I hate the suspicion in my son’s eyes whenever Kevin’s around. Wouldn’t something like this be exactly what Toby needs?
So, letting out a sigh, I nod. “Of course, Kevin. Toby will love that.”
When my ex-husband smiles at me, something weird happens to my chest. It’s like an echo of how I felt before. A physical memory of the layers and layers of feelings I had for Kevin. Have for Kevin, maybe?
No. God, everyone knows my ex is an asshole. Even I know that.
I’m just an emotional mess right now, and I’m not used to being on my own. Maybe breaking up with Mac was a good thing. I need to get used to standing on my own two feet.
Kevin leans toward me as if he’s going to hug me, then stops himself with a rueful smile. “Sorry. I just— Thanks.” He nods, then heads back to the kids.
Fiona appears at my elbow with a coffee. “On the house, girl. Figured you probably wouldn’t want to stick around.”
“Was it that obvious?” I take a sip of coffee and let my eyes dart back to my ex-husband and kids. He’s got Katie on his lap, and Toby’s laughing at something.
A snapshot of a perfect family.
I shake my head and lift my cup. “Thanks, Fi.”
And with one last look at the family I could have had, I walk out of the café, wandering until my coffee is cold just to try to clear my head.
It doesn’t work.
27
Trina
Toby’s soccer game is at the elementary school on Friday afternoon after school, so I make my way there at the end of the school day. I pick Katie up from her after-school care group and hold her hand while we go back outside. My heeled boots click on the asphalt as I make my way around the building to the field at the side of the school. Katie darts off toward the playground, and my stomach knots when I see Kevin on the sidelines of the field. I walk up to my ex-husband and give him a nod. “You made it.”
“You sound surprised.” His eyes soften. “But I probably deserve that.”
Self-awareness? Did he just say something that sounded like…regret?
Okay. This needs to stop.
What is going on? Where’s the asshole who marched into the Four Cups Café and called me a whore? He was easy to hate. He made it clear that I was making the right decision. This Kevin—the one who reminds me of the man I fell in love with—makes me remember things I’d rather forget, like how happy I was when we first married.
“Daddy!” Katie comes sprinting from the playground. My daughter crashes into his legs and wraps hers arms around them, beaming up at him.
“Hey, little monster.” Kevin smiles as he hauls her up for a hug and spins her in a circle.
Emotion clogs my throat, and I turn my back to the two of them. Was it really less than a year ago that we were all together? A seemingly happy, well-adjusted family? How is it possible that my life has imploded so quickly and so thoroughly in such a short amount of time?
As I angle my body away from Kevin and Katie’s, my eyes lift to see a man push open the school doors and jog toward the field.
Oh no.
Mac is wearing athletic shorts, white socks pulled high up his hard calves, and has a big mesh bag full of soccer balls slung over his shoulder. If this were a movie, it would be some weird Baywatch remake, but instead of beach babes in tight swimsuits, there’s only Mac running in slow motion toward me wearing a soccer coach’s uniform.
I see the exact moment Mac spots me. It happens to be the same time he has to jump over a little lip in the pavement, and his toe catches the edge of it while his eyes grow wide. This time, instead of crashing into a table and spilling beer everywhere, Mac recovers with a quick stumble, his eyes still on me for a moment before he changes trajectory to make his way to the team.
“Mr. Blair!” Katie shrieks at top volume. Kevin sets her down as she thrusts her arm toward her teacher. “Daddy, that’s Mr. Blair!”
Mac gives her a wave and a smile, but doesn’t come any nearer. He drops the mesh bag of balls on the ground and opens it up while the other coach instructs the boys to start warming up. Toby starts dribbling one of the balls through a line of cones, not even throwing a glance our way.
My eyes drift to Mac again, then dart to Kevin.
My ex-husband is frowning as he stares at Mac, his hand still around Katie’s shoulders. “He looks familiar,” Kevin says.
I close my eyes. Please, please let him not recognize him from the café.
