I Want You Back, Page 2

  Our eyes met.

  Holy hell was this man gorgeous. Like male model gorgeous with amazing bone structure and aquamarine-colored eyes. And his smile. Just wry enough to be compelling and “aw shucks” enough to be charming and wicked enough that I had a hard time not smiling back.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t normally carry on like that, but he was seriously missing my point.”

  “So I gathered.” Dammit. I’d confessed I’d been listening in.

  He leaned in, resting his forearms on his knees. “I’m serious. I’m not that annoying cell phone guy.”

  “Maybe not normally, but you were today.”

  “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

  “No. Also now you’ve moved on from being ‘annoying cell phone guy’ to annoying guy determined to convince me that he’s not annoying cell phone guy . . . which is even more annoying.”

  His grin widened. “I’m supposed to apologize for that too? Okay. Sorry for interrupting your quality time reading”—he snatched the magazine off my lap—“Redbook and this article on how to prioritize organization in day-to-day life.”

  My cheeks flamed even as I scooted forward to snatch back my magazine. “Gimme that.”

  “After you answer two questions. First, are you married, engaged or currently involved with someone? And if the answer is no, will you go out on a date with me so I can prove that I’m not annoying?”

  I laughed. “I actually believed you couldn’t get more annoying, but I was wrong.”

  “Are you single?”

  “Annoying and tenacious—there’s a winning combo,” I retorted.

  “And she hedges yet again. Fine. Don’t answer. I’ll just read this fascinating article that’s got you so engrossed you can’t even answer a simple question.”

  “Gimme back my magazine.”

  He lifted a brow. “I doubt it’s your magazine. I’ll bet you took it from the stack over there that’s for customers to share.”

  “Fine. Keep it.”

  “Let’s start over.” He tossed the magazine aside and offered his hand. “I’m Jaxson. What’s your name, beautiful?”

  Calling me beautiful threw me off. I automatically answered, “Lucy,” and took his hand.

  “Lucy. Lovely name. Please put me out of my misery, Lovely Lucy, and tell me that you’re single.”

  “I’m single but I’m not interested in flirting with you because you’re bored at the car wash and I’m convenient.”

  He flashed me a grin that might’ve made me weak kneed had I been standing. “I’m far from bored. Let me prove it by taking you out for dinner. I promise I’ll be on my least-annoying behavior.”

  That’s when I realized he still held my hand. That’s also when I realized I was a sucker for his tenacious charm, because I said, “Okay. But if that cell phone comes out even one time I will snatch it from you and grind it under my boot heel as I’m walking away.”

  “I’d expect nothing less.”

  I tugged my hand free before he did something else completely charming like kiss my knuckles. “Are you single?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And this is the first time I’ve asked a woman I met at a car wash for a date.”

  “This is the first time I’ve agreed to a date with a man I find a—”

  “Attractive?” he inserted. “Amusing? Feel free to use any A-word except the one you’ve repeatedly overused.”

  “Calling you an asshole is an acceptable A-word?”

  “Damn. Opened myself up for that one, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, in your arrogance.”

  Another laugh. “I’m definitely not bored with you. Now where am I taking you for our dinner date?”

  I smirked. “Pizza Lucé.”

  “Hilarious, Luce.”

  “I’m serious. That’s where I want to go.”

  “For real?”

  “Why does that surprise you?”

  “I figured you’d pick someplace more upscale.”

  “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m the pizza and beer type.”

  He leaned in. “I’d ask if this was a setup, with you being a sharp-tongued brunette with those big brown Bambi eyes, because you’re exactly my type. But I stopped here on a whim, so I know my friends and family aren’t fucking with me.”

  “Mr. Jaxson, your vehicle is ready,” a voice announced via the loudspeaker.

  I cocked my head. “You refer to yourself by your last name?”

  He shook his head. “Long story that I’ll explain over pizza and beer.”

  “Miz Q, your vehicle is ready,” echoed from the loudspeaker.

  Jaxson—Mr. Jaxson—whatever his name was—winked. “Lucy Q? What’s the Q stand for?”

  “Nothing.”

  We stood simultaneously.

  “Come on. Tell me,” he urged.

  “Maybe, as a single woman in a public venue, I didn’t use my real name or initial as a safety precaution.”

  That declaration—a total lie—was worth it to see his smugness vanish.

  Outside, the attendants stood by our cars.

  No surprise that Mr. Annoying and Tenacious drove a Porsche.

  But my eyes were on how spiffy my beloved blue Corolla looked. I smiled at the attendant and slipped him five bucks. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  I looked across the roof of my car to see my date staring at me. “I’d say the last one to arrive at Pizza Lucé has to buy the first round, but my Toyota is at a disadvantage in comparison to that beast.”

  “I planned on following you, in case you decided to make a detour.”

  “Worried that I might come to my senses and change my mind about this bizarre date?”

  “Yep.” He grinned at me. “Lead the way, Lucy Q. I’ll be right behind you.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The doorbell rang, pulling me out of the memory.

  I slicked on a final coat of lip gloss and went to meet my date.

  Damon smiled. “Lucy. You look fantastic.” He handed me a bouquet of mixed flowers.

