“Since when do you eat Thai food?” Lola asks me, closing the refrigerator door.
“Hey, easy with that,” I remind her, checking that the door is still on the hinges. She rolls her eyes and swipes a fork, eating the pad Thai leftovers cold. “Give me that.” I swipe the takeout container and put it into a bowl, popping it into the microwave. “Swear, if I didn’t look out for you, you’d never eat.”
Lola laughs and pops the tab on a Diet Coke. When I hand her the bowl, properly heated, she breathes it in appreciatively. “This is good Thai too, not the quick takeout kind.” She quirks an eyebrow.
“Maisy brought it over for dinner the other night.”
“Wow. You’re really branching out, huh?”
I refill my coffee cup and sit across from her. “What do you mean?”
“Thai food, going into the city…” She gestures at me. “Your appearance.”
“What’s wrong with my appearance?” I snap.
Lola laughs. “Nothing. That’s my point. You look good, Dad. Happy.”
I dip my head in acknowledgment. “I am. Happy,” I confirm quietly. The time I’ve been spending with Maisy has infused a lightness in my life that hasn’t existed in years. I look forward to seeing her, think about her constantly, and wish I could stop time when we’re together. With my schedule and a handful of away games, it seems like we never have enough time.
“And she’s broadening your horizons,” Lola adds.
I grunt, not wanting to tell my kid that the new woman in my life has introduced me to more ideas and outlooks, cuisines and cultures, than I’ve experienced in the past decade. Not since Marisol. “I’m a creature of habit.”
“Maisy is good for you.” Lola points her fork at me.
I take a swig of coffee in response and Lola smiles.
“She’s sitting with you in the family box on Thursday.”
“Nice!” Lola exclaims, looking genuinely excited about spending one-on-one time with Maisy.
“You cool with that?”
“More than cool, Dad. I want to get to know her. I like her.”
“Yeah.”
Lola rolls her eyes at my inability to have a deep conversation about my romantic life. But that’s not the type of thing a dad needs to discuss with his daughter. As long as she’s okay with my dating and I get a pulse on her feelings toward Maisy, we don’t need to hash out every detail and date the way Lola would with Jas.
Lola chuckles again, standing from her chair.
“Bowl in the dishwasher,” I remind her.
She rolls her eyes but picks up her bowl and fork, rinses them, and places them in the dishwasher. Turning to face me, she says, “Don’t forget about family weekend.”
Shit! I take a big gulp of coffee to cover up the fact that I did forget. With my hockey schedule, and now, trying to squeeze in time with Maisy, I haven’t checked in with Lola as much as usual. Other than our Sunday brunches, our conversations have taken place through text messages. “I’m looking forward to it.”
She laughs. “You forgot.”
“I did not,” I fib.
Lola shakes her head, her expression softening. “I’m happy for you, Dad.”
“Thanks, Lol.”
“Anyway”—she swipes up her purse—“I’m going to meet Jasmine. Mom, Ben, and the boys land next Friday night. Mom’s making reservations at Clint’s and then, Saturday is all the family stuff on campus.”
“Sounds good.” I stand. Walking over to Lola, I place my coffee mug in the sink and kiss my daughter’s forehead. “I’m glad your mother is taking the lead on reservations.”
Lola snickers, knowing Anna is the one who keeps up with all the details in her life. I make sure her car is running the way it should and that she’s got proper health insurance, but Anna is the one who schedules dinner reservations and sends flowers on the first day of final exams. Together, we’ve made a pretty incredible co-parenting team. “I’ll see you later, Dad.”
“See you, Lol.” I stand by the door and watch as Lola slips into her car and pulls out of the driveway. She honks once and I lift my hand in farewell.
Pulling out my phone, I open the calendar app and note family weekend. Knowing I won’t be able to spend it with Maisy, a strange desperation to see her rolls through me.
Me: Hey, you got plans tonight?
Maisy: Grabbing dinner with my sister, then free.
Me: Want to watch a movie?
Maisy: Aren’t we too old for code lingo?
I snort at her honesty. Hell yeah, we’re too fucking old for it. But what do I text her? I want you to come over so I can fuck you hard and hold you all night?
Me: Spend the night with me?
Maisy: I’d love to. Your place or mine?
Me: I don’t want to rush your night. Come over when you’re done with dinner. I’ll be here.
Maisy: See you tonight. (Kiss Emoji)
I blow out a sigh, relaxing now that I’ll see her tonight. I’ve never felt this way about a woman before, twisted up and turned inside out. I thought I had this with Marisol, but in hindsight, our relationship paled in comparison. It was the breakup that gutted me. Watching Marisol move on, much the way Anna did, left me wondering if I’d ever find a partner. Left me feeling like I was the problem, the person lacking in the relationship.
With Maisy, I have a chance at real happiness, at a stable future, again. I won’t take that for granted. Besides, I haven’t felt her curves or tasted her mouth in two days, and that’s two days too damn long.
Hell, even waiting until tonight feels too long.
Lifting my phone again, I call Beau Turner.
“What’s up, Brawler?” He picks up on the first ring.
“Want to get a lift in before practice?”
“Sure, I gotta get out of my house anyway.”
I frown. “What’s going on?”
“My little sister gets into town this weekend. Gran is over the moon and on a cleaning spree.”