“That’s because his picture is online,” Katie informs her father. “Mommy showed me before the first day of school.”
“You’re probably right, kiddo,” Kevin says, but he throws Mac one last questioning glance before shifting his gaze to Toby. “Your brother is good.”
“He’s the best on the team,” Katie announces. “He scored three goals last week.”
My daughter’s voice fades into the background. Mac jogs onto the field and starts coaching the boys, clapping his hands and directing them into lines, calling for sprints and drills for their warm-up. The group moves closer, and I watch Mac take a ball to demonstrate the next drill.
Of course he can play soccer. Is there anything the man can’t do?
“Trina,” someone calls out behind me. I turn to see Rick, the dad from Katie’s class. He smiles warmly at me, then shifts his gaze to Katie and Kevin, and his steps slow. His son Ricky is at his side, eyes on the field where the older boys are playing.
“Hi, Rick,” I say pleasantly, while on the inside, I scream. Why the hell is he here? Why the hell is Mac here? Why couldn’t they both show up last game, when Kevin was safely in another city? I shift my gaze to the field and hunt through my panicking brain for something to say. “Which one is yours?”
“Number twelve,” Rick answers, pointing. “Nate.” He scrubs his son Ricky’s head and points to a stray soccer ball. “Go kick a ball around.”
Ricky glances at my daughter. “Wanna come play, Katie?”
“Can I, Mom?” She looks at me.
“Of course.”
The two kids dash off, and I’m left with my ex-husband on one side of me, the man who wanted a coffee date with me on the other, and my daughter’s second grade teacher—who I slept with a few weeks ago—jogging off the field toward the team bench.
Wonderful.
“I haven’t seen you at any of the other games,” I tell Rick, keeping a pleasant smile on my face.
“Nate’s mom usually handles the extracurricular activities, since I work late most nights. Had the evening off, so I figured I owed it to Nate to come support him.”
“How nice.” I smile. Just great. Must be the theme of the weekend.
Mac jogs closer, and my stomach tightens. He looks really good in shorts, I notice. Defined calves, strong thighs. Legs made to be shown off. Standing about twenty feet away and facing me, Mac instructs the boys to start jogging as he delivers balls to them in some sort of give-and-go drill. His eyes flick to me, and I look away.
Kevin clears his throat.
Ah, right.
“I’m Katrina’s husband,” Kevin tells Rick while extending his hand, and I nearly have an aneurysm.
“Ex-husband,” I correct, giving him a death glare, which he completely ignores. The two men shake hands in front of me. Some weird male stare-off happens for a few seconds while I stand awkwardly between them.
I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, fighting to keep my hands still and not fidget. Everything is fine. Everything is perfectly, wonderfully fine. We’re just a bunch of parents watching our kids play a sport. A totally normal interaction. Nothing to worry about.
I glance back at Mac and make eye contact again.
Damn it.
Just one short hour. That’s how long I need to last. One hour till Toby’s done with his game, then I can give my kids a kiss and send them off to their dad’s for the night and run far, far away from here. Hopefully without ever having to speak to Mac.
Mac kicks a ball toward
the kid in front of me—hard. The kid catches it and brings it down under control with his foot, and Mac claps. “Good work, Nate.”
I’m staring at Mac’s thighs again. The way the muscles contract when he moves. How he lunges, and the shorts hike higher to show off the paler skin, the sparse, coarse hair of his upper thighs. I saw those legs completely bare just a few weeks ago. I saw what the shorts are hiding too.
I need to stop staring. Just—look away. Look away now.
Oh, Kevin’s frowning at me. Wonderful. Did he see me ogling my kid’s soccer coach?
Side note—why is Mac even here? He wasn’t coaching any of the other games! So I have to ask: Why me? Why today? Why now?
And why does he have to look so damn good all the freaking time?
I clear my throat and glance at Rick, then ask him what he does for work. I’m too busy thinking about Mac’s legs to actually hear his answer, though. That’s why I don’t see the soccer ball come flying at my face until it’s too late to dodge it.
