Page 25 of Rematch (Stingrays Hockey #3)

Chelsea brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes.

She was way overdue for a haircut, but she couldn’t seem to find the time to do anything for herself nowadays, every minute spent with Lennon.

At some point, she was going to have to learn how to take her eyes off her baby and start functioning in the real world again.

“I stand corrected on Ethan. Forget this pub. If you get him those tickets, he’ll set up camp in that box and never leave. ”

Preston shook his head in amusement.

Padraig returned with their drinks, and Preston ordered the fish and chips for both of them.

“Good choice,” the bartender said. “I’ll put that order in right now. Wave me down if you need anything else.”

Preston thanked Padraig, who returned to the bar, typing their order into the computer.

“So, tell me more about your job. I’ve never met anyone who played a sport at the professional level.” Chelsea was legitimately curious about his career, but at the moment, she was using that safe topic as another way to avoid discussing the harder items on tonight’s agenda.

“I started playing professionally when I was twenty. I was drafted by a West Coast team, played there for a year, then I got traded to the Rays. Been here ever since.”

“So you’re not a local, then?”

Preston shook his head. “Nope. Born and raised in Seattle.”

“Must be exciting, playing for the NHL, traveling all over the country.”

He shrugged, then took a sip of his beer. “The travel isn’t all that great. Lots of time in transit and no time for sightseeing. Most of what I know about the cities we play in involves the arenas and the airports.”

“I never considered that.”

One of the women with the bachelorette party broke away from the group, clearly en route to the bathroom.

She stopped by their table, flashing Preston a smile and breathy “hello” that was such a glaringly obvious come-on, it took all of Chelsea’s willpower not to roll her eyes, especially when the woman leaned over, ensuring Preston got a good look at her tits.

“I’m a huge fan.”

Preston, to his credit, nodded briefly and offered a quick “thanks,” before turning his attention back to Chelsea.

Annoyed at being dismissed, the woman huffed and walked away.

Chelsea rested her chin on her hand. “Let me guess…you have women throwing themselves at you like that all the time, right?”

Preston glanced behind him in the direction the woman walked, as if he hadn’t even really noticed her. Then, the shameless devil’s eyes sparkled with pure mischief. “I will admit that’s one of the perks of the job.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed. “Are you sure? Because she was giving you a bird’s-eye view of her tatas and you barely noticed.”

“Dime a dozen,” he muttered. “She doesn’t hold a candle to you.”

“Still smooth with the lines, I see,” she said, trying to fan the flames on her libido because, woo boy, Preston always knew the right things to say to fire up the old girl parts.

And that was saying something, considering she’d basically just shoved a watermelon through her hoohah three months earlier.

While they waited for the food, he regaled her with stories of the road and the extremes some of the “puck bunnies,” as he called them, went to in order to get his attention. Some of the stories were horrifying enough that she was ashamed to call herself a woman.

Soon, the conversation switched from puck bunnies to the hijinks he and his teammates got up to; then he shared some of his favorite moments during big games.

He was passionate about what he did, and it shone through. While she might have expected him to be cocky, there was a humility to him as he praised his teammates rather than bragged about his own achievements.

“Okay. I think you’ve convinced me to watch a hockey game,” she said.

“Excellent,” Preston replied as he pulled out his phone. “I’ll be sure to request a ticket for you as well. And Allyson?”

She hesitantly nodded. “If that’s not a problem. She’d hate to miss the fun.” Then Chelsea recalled herself. “What am I saying? I can’t go to a hockey game. I have Lennon.”

“You’re here tonight,” Preston pointed out.

“Yeah, but that’s…out of necessity. To be honest, this is the first night I’ve gone out since he was born. I know the day is coming when I need to, but…”

“You’re a good mom.”

Chelsea flushed under his praise. Then her nerves kicked in again, and before they could travel too far down that path, she changed the subject again. “Do you miss Seattle?”

One side of his mouth tipped up in an almost grin that let her know he knew what she was doing, but mercifully, he went along with it.

“I go home a few times a year to visit my parents, but after so many years here, I’ve come to think of Baltimore as home.

And you? Baltimore born and raised, you said? ”

Chelsea nodded. “I was born at Hopkins.”

“Didn’t go off to college?” he asked.