“Ah,” I say sympathetically. I’ve only met Turner’s Gran a handful of times, but at nearly ninety, the woman is a force to be reckoned with. She may look sweet and frail, but her mind is sharper than a tack and her language more colorful than a box of crayons. “Meet you at the gym?”
“Be there in thirty.”
I hang up, letting out another sigh. I feel restless, too much pent-up energy and nowhere to put it. A workout, followed by a grueling practice, will do my mind good. Otherwise, I’ll spend the entire afternoon thinking of Maisy and staring at the clock, counting down the hours until she’s with me.
“You look different,” Damien Barnes remarks as I sit down on a bench in the locker room.
“Different?” I tug off my practice jersey, soaked through with sweat.
Barnes narrows his eyes, studying me. For a second, he reminds me of Mom. If she was still here, she’d have pegged my feelings for Maisy before I admitted them to myself. “Chipper,” Barnes remarks.
I laugh. A big, shoulder-shaking, loud laugh.
The locker room quiets as the team stares at me. Cole Philips’ mouth is hanging open. Turner looks amused, River skeptical. Their reactions make me laugh harder. Has it been that long since I’ve truly laughed? Have I never showed them that deep down, I’m a fun guy? Or at least, I possess the capability to become fun?
I swipe a hand over my beard, my laughter subsiding. Shaking my head, I pull a pair of shorts from my locker. “That was pretty fucking chipper,” I remark.
Turner chuckles as Philips draws his mouth closed.
“Definitely different,” Barnes mutters. “What’s going on with you?”
“He’s in love,” Devon offers.
I glare at him. “I’m seeing someone,” I correct.
“Maisy?” Turner guesses.
River glowers at me.
I stand up straighter, turning to face my team. “Yes. We’re…dating.”
“Very adult of you.” Barnes smirks, but his eyes are serious. “You really like her.” He says it like a statement, which it is. It’s the truth.
“I care about her,” I admit, glancing around at the guys. “She’s a good woman. And you all—” I begin, pointing at them.
Devon grabs my finger and twists it. “We know how to treat Maisy. Everyone here has been nothing but respectful toward her. We don’t need to hear any more of your lectures.” He lifts his eyebrows, his eyes silently calling me out for how many times I’ve reminded the group not to look twice at Lola.
Sighing, I realize he’s right and drop my hand. Not before I glare at Patton, but that’s because the kid deserves it. I know he and Maisy have something easy between them, an acquaintanceship or some shit, but that doesn’t mean I like him any more than the first time I met him. So, not much at all.
“Good for you, man.” Turner claps me on the back.
“Yeah,” Philips pipes up. “I like Maisy. She’s so friendly and always smiling.”
“She is,” I agree, knowing my woman brings warmth and sunshine wherever she goes. Even to miserable miscreants like Patton.
“She’s a damn miracle worker if she can get you to laugh like that,” Barnes says.
A few guys on the team titter, but I laugh again. Loud and boisterous. “Ain’t that the truth?” Since I’ve met Maisy, my life has been fuller. Fucking Barnes is right. I am chipper.
After leaving The Honeycomb, I head home. I take a long shower, cook some mushroom risotto and green salad, and collapse on my couch. I watch a documentary about sharks, killing time until my doorbell rings.
When I pull the door open, my beautiful woman stands on the porch. Her hair is in a low ponytail, bright yellow and blue earrings hanging from her ears and dusting the tops of her shoulders. She’s wearing a ruffly blouse and a flirty skirt and I can’t wait to peel it all off her.
“Hey,” I mumble, closing the space between us. I plant my mouth on hers, pulling her over the threshold and closing the door behind us.
Maisy’s hands move up my arms, her palms caressing my beard before holding my cheeks. She kisses me back. Sweet turns into needy.
I sweep her into my arms, and she laughs, leaning her head back. Her eyes find mine as I move us into my bedroom. “What did I do to deserve the royal treatment?”
I place her down in the center of my bed. “You always deserve the royal treatment.” I pull my shirt clear off my head.
Maisy’s pupils dilate as she stares at my bare chest, her eyes tracking my movement.
“How much you drink?” I ask, not seeing her car out front.
“Not a lot. Missy dropped me off.”
I crawl over her. “How much?”
She rests her head on a pillow. Her arms snake around my neck and her knees fall open, her skirt riding up her thighs. “I feel completely sober right now.”
I place an open-mouthed kiss on her cheek, dragging my lips over to meet hers. “Completely sober?”
“Yes,” she moans as I brush my fingers up her exposed thigh. My hand finds the delicate zipper on her hip and I drag it down. “I missed you, Axe.”
“I told the team about us.”
Her eyes pop open, a flicker of something I can’t read flaring to life. “What’d they say?”
“Happy for us,” I calm her mind, dropping my mouth to her neck.
She arches into me, and I love it, the press of her breasts against my bare chest, the feel of her skin under my palm.
“Are you?” she murmurs.
I pull back, note the seriousness in her gaze. My eyebrows snap together.
“Happy?” she clarifies.
My mouth curls into a smile, something I’m doing a hell of a lot more of lately. “More than I ever remember being.”
Maisy blows out an exhale, as if she was holding her breath. “Me too.”
“Good.” I kiss her hard.
Her skirt bundles around her stomach as she wraps her legs around my waist. I sink into the space between her thighs, loving on her so damn good.
We spend hours wrapped up in my sheets, showing each other just how damn happy we are. How happy we can make each other.
It’s more than I’ve ever known exists.