by June Winters
“Sure.”
“So last night, we talked a little about the night we met two years ago.”
“Uh-huh?” she stammered. She felt her knuckles tightening around the steering wheel. Was Lance as clueless as she thought, or was he finally starting to piece things together?
“I never understood why you ran off while I was in the shower.”
“I figured you'd want me out afterward. I thought it'd just be easier if I left without any awkward goodbyes.” She lowered her voice. “And … I was ashamed.”
“Why?”
“You probably won't believe me, but I'd never had a one night stand before. You were my first one. And last one, for that matter.”
“I believe you,” he said with a gentleness that surprised her. Then he smiled. “I mean, you kept saying, 'I never do this.'”
“Yeah. Well, I didn't. And I don't.”
“So why'd you go home with me that night?”
She sighed. “Because. You were cute, and aggressive, and kind of an asshole but also kind of charming at the same time. And I thought you'd be the perfect throwaway guy for a one-night kind of thing.”
His eyes narrowed at her. “Not sure if that's a compliment or an insult.”
“Good. Now you know how I felt when I met you.”
“But why'd you want a one-night stand with me, if they're not your thing?”
“I'd just been through a bad break-up,” Paige said.
“That's funny. I was fresh off a break-up, too.”
“You were? What's your story?” she asked.
“Oh, it's not much of a story. She was an aspiring actress that I met at the club and started dating. Anyway, I was only with her for a few months, until I caught her poking holes in a condom. Can you believe it?”
Paige felt the blood drain from her face. Was that another piece of the puzzle? Had Lance unwittingly used a sabotaged condom with her? Did Lance's psychotic ex unwittingly get Paige pregnant?
“W-why would she do that?” Paige muttered at last.
“Trying to trap me with a baby, you know? Gold digger, I guess.” He let out a loud breath of relief. “I dodged a bullet, man.”
Gulp. “Yeah … sure did …”
“Anyway. You said you were going through a break-up.”
“Right.” Paige took a deep breath and told Lance the story of her ex, Adam. Adam was her high school sweetheart. First boyfriend, first kiss, first everything. They'd planned the rest of their lives together—or rather, she liked to talk aloud and dream about their plans, while he sort of quietly nodded his head, because hey, path of least resistance, man.
The one thing that worried Paige about Adam was his lack of motivation. He wasn't a good student like Paige was—just doing okay was good enough for him. He also hadn't chosen a major. He was waiting for the day when his future path would show itself. The one thing he was truly passionate about was smoking weed. She hoped it was a phase, something he'd eventually grow tired of. Hey, at least he held down a job! It's not like he was lying around on the sofa, high as a kite …
Then came Paige's junior year. She shared an apartment with Amanda, a friend she'd made during her freshman year. Like Adam, Amanda liked to smoke—something Paige didn't realize about her friend until they were already living together.
On some weeknights, Adam would sleep over at Paige's. The next day, when Paige left for her classes, Adam wouldn't leave with her.
“I'm gonna smoke up with Amanda before I go to class,” he'd say as he gave Paige's ass a goodbye smack.
Sometimes, she'd come home from a day full of classes and the apartment would be filled with clouds of thick, skunk-smelling smoke. And who would emerge from Amanda's room with red, glossy eyes and an uneven smile? Why, it was Adam, of course! He'd just decided to get high with Amanda and not go to class after all.
Paige began to suspect something was happening, even if she wanted to believe she was only being jealous and paranoid. But it was only a matter of time before she came home and the dank reek of pot was accompanied by something else: a man's grunts, a woman's moans, the creaking of an old mattress, and the slapping of sweaty flesh behind her roommate's closed door.
“I'm normally pretty calm and composed, but man. I lost my cool,” Paige told Lance, shaking her head. “Her door was locked. So I kicked it until I broke the hinges off and barged right in. Adam was already getting dressed as quickly as he could, yelling, 'this isn't what it looks like!' I picked up the first thing I saw—a keyboard—and launched it at his head and told him to get the hell out. And then I screamed at Amanda for being a back-stabbing bitch.”
