Code Name - Hacker (Jameson Force Security 4)

“How was school today?” I ask.

“It was good,” he replies casually, never one to roll his eyes at my invasive questions or act too old to indulge his mom about her curiosities. People always remark what a great kid Aaron is, but then immediately warn me puberty will change that at some point.

I don’t necessarily believe that. Maybe I’m being naive, but I also believe parenthood is an adventure. Coming from a place just six months ago where I never thought I’d have hands-on experience in raising my kid, I’m relishing every upcoming change.

“Grandma is cooking spaghetti tonight,” I say, which is our favorite meal my mom makes. We’ll eat until we’re sick and groaning from the discomfort.

I stop walking, having reached a spacious spot of grass. Aaron doesn’t hesitate, just keeps going. We’ve tossed the football plenty over the last few weeks, and it’s our routine. He does glance over his shoulder with a grin. “Bet I can eat more than you.”

I know he can, but I take the bet. “Five dollars.”

“You’re on,” he calls before trotting a few feet away from me.

Aaron turns, positions his fingers around the laces, and cocks the football. I spread my legs a little, preparing for its flight into my arms.

It sails toward me, and I have to run a few feet to the left to make the catch. Of course, I am the most unathletic person in the world, so it falls through my hands. I was nowhere even close to catching the damn thing. It hits the ground, tumbles away from me and I run after it like an idiot as Aaron laughs.

I bend, grab the football, and turn quickly to fling it back to Aaron. Of course, it barely covers the distance he just threw it and comes up too short for him to catch. Easily scooping it from the ground, he continues jogging up to me.

“Okay, Mom… you have to hold it like this before you throw it,” he explains, then I get a lesson on proper throwing technique. He’s explained it to me on no less than four other occasions, but I listen attentively, hoping to glean new information that will make me a little bit better. He hands the ball to me, then starts to trot backward. “Now… try it again.”

I place my hand as he instructed and cock my arm back, but, before I can throw, movement to my left catches my eye.

Glancing at a park bench situated just adjacent to a cement pathway running alongside the grassy area, I have to restrain myself from my jaw dropping. Plopping down with a book in hand is perhaps one of the best-looking men I’ve ever seen in my life.

I mean… he’s probably not for every woman, but he totally pushes my buttons. For one thing, he’s big. For some reason, despite my tiny size, I’ve always loved an intimidating size. He’s tall and built with thickly muscled arms that are tattooed all the way down, encased under a tight black t-shirt. His long hair is in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck. By the length, it’s probably to his shoulders. Best of all, he’s got a beard that’s sweetly kept and trimmed and full, generous lips.

He stretches out his long legs, which are clad in faded jeans and sturdy biker boots and crosses them at the ankles. Leaning back, he starts reading a thick paperback, which makes him even more attractive.

“Mom,” Aaron calls. “Throw the ball.”

I shake my head, my face flushing, when the man’s head starts to raise in response to Aaron’s voice. Spinning toward my son, I disregard everything he just taught me and fling the ball so hard I almost throw my shoulder out.

Aaron starts laughing as it sails over his head, then takes off running after it. I refuse to turn back to the gorgeous, biker-looking dude while hoping to hell his book is more interesting than my horribly awkward attempt to play football with my kid.

I mentally kick myself for caring about something like that. A cute—okay, phenomenally gorgeous—man is of no significance to me. I’ve been given a new lease on life, so my focus and energy must go toward Aaron and my mom. It’s the only way I can be remotely deserving of this second chance.

Except, a little voice in the back of my head whispers, you deserve something for yourself, too.

I squash it, because it’s not true. I don’t deserve anything more than the beauty of my family, which I’ve thankfully been returned to.

Aaron nabs the ball from the ground, cuts a few feet to the left, and notches his arm back. He lets it go, just a little to my right this time, which forces me to chase it. I move for it, determined not to let it hit the ground again. Sadly, I’m a day late and a dollar short. I come nowhere close to making the catch. When it thuds against the turf, it does a wonky bounce and tumbles end over end, right toward the man.