  “Thanks, Damon, they’re lovely.” I stepped back to allow him to come inside. “I’ll just take a minute to put these in water.”

  “No rush. Our reservation is at eight. We’ve got time.”

  Damon wandered through the main room, looking at the artwork hanging on the walls and the kid stuff that seemed to multiply across every horizontal surface every time I turned around. Points for him that he didn’t react to the chaos that was our living space.

  Surprisingly I wasn’t nervous for this official first date. The potential of a second date would create more nerves, since most men never made it past the first date with me.

  I’d met Damon at a business function. We’d hit it off and exchanged emails, then phone numbers. We’d met twice after work, so when he’d asked me out for dinner, I’d said yes without hesitation. I liked him. He was low key, but not so low key as to have no personality like some of the business-type guys I worked with.

  I arranged the blooms and set the vase on the dining table. “Thank you again for the flowers. Great first-date behavior.”

  “You’re welcome.” He frowned. “But this is our third date, counting meeting for coffee once and cocktails once.”

  Jaxson’s sexy warning from years ago on our first date echoed in my head . . . “By our third date you will know how perfectly wicked it’ll feel to have my mouth all over you.”

  Was that what Damon was hoping for? By assigning this outing a number? So if we made it to date five, then I’d fall into bed with him because it was time?

  Wrong.

  And here was yet another reminder of why I didn’t date. I managed a smile. “Semantics.”

  Then he looked around. “Your daughter isn’t here
?”

  Here was the awkward part. If I said she was with her father for the weekend, would he take that as the all clear for an adult sleepover? Or did I lie about having a babysitter so if the night sucked I could use Mimi as an excuse to end the date?

  After I opted for a simple “No,” Damon smiled. “Maybe I’ll get to meet her next time.”

  “Maybe. For now, let’s go. I’m starving.”

  Two

  JAX

  I shifted Mimi off my back to punch in the alarm code for my apartment.

  She scooted inside with a happy, “Yay, my princess room,” and disappeared into the bedroom I’d let her decorate however she wanted, which meant an explosion of pink and purple, sequins, lace, satin ruffles and a canopied bed fit for . . . well, a princess.

  Since my return to Minneapolis six months ago, I’d been temporarily living in Snow Village, the two-building apartment complex for professional athletes who specialized in “winter” sports that my cousin Jensen Lund owned. It fulfilled my security requirements, and the complex had plenty of kids for Mimi to play with when she stayed with me.

  So far her visits had mostly been on the weekends, since Lucy preferred getting Mimi to and from school. I’d tried not to be bitter about the fact she didn’t even trust me to get our kid to school on time, but I had no right to bitch about it. I’d had limited access to my daughter for most of her life—with good reason due to my past bad behavior—so I needed to prove I intended to be a full-time father even if I only had Mimi part time.

  During the years I played hockey, I only saw Mimi sporadically during the season, and hockey has a long damn season. Training starts the end of August, and the regular season ends for most of us in April, unless we make it to the playoffs, and then the season can extend into June. I traveled more than I was home, and even when I was in my team’s home base of Chicago, I had grueling practices, home games and responsibilities to the club and fans that made a single-parent schedule nearly impossible.

  But the shitty truth I’d had to face the past three years was I hadn’t cared. I’d cared about one thing: hockey. Family time interfered with that. So even during our longer breaks, I didn’t head to Minneapolis and demand to spend time with my daughter. Instead, I stayed in Chicago, basking in the glory of being a professional athlete in a city that revered athletes above all else. Even now my stomach roils when I think about blowing off my child to get blown by some nameless puck bunny. Nameless mostly because I was too drunk to remember any of it.

  I’d lost plenty of sleep over that since I’d sobered up and now steered clear of alcohol.

  But I was trying to move forward . . . and I had to do that at the pace Lucy allowed. For the past eight years she’d basically raised Mimi with no emotional support from me. And I’d been so bitter and nasty about the fact she was the only person in my life who called me on every bullshit lie that exited my mouth, that I’d pulled a total dick move and fought her in court for every single penny of financial support she asked for. Some nights I still woke up in a cold sweat when it sank in what low levels I’d sunk to when it came to getting back at Lucy. Mimi—Mimi’s well-being—had gotten caught in the cross fire of my pettiness. If my brother, Nolan, and our parents hadn’t intervened . . .

  “Daddy?”

  I shoved the guilt aside and looked into my daughter’s sweet face. Mimi looked nothing like me or her mother. She had brown eyes, not dark like Lucy’s but more the color of whiskey. Her dark blond hair had streaks of red—no clue where that came from, since my hair was nearly black and Lucy’s was a rich chestnut brown. Mimi had freckles spattered across her nose and cheeks. I claimed that she inherited Lucy’s stubborn chin; Lucy claimed that immovable set to Mimi’s jaw came one hundred percent from me. Her button nose could’ve come from me. But since my beak had been broken more times than I could count, I don’t even remember what my nose used to look like. I just knew when I was lucky enough to have that cute little face in front of me, smiling up at me, I felt grateful beyond measure to have been given a second chance. I tugged on her left pigtail. “What’s up, squirt?”