Lance liked hearing that. He gave her shoulder an approving shove. “Hell yeah! See, that idiot completely deserved it. It's a good thing you don't have a PR firm watching your every move …”
Paige finished the story: while she was away at class the next day, Amanda moved all her belongings out, never to be heard from again—giving Paige a rent crisis in the process. Adam disappeared himself, too. The grapevine told Paige that Adam and Amanda both dropped out of school, went 'off the grid' and moved to California, or maybe it was Colorado, hoping to start a marijuana growing operation.
“And that's that. Who knows if they're still out there. Or if they're still together. I've no idea how to get a hold of either of them. I don't really care to, either.”
“Damn. All that happened before we met?”
“Just a month before.”
Paige pulled into the driveway at her parents' house. “Here we are.”
Before Paige could get out, Lance grabbed her forearm.
“Wait … does Adam even know about Irie?” he asked.
Paige couldn't look him in the eye. She could tell by the way he'd asked the question that the wheels were starting to turn.
“No,” she said quietly. “He doesn't. Because he's not her father.”
Chapter 16
Lance
Lance offered Paige his arm. She took it, and the two walked up the long driveway to her parents' house.
She kept glancing up at him as they walked. She smiled, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Actually, her eyes looked … nervous.
Lance felt a nervousness in his stomach, too. And it wasn't just meeting the parents of a girl he was starting to like more and more—although, surprisingly, that did psyche him out a little, too. Which was strange. He hadn't cared about meeting a girl's parents since high school. The hell did he have to worry about, impressing somebody's parents? His stat-line, his achievements, his career spoke for itself.
But not this time. Something else was on his mind instead.
The story Paige told him—well, it didn't quite make sense. Was she trying to tell him something? Lance wasn't sure of the timeline. When she broke up with her pot-smoking ex. When Lance met her at Zickell's. When her daughter was born. And every time Lance tried to pause everything and focus, so he could piece the exact order of the events together, a pressure grew in his temples and his mind grew cloudy instead. His brain froze, and things stopped making any sense at all. Worse, Paige's words from the past twenty-four hours swirled around in his head, echoing again and again like shouts in an empty cavern:
Lance, I have to tell you something serious!
You were my first one-night stand! And my last one, for that matter!
No, Adam doesn't know about Irie! He's not the father!
They reached the front door. The welcome mat read, The McMillans. Paige raised her fist, but before she knocked, she turned and gave Lance one last timid smile.
“Ready?” she asked quietly.
“Ready,” he said, unable to shake the feeling that this was a very big moment in his life.
Knock knock.
Paige's Mom answered the door. Immediately, Lance could see the family resemblance—Mom was shorter, but she had Paige's facial features—the chin, nose and eyes. She looked good for her age, and Lance found himself awfully pleased with the knowledge that Paige's beauty wou
ld last.
“Oh, hello! Paige, you brought company?”
“This is my friend, Lance. Lance, this is my Mom.”
“Good gosh, Lance, you're so tall,” Mrs. McMillan laughed, tilting her head back to see up Lance's frame. “Come in, come in.”
Lance bent down and gave Mrs. McMillan a polite peck on the cheek. “Nice to meet you.”
“So what brings you over here?” Mrs. McMillan asked them both.
“Lance is from out of town, but he dropped in on me at work today. I told him I had to pick up Irie, and he came with me.”
“Oh? Where are you from, Lance?”
“Boston,” he said.
Lured by the commotion, Paige's dad entered the room. The men shook hands and greeted each other. “So what do you do in Boston, Lance?”
“I'm an athlete, actually.”
“No kidding? What sport?”
“Hockey.”
“Professional?”
Paige butted in, apparently annoyed by the slow trickle of information. “He plays for the Boston Brawlers, Dad.”
Mr. McMillan's jaw dropped. “Wait. Are you Lance Couture?”
Lance flashed a humble smile. “That's me.”