“Nope. Went to culinary school here, while working at a donut shop. So, apart from those months spent in Paris, I’ve lived here my whole life. Allyson, Ethan, and I have been best friends since second grade, and my parents still live in the house I grew up in. How’s that for boring?”

“You couldn’t be boring if you tried.”

Chelsea didn’t know what to make of Preston’s compliments.

They rolled off his tongue so easily—and so sincerely.

She hated herself for choosing that moment to recall Mom’s comment about professional athletes being indiscriminate playboys.

Was he just saying what he thought she wanted to hear?

“Thanks, but you might want to withhold judgment on my boringness until you know me better.”

Padraig returned with their food. “There’s ketchup, salt, and malt vinegar there.” He pointed to the condiment holder on their table. “Need another round?”

“Yes, please,” Preston said.

Padraig nodded, leaving them alone once again. They ate in silence for a couple of minutes, Chelsea following Preston’s lead, sprinkling her fish and fries with malt vinegar and salt. One bite of the fish, and she decided Preston had undersold just how good it was.

“So,” he began, and Chelsea knew they’d reached the end of the small-talk portion of the evening.

“So,” she repeated.

“Thanks for the videos and pictures.” Preston glanced at his phone.

She followed his gaze and realized he’d already made one of the photographs she shared with him this afternoon the background.

She was touched by the choice, because it didn’t just include a photo of Lennon—of which he had at least a hundred to choose from—but one of the two she’d sent that included her.

“I spent a full two hours before coming here tonight looking through all of them. Goddamn, we made one cute kid.”

She laughed. “We really did. Those chubby cheeks of his…”

“Adorable. I hope he has your dimples.”

Chelsea bit her lower lip. “I don’t have any idea how we go about this.”

Preston took a quick sip of the new beer Padraig quietly dropped off, and, for the first time, she got the sense that he was as nervous as she was. “I guess the best thing to do would be to say what we want, then decide if those desires are workable for both of us.”

Chelsea agreed that was reasonable, but when it came to her—nope— their baby, she wasn’t exactly reasonable. “What do you want?” she forced herself to ask.

Preston sat up straighter. “I don’t want to be an every-other-weekend dad. I meant what I said at the bakery. I want to be a part of his life, a real part. I was hoping we could share custody of?—”

He stopped talking when Chelsea failed to hold back what was essentially a half gasp, half sob.

“Chelsea.” Preston took her hand again. “Joy, wait. Please don’t panic.”

His use of her nickname from a year earlier slowed down her immediate alarm, but only for a second or two. “I’m sorry. It’s the word custody.” God, what if Mom was right? What if his end game was to take Lennon away from her? “I hate it.”

“You’re right. That was a shitty word to use. Makes it sound like we’re divorced or something. What if we just say co-parenting?”

“You want a lot of time with him,” she said. “Equal time?”

God, she couldn’t even leave Lennon long enough to get a haircut.

“Not immediately, Chelsea. Lennon doesn’t know me. I get that. What I’m asking for right now is a chance to get to know my son…with you around, of course.”

“Okay.” That was a fair request, one she couldn’t exactly turn down.

“I have a game out of town tomorrow in Boston. We’re leaving at the crack of dawn, but I’ll be back the next day by noon. I was hoping we could have a family date.”

“A family date.” Chelsea toyed with one of her fries, trying to wrap her head around the idea of Preston calling them a family. Is that what they were? Or what he hoped they would become? Did co-parenting fall under that heading?

Ugh. This was all so confusing, and she wasn’t helping matters by overreacting to his requests by making her own fears known.

“The idea of spending a single night away from Lennon kills me, Preston. I can’t even begin to process how I’d do that. I don’t think I can.”

Preston leaned back, considering her words. “I get that. And I understand it. Completely. Chelsea, leaving that bakery today, without knowing when I’d see my son again…it hurt more than I can say. I know that must seem strange to you but?—”

“It doesn’t,” she hastened to interject. “I’m glad you felt that way. Well, I’m not glad you were hurt, but glad to know how much you care about him.”

“My schedule is chaotic at best while I’m in season, and you’re trying to launch a new business, so time isn’t exactly on our side right now.”

“No,” she agreed. “It’s not.”

Preston clicked on his phone, opening the calendar app, turning it sideways so they could both see it. “Why don’t we start slow? Organize the first visit.”