can stay another night since I’m not supposed to get Liam until tomorrow.
As I’m finishing up with my toiletries—even though Jack offered to get me whatever I wanted, I felt weird asking for all my skincare products and just used his, but since I get to pack this time, I want my essentials—my phone rings. Picking it up, my stomach sinks.
I knew this weekend was going too perfectly. But it’s not Jack who’s the red flag of the two of us.
Nope. It’s me.
Or it’s me as an extension of my shitty ex.
“How’s it going, Kyle? Is Liam having fun?” I answer in my chirpiest voice, partly because I know he hates chirpy, and partly to demonstrate my expectations.
“Yeah, Mags, it’s been a fun weekend?—”
“Oh, great!” I cut in. “You know it hasn’t been a full weekend, though,right?”
He sighs, like I’m the one causing problems here. “Yeah, I know. But something came up.”
I mouth the words along with him, because that’s the excuse every time. “What, Kyle? What could’ve possibly come up on theoneweekend a month you promised your son you’d spend with him?”
“That’s not fair, Mags.”