“Are you here because of the thing yesterday? At the game? With Irie?”
Lance's face twisted with genuine confusion. He shot Paige a look. “What thing?”
Paige interrupted again. “No, Dad. I've known Lance for a couple years.”
“You have?” Mrs. McMillan interjected. “Since when do you know a professional hockey player?”
“I just told you! For a couple years!” Paige groaned, sounding like an embarrassed teenager. She grabbed Lance by the elbow. “Would you guys excuse us for a moment? We're going to say hi to Irie.”
Paige led Lance away from her parents and down the hall. Lance's legs felt like jelly, but they carried him forward nonetheless.
“What 'thing' was your dad talking about a second ago?” he whispered to Paige.
“You'll see in a second.”
They entered the living room. Burning logs hissed and popped in the fireplace. Toys were strewn about the floor—including an indoor hockey net, the type of set that Lance had grown up with himself. And there, standing frozen in the middle of the room and silently staring wide-eyed at Lance, was a beautiful little girl.
Lance stopped in his tracks. The girl had the same hunter green eyes he did. She was as towheaded as Lance had been as a child, too.
“Oh my God,” he muttered.
His heart swelled and throbbed. He knew it then. He didn't have to be told and he didn't have to ask any questions. He just had to look at her. It was like looking into a mirror. Or maybe more accurately, like looking at his own baby pictures from the Couture family photo album.
“Here's your bookmark,” Paige said quietly—and it finally dawned on Lance why Paige had asked if he remembered the pickup line he'd used on her back at Zickell's.
Irie wore a cute pink headband with a little bow over her platinum blonde hair. She also wore a black and yellow Brawlers home jersey.
Lance turned to Paige. “She's uh. She's wearing my name and number, isn't she?”
Paige smiled at him. “Lucky number twenty-one.”
“How long did you know …?”
“Not even twenty-four hours.”
“But … the jersey,” Lance said, scratching at his head.
“My Dad noticed that Irie started showing an interest in hockey. So, last night, he took her to the Fury game. They sat front row. And that's where, apparently, she caught your eye.”
“I remember that, yeah. She was just—dancing and staring at me. I never even notice people in the crowd! But, last night … for some reason …”
“I saw the footage on my Dad's cell phone. It was so cute, Lance. Your team made sure that Irie went home with a free jersey.”
“And that's when you figured out who I was?”
Paige gave him her eyes. “Crazy, isn't it?”
“Jesus.” Lance shook his head, stunned. He whispered in Paige's ear. “So, er, what am I supposed to do?”
Paige giggled. “Just talk to her.”
Lance knelt, his knees sinking into the plush white carpet. “Hey there, Irie. Gosh, you're adorable, aren't you? I'm happy to meet you.” He put out his massive hand to shake. “My name's Lance.” But as soon as he said it, he winced and pulled his hand back. That felt wrong. He was Dad, not Lance, and who the hell shakes their own daughter's hand? But wait, did he even deserve to be called Dad yet, or was that something he had to earn?
Paige noticed his panic and nudged his ribs. “It's okay. You're doing fine. She's just a little shy.”
Lance tried a new approach. “I like your jersey, Irie. That's my team.”
Irie didn't move, and didn't break her gaze from Lance, either. She blinked at him. Her big green eyes, same as his, studied him carefully.
Paige tried to encourage her daughter. She put an arm around Lance and tried to wave Irie over. “Come here, Irie! Don't be shy.”
Still, she didn't move.
Lance noticed the hockey stick lying on the floor in front of Irie. “I heard you like hockey, huh, Irie? Is that your stick? Can you show me how you play hockey?”
He picked the stick up and handed it to her, and the uncertainty in her eyes vanished. When Lance set the foam ball in front of her, Irie babbled a few words, took a small wind-up and let loose with a wild swing.
Lance laughed as the ball sailed into the net. The shot had surprised him. “Great shot, Irie! We call that a clapper.”
Irie began to laugh. She had an adorable snicker, like a honeyed growl.