Mac shouts a warning that I hear a split second too late.
The projectile smacks me right in the middle of the face, and I fall flat on my ass, smacking my head on the ground behind me. Pain explodes through my nose and my eyes immediately start watering. That’s when I hear shouts and noises, and see my ex-husband’s face appear above my head on one side, Rick’s face on the other.
“You okay, Trina?” Kevin says, something like real concern on his face. Huh. How about that.
“Yeah.” I try to sit up, but my head is killing me from the fall and as soon as I move, blood starts gushing out of my nose.
That’s when Mac shoves aside the small crowd of parents that has gathered around me, his eyes wide as he crouches beside me and wraps and arm around my shoulders. Before I can stop him, he shifts his weight, tears his T-shirt off, and shoves it under my nose to catch the blood.
It smells like him. Oh, God. Mac is shirtless beside me, keeping one arm around my shoulders and holding the shirt against my nose with the other hand. It’s only been a few weeks, but I missed his touch. His scent. His voice. I missed how safe I feel in his arms. I close my eyes for a moment, then I hear Kevin’s voice.
“She’s fine,” he says, annoyed. “Back off, buddy.”
“Where does it hurt?” Mac says, ignoring my ex-husband.
“Mostly my pride,” I answer, muffled by the tee bunched up near my nose, because did I mention Mac is shirtless?
He gives me one of those sexy half-grins, and my core spasms.
“Lie down.” That comes from Kevin. He’s stripping his shirt off now too. Why? Why would he be doing that? He unbuttons it and bunches it behind my head, now wearing nothing but a thin undershirt. He glares at Mac. “What the hell was that kick for? Were you trying to hurt her?”
“Fuck off,” Mac grits out.
Mac’s arm moves from my shoulders, and Kevin helpfully replaces it with his own. There is way, way too much testosterone here right now.
Kevin tightens his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his body. Mac’s jaw tightens at the movement, but he stares into my eyes, concerned.
“I’m fine,” I say, tasting blood. “Really.”
“You hit your head on the way down. I need to check you for a concussion.” Mac ignores my ex-husband’s soft stroking of my shoulder and pulls his shirt away from my nose to prod at my aching face.
I wince, and Kevin gets in Mac’s face. “You’ve done enough. Back. The fuck. Off.”
“Guys, there are kids around,” I say. “Stop swearing so much.”
A whistle blows, and Mac glances up. “Shit.”
“Go,” I tell him. “I’m fine.”
Mac hesitates, then glances at Kevin’s hand on my thigh, his other arm braced across my back. He flinches back, eyes going cloudy. Then he nods. “I sent one of the supervisors to get the first aid kit. Just…let me know if you need anything else. Please.” Then he’s up, grabbing a zip-up hoodie from the sidelines and covering up his gloriously bare torso to the great displeasure of all the moms in attendance.
I shrug out of Kevin’s hold. “Stop fussing.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?” He holds up two fingers, and I roll my eyes.
“Two.” I hold up my middle finger. “How about me?”
Surprisingly, Kevin cracks a smile. “There’s the woman I married.”
Uh, what? I hold Kevin’s gaze until Katie comes into view, her little brows drawn together. “Are you okay, Mommy?”
“I’m fine, honey.”
She gives me a kiss, then burrows into Kevin’s arms. He picks her up as she wraps her arms and legs around him, and my heart gives another stutter.
Was I wrong to divorce him? Did I act too quickly? I’ve denied the kids the chance to grow up with their family together, and for what? People forgive each other for infidelity all the time. Maybe I should have tried harder to get marriage counseling, to keep us together.
Doubt worms through my heart as I watch the father of my children be, well…a father.
Then I glance at Mac, and I know that no matter how great and caring and sexy he is, he’ll never be Katie and Toby’s dad. He must sense my gaze, because he glances over his shoulder. I’m still holding his bloodied T-shirt, and his eyes flick to the red stain on the fabric. Then he looks at Kevin, his lips pinch, and he looks away.
