Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,33

you a ride home.”

My perfect vision of a perfect relationship was crumbling before we had even faked it for two weeks. I was not letting it end now.

I tapped my head. “Oh, wait. He must have gone to get dinner while I finished up. Tonight is…pizza night.” I hated fibbing, but if we did order a pizza, it wouldn’t be a total lie. “He’s probably picking it up so we could go straight home.”

Elle grinned. “What a guy.”

“Yeah. He’s perfect. I’ll just wait for him here.”

Elle and Lachlan said goodbye, and I almost regretted missing out on a ride home.

I’d be okay as long as I didn’t see ice cream and pizzas in the shimmering mirage across the parking lot.

But Jude? He’d have a lot to answer for.

I grabbed my phone and checked for messages. Nothing. I called him instead.

It rang.

And rang.

And my stomach grumbled as it rang again.

No Jude.

But of course he wouldn’t answer. He drove a Jeep without doors or windows. He’d never hear his phone ring. I left a short and sweet message instead.

“Jude…did you forget something? Call me back.”

That spent the last of my patience.

The players’ parking lot emptied. The guys left after practice to get home to their families, dinners, and central air. No sense melting on the cement stairs. I’d hide in my office until Jude returned with the Jeep and one hell of an apology.

I had a little work to do yet. And I owed Clayton the Rivets’ weekly assessment.

Hadn’t answered his last email either. A single line, a single warning.

We need to discuss Jude Owens.

It was out of the question. Clayton had already showed me too much preferential treatment. I refused to endure any more of his presence than was strictly necessary. He’d get his health assessments of the players—Jude included, but we weren’t discussing anything else.

Not that he had wanted to talk before the fellowship began, even when it was important.

I grabbed the door.

It didn’t budge.

I patted my pockets, my purse, my laptop bag.

No…

Where the hell was the fob?

I thunked my forehead against the glass. Pregnancy brain must have been a real thing. I’d never forgotten my keys before. Never forgotten anything before. My step-mother made sure of it—carelessness was the bane of perfection. Then again, only one person was perfect in this world, and, sure as hell, Christ would defer the title to Doctor Regan Merriweather.

This sucked.

My stomach rumbled and lurched.

That was worse.

I hadn’t eaten all day, but the heat made me nauseous. And sweaty. And miserable. The only thing I wanted to gnaw on was ice, and that probably meant I was anemic. Or melting.

But maybe…

I perked up. Training camp wasn’t just for the players anymore. Thanks to Leah Carson, the whole camp was one mega-festival, complete with vendors and food and children’s events. I spent my day wandering the sidelines—shouting over cheering crowds, avoiding the wafting stench of gyros, and watching kids dive into Rivets themed bouncy castles.

Maybe I could still find a food vendor behind the field?

I braved the heat and circled the parking lot, hopping the roped off corridor separating the team from the visitors. Most everyone had left after the early afternoon practice, but a few vendors remained, wiping down their trucks.

And then I saw it.

Shining. Shimmering. Splendid.

Snow cones.

A truck was selling wonderfully cold, deliciously fruity snow cones, each whimsically packed with a rainbow of flavors.

Jude was on his own tonight. If I had it my way? I’d curl up inside the ice machine and take a nap, sugary syrup and all. Sticky wasn’t as bad as sweaty, and after circling the entire field to approach the truck, I was lucky I could even talk through my parched throat. I practically bounced to the truck, eyes-wide, smile-broad, begging like an orphan in a Dickens’ novel.

Please, suh, may I have some ice?

But the burly man wiping down the counter wasn’t pleased to see me. Granted, I wasn’t thrilled to be purchasing shaved ice from a man who obviously never used a razor, but the baby wanted a snow cone, and I wasn’t about to let her throw her first temper tantrum while still in my tummy.

I smiled. “Hi—”

“We’re closed.” The man grunted. “Sorry, lady.”

No, no, no. That didn’t work for me.

“Please.” I gripped the truck’s stainless steel counter. The hot metal actually burned my hands. “Just one. You have no idea how badly I want a snow cone.”

“If you want it that bad, come back tomorrow.”

The joke was on him. “My ride forgot to take me