Lance clutched at his chest. “Oh my God, Paige! Her laugh!”
“I know. Isn't it cute?”
“It's like tiny fingers poking my heart.”
Paige bit her lip. “Aw! Lance! That's so sweet.”
Lance fetched the ball and set it at Irie's feet. “Great job, Irie, let's do it again.”
Paige handed Lance a second stick. “Here. There's two sticks. Why don't you play with her? She's warming up to you. I'm going to go talk to my parents.”
Paige started to walk off, but Lance couldn't bear to let her go—not after learning she was the mother of his child! He jumped to his feet and wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her right back in, his mouth going to hers. Their mouths joined and they kissed deeply, passionately, kissing for the first time as parents of that beautiful baby girl.
Who was silently watching with her big ol' green eyes once again.
“Lance!” Paige giggled, sneaking a peek down the hallway to make sure her parents hadn't seen. “What's gotten into you?”
“I think you know,” he said.
Her cheeks blushed, turning the loveliest color of rose. In that moment, Paige was more beautiful than Lance had ever seen her. She glowed, and he wanted her badly, more than he'd ever wanted anybody.
“You can't kiss me like that here! They might see us …”
“So? Who cares?”
“They would care. They're religious and pretty conservative.”
“Oh.” Lance went quiet. He could only imagine how they'd felt about Paige being a single mother. He felt a tinge of guilt for the time he'd missed.
“And that's why I have to go talk to them,” Paige said. She loosened his fingers one by one, prying his grip from her waist—even though he could tell she wanted his hands all over her just as badly as he did. “I have to try to explain to them why I brought a professional hockey player to their home.”
“What will you tell them?”
“I'm not sure yet.”
“Why not tell them the truth?”
Paige swallowed. “Soon. Not just yet.”
At last, she'd broken his hold. Begrudgingly, Lance let her go, but he watched her leave until she was truly out of sight.
And then he turned to his daughter.
“Okay, Irie! You ready? Let's try that some mor
e!”
Chapter 17
Paige
Look natural, look natural, Paige reminded herself as she lurked just outside the kitchen.
Mom and Dad were sitting at the dining table. Paige knew she was still beaming, and her parents would surely know something was up if she couldn't wipe that smile from her face. But she couldn't help it. The past twenty-four hours had been such a whirlwind, and she'd had every last emotion wrung from her body … and yet she'd just witnessed one of the most moving scenes of her life.
Father and daughter finally met, face to face, for the first time.
And, thank God, Lance got it. On the drive over, Paige had started to wonder if Lance would ever figure it out—but no. He knew it. Right away. Paige had studied his face carefully, and the second he saw Irie, something clicked. His eyes softened for Irie with a father's gentle, loving reverence. The big, strong, hockey hunk turned into a pile of mush for his baby daughter.
And when he turned his eyes on Paige?
Yow. The way he looked at her had changed, too. Yeah, he still wanted her; actually, he wanted her more than he had last night. But the desire in his eyes was like nothing she'd ever seen before. She wasn't just some great lay, some piece of ass he met at the bar anymore—she was the mother of his child. The woman whose life he would always be inseparably bound, thanks to Irie.
Then, without warning, his hands were wrapped jealously, possessively around her waist. He kissed her wildly, urgently, like some primal caveman, as if he couldn't wait to drag her back to his cave and fill her with more babies. Her insides clenched and throbbed under the electric touch of his fingertips.
She couldn't help but notice Irie staring at them as they kissed. It was the first time she'd seen her Mommy kiss anyone that wasn't Gramma or Grampa. Did she know what she was witnessing? Could she understand?
And then Paige gritted her teeth with shame because she'd let herself get caught up in the moment. She knew she shouldn't kiss guys in front of Irie like that—unless they were truly committed to sticking around and being a part of Irie's life.
And, truly, she still had no idea what the future held with Lance. She still had no idea what he was like as a person! They had so much to talk about, to share and learn about each other … so much lost time to make up for.
