“Sadie, did you pack clothes or a toothbrush?”
“Why would I do that, Mommy?”
I shake my head. “Go pack correctly, please.”
“I’ll help.” Tiff takes her hand, and they go back to her room.
I quickly run into the kitchen and pull out the pork tenderloin from the oven. I need to thank Dad for his tips; they actually worked out. My heart stops when I hear a knock on the door. I pray that he isn’t fifteen minutes early.
“You’re early,” I tell him.
“I couldn’t wait for a kiss.” He goes towards my lips, and I almost do a backbend to get away.
“Sadie is still here,” I whisper at him.
“Want to hide in the closet?”
I think about saying yes, but then, “Hi, Mr. Ashton.”
“Hey, Sadie.” He looks at me before putting on a smile, turning to her.
“Is Reed with you? Is he here to play?”
“No, he’s with his mom tonight.”
“Oh,” her face drops.
“Hey, Ashton.” Tiff comes around the corner.
This has to be the most awkward moment I’ve ever had.
“Come on, Sadie, let’s go have a girls’ night.”
“Okay,” her face brightens up. “Bye, Mommy. Bye, Mr. Ashton.”
I watch Tiff put Sadie in the car, and when she pulls out of the driveway, I go back into the house.
“Are you hungry?”
“I’m hungry for a lot of things.” He pauses, looking me up and down, but recovers. “I’m sorry about coming early. I guess I should have texted you first.”
I force myself to ignore his ‘hungry’ comment, because if I don’t, I might say something very inappropriate. “No, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have let her pack her own bag. She only had dolls and a DVD.” I walk into the kitchen and pour us each a glass of wine. I cut the tenderloin and arrange it on plates with the vegetables.
Ashton chuckles. “That’s all Reed packs when he comes stay with me, but that’s because he has clothes at my house already. Well, he doesn’t pack dolls, but you know what I mean.”
I giggle as I carry the plates to the table and sit down. “I do. So, I saw the game other night. You’re really trying to gain the points, huh?”
“Wouldn’t you? I’m not even my own kid’s favorite player. That hurts.” He rubs his chest over his heart dramatically.
“Well, I can understand that. At least you have some motivation. However, I think that’s the first time I’ve sat through a whole Bears game on TV without being forced by Tiff.”
He puts on his sexy grin, bringing back the butterflies to my insides. “Sounds like you have some motivation too. Care to share what or who that might be?”
“It may have been a certain number seventy-four that I may have been watching,” I say shyly. It’s not like he can’t figure this out.
“And what did you think about that certain someone? Impressed? Overtaken by how handsome he is? Stunned into a daze by his smile? All hot and bothered by his skills on the ice?”
“Wait, are we still talking about you, or Mr. Fifteen who actually scored the winning goal of the game?” I cover my mouth, hi