Enticing: Chapter 2

I understand needing to be a responsible adult . . . but seriously.

Every day? Like every single day?

That seems a bit excessive.

—Addie’s Secret Thoughts

“I’m so sorry I was late, Izzy.” I rush out of the arena, feeling like a complete and utter failure as I squeeze my daughter’s small hand in mine.

“It’s okay, Mom.” She squeezes back. “Where’s Lennox?”

This kid is a rockstar.

She always goes with the flow.

No five-year-old should be so adept at dealing with shit.

Yup. I’m a failure, and she’s a feral little rockstar.

“Mrs. Murkey is watching her for me, so I could get in a few hours of work.” I open the backdoor of my SUV and put Izzy’s minty-green bag she’s dubbed her hockey bag on the floor as she climbs into her car seat. “Did you have fun?”

“Uh-huh.” Her head bobs up and down, and dark hair falls out of her braids. “I fell a couple of times, but I was better than most of the other girls.” She beams as she buckles her car seat buckle. “Leo told me I did real good.”

“Really good,” I correct her and ignore the little zing that annoys the hell out of me at the mention of the man who probably thinks I’m the world’s worst mother. “Leo, huh? Was he one of the coaches?”

Okay, so yes. I’m doing a little digging. But it’s my responsibility to ask questions.

I mean . . . I need to know who my girl will be spending her afternoons with.

It has nothing to do with the zing.

The zing was a fluke. It had to be.

I don’t do zings. Not in a really, really long time.

Zings and I have had words. Not nice words.

Unkind words.

Words I try hard not to use in front of my daughters.

Zings are no-good little scoundrels.

“Yeah.” She smiles wide. “They put us into groups, and Leo was my group’s coach. He’s a real hockey player. How cool is that?”

I slide into the front seat of my old Honda Pilot and look back at her through the rearview mirror. “That’s pretty cool. Did you make any new friends?”

Trying to steer a conversation is hit-or-miss with Izzy.

My kid is too smart for her own good.

I push the button to start the car while my sassy little girl chews on that. Only instead of starting, the engine makes a horrible grinding sound and immediately stops and shuts down.

What. The. Hell?

I try again, and nothing happens. The engine doesn’t turn on, or turn over, or whatever the hell it’s supposed to do. There’s no grinding or whining or whimpering. At least not coming from the car. Coming from me is a different story.

I suck in a deep breath while Izzy continues telling me about her lesson and try to regulate my breathing when all I really want to do is cry.

When it rains, it pours.

Literally . . . the first fat freezing drop of rain falls, splashing against my windshield.

I’ve got a little over a month before my next book is due to my editor, and my muse has dried up and died. That bitch has deserted me like almost everyone else I’ve ever depended on. I’ve got a baby girl at home who doesn’t want to sleep unless she’s being held, collection calls coming in on an obnoxiously regular basis, and if I thought I could get away with living off ramen for the next few weeks before the holidays, I’d give it a shot just so I could have extra money for Christmas presents for the girls . . . Well, that and heat.

Basically, I’m a mess, and this stupid car not starting can’t actually be happening now.

I want to refuse to believe it. Positive energy into the universe and all that bullshit, but it turns out that’s exactly what it is. Bullshit. I push the button again and drop my head against the steering wheel when nothing happens.

Some days, I pray for silence. Just a few minutes. Show me a mother who doesn’t, and I’ll show you a liar. Even still, today isn’t that day.

Right now, I’d take my noisy car over silence in a heartbeat.

“Mom . . . ?” Izzy asks, thankfully oblivious in the back seat, but I don’t lift my head.

Not yet. “Just give me a second, Izz.”

“But Mom . . .”

“Izz,” I snap, then soften my voice. “Mommy needs a minute. Just one.”

A fist knocks against my window, and I jump and bang my knee against my steering wheel just as a velvety deep voice follows, “Need some help?”

Damn it.

Tears burn the back of my exhausted eyes, but I absolutely refuse to let them fall because of course, it’s the hot coach from earlier.

Why wouldn’t it be?

