Page 90 of Arresting the Hockey Player

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When we arrive at my place, Zayn is sleeping on the sofa next to the nanny.

“Sorry, Mr. Reece. I tried to put him into bed, but he kept waking up and asking for you.”

“That’s fine. I can tuck him in.” I bend down and lift a sleeping Zayn into my arms, carrying him across the hall to his bedroom.

Charlotte watches by the kitchen, smiling.

“Is there anything else you need?” the nanny asks, once I return after putting Zayn to bed.

“No, that’s all. I’ll see you in the morning,” I say.

She heads out of the penthouse suite.

“Poor girl has to come back in the morning?” Charlotte asks, glancing at her watch. It’s already after midnight.

“Yes, but she doesn’t have to go far. I’m renting her a place a couple of floors down. It’s not ideal, but I don’t have room here without moving.”

“That’s really nice,” Charlotte says, surprising me. “If I were a nanny, I’d love not to have to wake up in the middle of the night to take care of the kid.”

I playfully swat her bottom. “Is that how it’s going to be?” I ask, laughing. “You refusing to take care of our kid at night?”

“Our kid?” Charlotte asks, raising an eyebrow. “Are you referring to Zayn or a future kid because, for the record, I am not pregnant. This uterus prefers to be uninhabited.”

“I didn’t think you were pregnant, but I appreciate the honesty,” I say. That was something Jasmine never gave me. “Uninhabited?” She has a funny way of saying things, but I find it endearing and adorable.

“Yeah, because children are little spawn. I’m sure Zayn is an exception, but I’m not putting a little baby inside of me that I have to push out. No freaking way.”

My mouth drops. “Wait. Is that why you’re against kids?”

“I’m not against them,” Charlotte counters. “I don’t want to carry them. There’s a difference. I like kids. Abbi is great.”

“Abbi is, what, ten?”

“She’s eight,” Charlotte corrects me. “Out of diapers. No baby food or formula. She’s like the perfect age before they start talking back and hit those teenage years.”

“Let me guess, you were a little rebel in your teens,” I say.

“Yes, and I don’t want to raise a little hellion. I was out drinking, making out with boys, you name it, I was dipping my toes in it.”

TWENTY-FIVE

Charlotte

I’ve never been much for weddings. I’m happy to celebrate with the couple and share in their day, but vowing to love someone forever, why do you need a ring to prove your loyalty?

Maybe I’m just jaded.

I’m a half-romantic. I love romance movies. Sit me down by the fire, and I’ll curl up under a blanket watching two lovers struggle to find their happily ever after.

Books, I’m the same way.

But the minute a relationship is real, and couples start posting save-the-dates and engagement photos, I want to hurl.

Noah invited me as his plus one. My best friend is also in attendance, since her older sister is getting married, which will make the party a little more fun. And I’ll know quite a few guests because they’re teammates of Noah’s.

I am happy for Emerson and Kyler.