Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Because for the first time in my life, I felt like I’d found a group of girls I could be friends with.
Will and Ava were both already asleep when I got home, and I no sooner made it back to the pool house and greeted my cats before my phone pinged.
Maven: Welcome to the group text, Chloe!
Livia: Beware of NSFW images at random.
Grace: No, seriously, beware of that. I was with my mom the last time Livia sent a picture of her latest toy. My poor mother is still scarred.
Livia: Or is she curious…
Grace: EW.
Maven: Love you all so much. Thank you for your help tonight. And by help, I’m talking to Chloe only. The rest of you were useless.
Livia: And you love us still. HIRE AN EVENT PLANNER. Goodnight, bitches.
Me: Thank you for inviting me. I had a lot of fun.
Grace: Good, because you’re stuck with us now.
Maven: *kiss emoji*
Livia: Feel free to send us photos of that fine ass daddy, too.
Maven: LIV
I laughed, plugging my phone in to charge and dragging my smiley, tipsy ass into the shower.
You Don’t Count
Will
It smelled like a goddamn lemon orchard in my house.
The sweet, tangy scent invaded my senses as soon as I walked in, a candle burning in the entryway and soft voices streaming in from somewhere in the house. I shrugged off my coat, hanging it by the front door before investigating the sound further. When I rounded into the kitchen, I found it spotless — dishwasher running and pans drying on the mat while a podcast of some sort played on a speaker.
I frowned.
Arushi had asked for the weekend off. She had family in town. I’d let Chloe know as much and left money for pizza. But the evidence pointed to her cooking, instead.
“Daddy, look!”
I whipped around to find Ava waddling toward me — and yes, she was waddling, because she was dressed head to toe in full hockey gear.
Her curly hair was hidden under a mini helmet, her legs shielded by thick pads, a jersey just a tad bit too big for her swallowing her slight frame.
My eyes shot wide, and then slid to where Chloe was standing at the bottom of the staircase. She covered her smile with one hand, but I swore her eyes were a bit glossy as she watched my daughter teeter over to me.
“Whoa!” I said when she dropped into a low stance in front of me. She had one of my old hockey sticks in her hands, one I’d given to her after a winning game last season, and she stuck her tongue out as she pretended to skate toward me, tapping the stick side to side.
“It’s a lightning-fast release from number ten, Ava Perry,” she said, sticking her little tongue out. “And the puck goes up and over the glove of Will ‘Pickles’ Perry! Goal!”
Ava threw her hands up in victory, pretending to skate around me by sliding on her socks across the tile floor. That earned her a hearty chuckle from Chloe, and I tongued my cheek before swooping my daughter into my arms on her second lap around me.
I knew she picked number ten because it was well known that it was her favorite pop star’s favorite number. Mia Love was impossible to avoid regardless of who you were or what your musical preference — but especially as the father of a five-year-old girl.
Ava giggled as I swung her high, spinning her around once before plopping her back down. I patted her helmet with the corner of my mouth turning up.
“Nice shot, Pumpkin. I didn’t realize I was raising the next Wayne Gretzky.”
“I think I’m more like Gordie Howe,” she argued, shimmying her shoulders in the way she usually did when she was telling me off. “Look what Chloe made me!”
She did a little spin, holding her arms out to make sure I could see the intricate stitching on the jersey. And when she stopped, she beamed up at me, a wide smile spanning her adorable face.
A smile.
Fuck.
My chest tightened at the sight of it, at how it took up her whole face and shone like spotlight onto me. When I glanced at Chloe again, I knew I wasn’t wrong. Her eyes were definitely watering.
Honestly, mine would have been, too, if I wasn’t emotionally stunted.
I dropped to my daughter’s level, bracing my hands on her shoulders as I took in every inch of the mini-sized gear she wore.
“This is, by far, the coolest thing I have ever seen.”
“I look like a real hockey player!”
“You sure do,” I agreed, tapping the mask of her helmet. “A forward, no doubt.”
“Right winger.” She dropped into her stance again, tongue sticking out as she pretended like she was gliding down the ice.
I looked around until I found something suitable for a makeshift puck, and when my eyes landed on our paper towel holder, I quickly tore one off and bunched it up, dropping it to the floor.