I’d love to know exactly what I did in a previous life to piss off the universe as much as I must have. Because seriously? One break . . . just give me one freaking break.

“Mom, it’s Leo,” Izzy squeals, and I cringe as I look up.

“It sure is, Izz,” I groan and push down my window button, which of course won’t go down. Why would it when the engine won’t even start? I glance through the glass at the handsome man on the other side and suddenly feel utterly defeated.

Stupid zing.

Another fat drop of sleet hits the car, but Leo doesn’t budge. His big, baby-blue eyes stare down at me because of course, even standing outside my SUV in the icy rain, this man still towers over me.

How tall does that make him?

Does it matter? Between the dark hair, baby blues, muscles big enough to make him look like he could bench-press a tank, and his delicious height, he could definitely be a book boyfriend in the making. Hmm . . .

I mean, he already sounds a lot like Hogan James, the hero in my newest work in progress, Enticing.

Maybe Hogan should be a hockey player.

Eventually, I give in and crack open the door to answer him. “We’re fine, thanks.” The lie slips off my tongue with a big, fat, fake smile plastered on my face.

“Didn’t sound like it,” he croons, and yes, I totally hear what that sounds like. His damn voice should be on a Christmas album, it’s so smooth. “Pop your hood.”

“Seriously . . . ? You teach little kids to skate and what—work on cars in your spare time?” Okay, snarky is my go-to defense mechanism. So sue me.

Instead of getting pissed, Leo’s lush lips tip up on one side in a sexy, crooked smile.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Nah. I know a couple of things, but not enough to fix much. Just pop it and let me see if it’s something easy like fluids.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, warming them up, and I notice the puff of steam coming from his words.

Shit.

He’s cold because it’s November in Kroydon Hills, the sky looks like it’s going to open up any minute, and the weather man is calling for three inches of snow overnight. And he’s still trying to be a nice guy.

But really . . . do nice guys even exist?

“Why?” I ask, untrusting and wondering if I should have even opened my door.

No matter what Izzy might think, I don’t know this man.

I look around the parking lot and remind myself it’s going to be getting dark soon, but I’m in a parking lot with tons of other cars belonging to the employees of the Philadelphia Revolution. There are probably cameras everywhere too. No one is coming for us.

Get it together, Addie.

“Why what?” Leo questions. “Just let me look at it for you. It’ll only take a minute. Hell, you can even call roadside assistance while I’m looking. What’s it going to hurt?”

I turn back to Izzy, who’s hanging on our every word.

I refuse to raise my daughter to be scared of everything and everyone. I also refuse to raise her to be dependent on a man for anything, which means I need to suck it up right now.

Jesus, adulting blows.

Without any more over thinking, something I basically specialize in, I pop the hood and turn back to Izz. “Stay in the car, sweetie. Mommy’s going to get out for a minute, okay?”

She reaches for her iPad and smiles. “Okay. Can we have mac ‘n cheese for dinner?”

“Yeah, baby. Mac ‘n cheese sounds good. Now, you stay here.” I shut the door and turn directly into Leo’s chest. His big hands dwarf my shoulders, steadying me as I suck in a lungful of the most delicious scent. Sandalwood and cedar.

Of course, he even smells like a damn book boyfriend.

Leo

I’m not sure I’ve ever had anyone pissed at me for offering to help before, but that’s exactly what it seems is happening here. The look in this gorgeous woman’s eyes is colder than the fucking ice storm threatening to bury the town. I catch her glare before I drop my hands from her shoulders but block her path as I round the front of the SUV. Only once the hood is open and propped up, do I glance back at her. “So, you wanna tell me your name? I mean, I figure we should be on a first-name basis if I’m going to look under your hood.”

Maybe not the classiest thing to say . . .

The look of shock on her pretty face is followed by a flush of embarrassment that crawls up her pale skin. Maybe she’s not as mean as she clearly wants me to think. Big brown eyes skitter hesitantly from me to the car nervously before settling back on me. “Adelaide, but everyone calls me Addie.”

I nod and tuck that little nugget away as a small win.

“Addie . . .” I try out the name.

