I try really hard not to think about her.
Or her adorable daughter.
She left me for her daughter’s father when he essentially came back from the dead—something neither of us saw coming. I don’t hate her but it’s taken a while to stop missing her. To stop wishing things had been different.
Moving to Atlanta helped.
I’ve been here since August, so five months, and I’m finally getting to a point where I don’t think about them every day. Hell, it’s been over a year since the breakup, so it’s beyond time to move on.
“Okay.” She stands up, strands of red hair framing her face as the hood of her coat slides back.
Really? A redhead? I nearly groan in frustration.
Fate really likes fucking with me.
“Anything else you need?” I ask, holding up the car seat. “If not, let’s get out of the snow.”
“I think that’s it.” She turns and hurries to my SUV, getting into the passenger seat while I put the car seat in the back. I don’t bother strapping it in yet since I don’t know if I’m taking her home once I get her to the daycare, or if someone else will meet her there and take her home.
I get into the driver’s side and turn up the heat. Hell, my feet are cold now and these shoes are probably ruined but that’s okay—now I have a good excuse as to why I can’t make the charity event.
“I ease back into traffic as she holds her hands close to the vent, rubbing them in front of the warm air.
“Thank you for stopping.” She turns her head and studies me. “You’re a life saver. Well, I mean, assuming you aren’t a serial killer who’s going to chop me into a million pieces and dump me in a ditch.”
I chuckle. “You’re welcome. And if you need further evidence, I play for the new hockey team, the Atlanta Thunder. You’re welcome to search me online and text whoever you want that I’m the one who picked you up on the side of the road.”
Her eyes widen a little before she laughs, and I can’t tell if it’s wry or humorous or something else. Either way, the sound warmsme. “I don’t think playing hockey automatically excludes you from being a serial killer. Although the tux helps a little.”
“Serial killers don’t wear tuxes?”
The question hangs in the air for a beat and then we both chuckle. Like we’ve known each other for a lot longer than five minutes.
“I guess I don’t really know since I’ve never met one. But anyway, it’s this upcoming exit and then right.”
“No problem.” I glance over at her profile.
A damsel in distress is my kryptonite and she’s really pretty, but I don’t want to be anyone’s knight in shining armor.
Never again.
I need to drop her off, make sure she has a way home, and then go back to my very hockey-oriented life.
I want no part of a pretty redheaded distraction.
Chapter
Two
Serena
I don’t know where this gorgeous, long-haired and bearded hockey player who rocks a tuxedo came from, but he’s definitely a bright spot on an otherwise shitty day. My three-year-old son, Joey, had a tantrum in the car before I dropped him off, which made me late to work. I got yelled at for being late, my car broke down, and then the owner of the daycare center my son attends got snippy with me for being late picking him up.
Some days make you want to crawl under the covers and hide from the world.
Except I can’t.
I have a child to take care of—one who’s currently costing me two bucks a minute in late fees. That’s going to seriously cut into next week’s grocery budget.