Well. That’s that, then.
He made it clear how he felt about me. A soccer ball to the face obviously hasn’t changed his mind.
28
Mac
The only reason I’m driving to Katrina’s house is because I want to make sure her face is okay. It’s purely medical. I’m the one who kicked that ball; I’m the one who should be checking on her.
It’s not because my stomach has been writhing like a pit of snakes since I saw her ex-husband with his arm around her. It’s not because she dismissed me and stayed with him on the sidelines.
I was being a fucking idiot when I kicked that ball. I’d seen her hungry gaze on me every few seconds since I ran out of the school, and like a hormonal, idiotic teenager, I wanted to show off. I kept hitting the soccer balls harder and harder in the warm-up drills, until that one hit my cleat wrong.
The sound of that ball hitting her face has been echoing in my head ever since.
So, when I pull up outside her house and cut the engine to my truck, I look at the yellow light spilling from the curtained windows and I let out a deep breath. Grabbing the flowers I bought at the grocery store from the passenger seat, I run my fingers through my hair and push the car door open.
One thing I realized today, when I watched Shitstain Kevin be the one to comfort her, is that Trina is worth it. I need to get over myself, get over my fears, and tell her how I feel. Who cares that she’s a parent of one of my students? Who gives a fuck?
Not me, that’s who.
Okay, so it might not be a purely medical visit.
These flowers might not be saying, “I’m sorry I hit you in the face with a soccer ball,” but instead they mean, “I’m sorry I pushed you away because I think I might actually be in love with you.”
I freeze halfway up the path as that thought clangs through me.
Am I… Am I falling in love with Trina?
I stare at the colorful bunch of flowers in my hand, smelling the sweet scent of them as the world whirls around me.
I am. I’m in love with Trina. What other explanation could there be for these feelings? For the abject misery I’ve felt since she showed up in my classroom wearing those pale-blue pants? For the complete disinterest I’ve had in every other woman? For the near-obsession I feel every morning, hoping she’ll show up at my classroom door with Katie even though I know she won’t?
What other feeling could be so great and also so damn horrible? It has to be love.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m hurrying up the last few steps to the door and pressing the doorbell. I hear girly laughter and a little squeal—K
atie—as my heart bangs against its cage. Because my ribs feel like a cage right now, like they’re the only thing preventing my heart from jumping right out of my chest and into Katrina’s hands.
Then the door opens, a halo of golden light around her head, and I’m breathless. She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts, with those wide, hazel eyes and her perfect rosebud mouth.
There’s a bruise forming around her eye—from the soccer ball, no doubt—and I hate that I’m the one who put it there.
“Mac.” Her brows jump as she takes me in, then glances at the flowers.
I thrust them toward her. “For you.” Nothing else comes out.
Tentatively, she wraps a delicate hand around the stems, then glances at me again. “Thank you.” Those lips I miss kissing curl into a smile. “Is this because you kicked a ball in my face?”
I angle my face away and rub the back of my neck. “Look, I—”
“It’s fine.” She laughs, and my heart nearly breaks at how good it sounds. “Although I’m going to have a nasty black eye thanks to you. Concealer works wonders, but even I’m not sure it’ll be able to cover this up.”
“I hate that I did that to you.”
“Stop it.” She lifts the flowers to her nose and smiles as she inhales. “Thank you for the flowers.”
There’s a pause, and I know this is my chance. This is when I open my coward mouth and tell her how I feel. This is when I say that I’m sorry for pushing her away, that she’s nothing like Belinda, that I don’t give a shit about propriety and professionalism.
This is when I tell her that I’m falling for her, even if it freaks her out, because I don’t think I can keep those words held in.
But just as the words are about to tumble out of me in a rush of emotion, a man’s voice calls out behind her. “Trina?”
Dirty Little Midlife Disaster: A Motorcycle Hottie Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 4) Page 19