She looks like an Addie—beautiful and smart with thick white-blonde hair falling in waves around her shoulders. Addie . . .

“Well, Addie . . . I’m Leo Sinclair. It’s nice to meet you.” I turn back to the car and try to assess the few things I can.

When I pull the dipstick out of the oil a second later, I hiss.

Shit, this isn’t good.

“What’s wrong?” Addie asks, clearly reading the situation.

I glance back at Izzy, who’s completely oblivious in the SUV, before locking eyes with her mom. “The stick is bone dry.”

“What does that mean?” she asks, confused.

“Listen, I don’t know a ton about cars, but I know they can’t run without oil, and you don’t have any oil in this one. Your engine probably just seized up.”

“That can’t be right. How would all the oil in my car vanish?” she argues as the icy-cold rain falls faster. “I just had an oil change last month.”

“That’s more than I know, but I’ve got a friend who can tow your car for you. I can call him if you want,” I offer and watch the frustration bubble up. Yeah . . . this woman does not want my help. “Listen, I’m not trying to piss you off.”

She pulls her cell phone from her pocket and closes her eyes. “Thank you, but I’ll just call roadside assistance.”

I shrug and close her hood. “Suit yourself, but I’m gonna wait until you get them on the phone.”

“Why?” she snaps. “You don’t know me. Know us. Why do you want to be so helpful?”

I smile at Izzy, who’s now watching us closely. “Because I’ve got sisters, and they’ve got kids, and I’d like to think if one of them were having car trouble, someone would stop to help them.”

It’s the truth. Mostly.

I leave off the part where something about this woman is making it hard to walk away.

What the actual fuck?

She presses a button on her phone, then holds it up to her ear and mumbles a pained groan. “Damn it. The wait just to speak with someone is so long, they want you to leave your number for a callback.”

“Why don’t you let me take you home, and I’ll call my friend and get your car towed.” I don’t like the idea of leaving Izzy and her here, alone in the sleet, and waiting for a tow.

Addie looks torn.

I’m pretty sure she knows she should take me up on the offer, but I can tell she doesn’t want to.

“Listen.” I pull my wallet from my pocket and yank out my license. “Here. Take a picture of this and send it to someone. If you’re worried I might be a serial killer or something, send someone the picture of my license. A serial killer wouldn’t offer that.”

She peers over at my license without moving an inch closer. “A crafty serial killer might. I mean, it would be a really good way to throw someone off. How do I know that’s your actual license and not a fake?”

“Addie, I’m a professional hockey player. I have more family in this town than any sane person should have living close by. I promise you I’m not a serial killer.” I have no idea why I’m pushing this so hard.

She snaps a pic with her phone, and her fingers fly across her screen before it chimes back at her. “Of course you are . . .” she murmurs.

I shove my hands back in my coat pockets and wait.

Addie tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear, fidgeting. “Caitlin Beneventi says you’re harmless, and Bellamy Wilder just said you drive too fast and to tell you to drive slower with Izzy in the car.”

“Harmless?” I question, a little offended. “I don’t know if I’d go that far. But I will drive like I have one of my nieces or nephews in the car if you let me get you the hell out of this parking lot before this storm really kicks in.”

“How well do you know Cait and Bellamy?” she pushes, still not convinced.

“Both of Bellamy’s brothers are married to my sisters, and they play on the team with me. And Caitlin’s mom and mine are best friends. Let me drive you home, Addie.”

I watch the rise and fall of her shoulders as she takes another jagged breath. “Fine,” she bites back, then softens a little. “Thank you for your help. Where are you parked?”

I nod toward my G-Class. “Over there. If you get Izzy out, I’ll grab her car seat. Do you need anything else?”

“I need the car seat next to Izzy’s too,” she practically whispers, and I scan the backseat for another kid before I realize it’s one of those bases for baby carriers.

Shit. Two kids.

This would probably be when a smarter man would back away, but I guess I’m not that smart because it makes me want to know more, and I’m pretty sure Addie doesn’t want me to know anything. Guess it’s a good thing I don’t mind putting the work in.