The Broody Brit for Christmas (Holiday Springs #1) - M.J. Fields Page 0,23

at least a biweekly happening, there will be other times in which I will step in if I feel you’re being disrespected in the slightest.”

I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling the need to protect myself. “You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

He steps a bit closer, bends down, and whispers in my ear, “Ask me, why you.”

“What?” I giggle, yes, freaking giggle like a schoolgirl at my age. God, I hate myself right now.

“The truth, nearly every woman in this town, single or otherwise, has thrown themselves at me, and even after making it clear I’m uninterested, they continue. You, you’re not like them, and I find that wildly attractive.”

I feel myself going toward the figurative light, floating, feeling the weight of my worries being lifted off my shoulders, and then I remind myself why it will never happen.

I am an independent woman who doesn’t need some gorgeous, entitled, rich man to make me feel anything. With all the strength I can muster, I raise my eyes to his. “I was drunk last night when I allegedly agreed to that. It didn’t count.”

He steps back just slightly, but it’s enough to remind me that I am strong.

“Are you a woman of your word, Nikki?”

“I am, and I promised myself never to date any man who felt he was above my station. Clearly, you’ve done well financially. And while that’s wonderful for you, it’s not what interests me.”

He shakes his head and starts to respond, but I open my mouth before he can speak.

“When I’m ready, which I’m clearly not, I want something real, and there is nothing real about an overly confident man with money.”

He narrows his eyes. “I disagree.”

“Thankfully, this isn’t a debate. Honestly, I appreciate you taking care of me last night, but real or otherwise, this isn’t happening.”

I hurry around him to the door that’s stuck open just a bit and jump inside.

Late Friday afternoon, I stand and watch kids running like wild animals across the field, several different fields actually, chasing the elusive soccer ball.

Beside me, Jenny screams, “Come on, Joshua! You can do it! Push harder! Pump those arms!”

I never saw Jenny as the type who would get competitive over kids’ sports, but apparently, when it comes to her children, she is.

I laugh, nudging her shoulder with mine. “Look at you, soccer mom of the year.”

“Hell yes! I mean, look at him. He’s obviously a natural. And that little shit number six thinks he can steal my boy’s ball? Not on my watch—Come on, Joshua! Ben, Joshua is open! Pass the ball, pass, pass, pass!” She’s screaming so loudly that I’m sure she’ll lose her voice.

Unable to stop herself from reciting the play-by-play as Joshua kicks the ball down the field and into the net, Jenny screams, “He scored!”

We cheer, jumping up and down together. I’m practically breaking a sweat on the sidelines. I take off my jacket, draping it over the silver bleachers, and look around a bit. I used to play here, too, as a kid. Granted, the coach had me playing varying defender positions in hope that the ball would never get to me. But still, I tried. I swallow hard, remembering how Townes and I used to play soccer in Central Park. He, being the athlete, was always trying to teach me how to dribble properly. But we’d always wind up laughing together, mock wrestling on the grassy field before making out like crazy and the—

“Earth to Nikki.”

I turn to Jenny, and she gives me a sad smile. “Don’t let your thoughts take you down a dark road. Now give me your phone before you open up that damn social media app, which you need to delete by the way.”

Like a kid ashamed, I hand it to her. “Happy, Mom?”

“Yes.” She smirks. “Now be a good girl and get Mommy an iced vanilla hazelnut from Dunkin Donuts across the street.”

“Skim milk and two Splenda?”

“You know me too well.”

I grab my bag, minus my phone, and leave the bleachers to cross the field. It doesn’t take long for me to spot Raff kicking the soccer ball back and forth with his son. God, they’re gorgeous. The perfect duo. He may not be the man for me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate his looks. And his kindness and decency. He definitely did not have to help me out like he did the other night, but he did it anyway. I walk as quickly as I can, hoping to