  “What are we gonna do tonight?”

  “I thought I’d leave the choice up to you.”

  Her eyes narrowed—that look was one hundred percent skeptical Lucy. “You didn’t make any plans?”

  “Not for tonight. I’ve got a surprise for tomorrow night, so what would you like to do?”

  “I wanna go ice skating.”

  That threw me. Naturally she’d pick the one thing guaranteed to send her mother into panic mode. So I hedged. “Wouldn’t you rather go to Trampoline World? Or Chuck E. Cheese’s? Or . . .” Anything else?

  She shook her head. “You’re like the best skater ever. You can show me how to get better.”

  Her buttering me up aside, I knew of no place that offered open ice skating on a Friday night.

  That’s because you haven’t looked.

  “Is there an ice skating rink in particular that you want to go to?”

  She blinked at me.

  Right. She was a kid. I was the adult. This was my job. “Look. I’ll see what I can find. But no promises. It’s kind of late to try and make this work tonight.”

  “Can’t you call Axl? I bet he knows lots of places to skate.”

  Doubtful. He played for the Minnesota Wild, and they had a dedicated practice facility. If he showed up at a rink for open skate, he’d likely get mobbed. “He’s on the road.”

  “Maybe you could ask Irina? Since she’s a world champion figure skater she probably knows all of the good places,” she suggested.

  “When were you talking to Irina? She lives on the third floor of the next building over.”

  “When me ’n Calder were playing. I dared him to go up to the third floor. He wouldn’t do it, so I did,” she said proudly, “and Irina gave us Russian tea cookies for being brave spies.”

  “Do Rowan and Jensen know that you and Calder were running all over the building?”

  “We weren’t running ‘all over the building,’ Daddy. We went up to the third floor one time.”

  “But you were up there long enough to have conversation and cookies with Irina,” I pointed out. “The only reason I let you go over to Calder’s unsupervised last weekend is because I know Rowan and Jensen have strict rules and they expect Calder to follow them. Whose idea was it to break the rules?”

  Mimi stared at me, and I could see her struggling to tell me the truth. “It was my idea.”

  “Milora Michelle Lund. We talked about this. Just because I’m not physically standing beside you doesn’t mean the rules change.”

  Her eyes widened at my usage of her full name.

  “I’m happy you didn’t lie when I asked you about it, but you broke a rule. And there are consequences with me, just like there are with your mother, when that happens.”

  “Don’t spank me.” She took a few steps back.

  Christ, just what I needed; my kid to be afraid of me. I crouched down so we were face-to-face. “Have I ever used spanking as a punishment?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m not about to start now. The consequences I’m talking about? You lost your chance to go ice skating. And tomorrow you will apologize to Rowan and Jensen for convincing Calder to break the rules with you. Understand?”

  She nodded and burst into tears. She said, “I’m sorry!” and launched herself at me.

  Hard as it was, I forced myself to let her cry it out. I’d promised Lucy I wouldn’t be that drive-by fun dad who left all the shitty parts of parenting to her, especially since she’d done most of it by herself anyway.

  The rest of our night was mellow. We ate dinner and watched a movie, and she fell asleep halfway through it.

  Barely ten minutes had passed after I’d tucked her in when I heard a soft knock on the door.

  I peer
ed through the peephole to see my cousin Jensen standing on the other side.

  I’d texted him that we needed to talk after Mimi’s confession, but I hadn’t expected to see Jens tonight.

  “Hey, cuz. I didn’t mean to interrupt your night.”

  “You didn’t. Ro and I just got back from a Vikings corporate event and I’m a little wired anyway.”

  I gave him a sharp look. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah.” He sat on the edge of the couch. “What’s up?”

  I told him about Mimi and Calder’s spy excursion last week. Adding my own guilt for giving Mimi free rein for an hour so I could work out in the fitness center.

  Jens waved aside my guilt. “She’s eight and in a secure apartment complex with you at the other end of the building. It wasn’t like you warned her to stay put while you flitted off to do your thing downtown. And Calder confessed their little adventure to us within two hours, since the guilt was eating him alive.”

  “Wait. You knew about Mimi being the ringleader and didn’t tell me?”

  He jammed a hand through his hair. “Rowan and I discussed it, but we decided to give Mimi a chance to come clean to you on her own. We dealt with disciplining our kid. Not our business how you discipline yours.”

  “This aspect is new to me. But that’s part of the parenting gig, isn’t it?”

  “Yep. And it doesn’t get any easier,” Jens admitted. “It gives me a whole new appreciation for my parents finding balance with four kids so neither of them was consistently the bad guy.”

  “My folks were the same way. Mom never used that ‘wait until your father gets home’ line to pass the buck. If Nolan or I did something that warranted discipline, she meted it out herself.” My mother still did that. She pushed her way into my life when I hit rock bottom, dragging my dad and my brother right beside her. I’ll never forget the grief on their faces that they couldn’t fix me or shoulder some of my burdens. Even after the truth came out about my alcohol abuse, none of them treated me with contempt. They freely, lovingly gave me compassion I know I didn’t deserve.