lifting her as if she weighs nothing. Compared to my size, she’s a peanut. She wraps her tiny arms around my neck, squeezing.
“Tighter, tighter!” I say, a lightness in my tone. “You give the best hugs, Char.”
“No. You do!” She giggles.
I hold her for a moment, relishing in the love she has for me. She’s only six, still too young to think her daddy’s anything short of perfect.
Kissing her cheek, I lower her back to her feet, tousling her hair. “Love you, kiddo. Have a good day at school. And behave for Auntie Molly and Uncle Noah tonight.”
“I will. Love you, Daddy.” She spins from me, barreling toward one of the teachers ensuring the students make it into the building safely. “Have a good day at your school, too,” she shouts back, almost like an afterthought.
“Thanks, kiddo.”
I stand there, observing my girls. Being a parent is like riding a rollercoaster. There are moments you believe you have it figured out, then something happens to make you think you’re failing miserably. But as I watch my two girls, seeing them smile and interact with other kids their age, it makes me think I must have done something right.
Once I see them disappear beyond the front doors, I turn around, about to head home. I come face to face with a group of moms, their eyes raking over me like I’m a pig ready for slaughter.
“Andrew,” one of them says. After her months of shameless flirting, I’ve learned her name is Misty. “You are so good with those two girls.” She crosses an arm over her stomach, raising her coffee cup to her bright red lips with her free hand. “I wish I could get my husband to pick up some of the slack.”
I grit out a smile, keeping my thoughts to myself. I’ve been the token single dad of the school long enough to have heard it all before, and from the same people. The group of five women surrounding me makes up what my sister, Molly, likes to call “the cougar den”. They spend the hours their kids are at school getting manicures, going out to lunch, and gossiping about everything and anything while their husbands work, some of them two jobs. They wear skin-tight workout clothes, their hair perfectly coifed, makeup expertly applied. They make it clear that the school drop-off is akin to a meat market…and I’m the prize filet.
When I moved here two years ago and enrolled Alyssa and Charlotte, I became the hot topic. And I suppose I still am. These women constantly flirt with me, even at school events with their husbands at their sides. The men don’t seem to notice. They’re too excited about having their photo taken with me, Andrew Brinks, retired star center for the Bruins who led the team to win the Stanley Cup twice during my short career.
“Big game tonight, huh?” one of the women asks, biting on her lower lip as she inches toward me, placing a hand on her hip.
I nod, unpersuaded by whatever charms she thinks she possesses. “First game of the Frozen Four.”
“Well, I’m sure your team will win. After all, they have you for a coach.” Misty winks.
“We’ll see. We’re playing Cornell. No matter what, it’ll be a good game.” I give them a congenial smile, then open my mouth to excuse myself when she cuts me off.
“Will your good luck charm be by your side? That little dancer for the Celtics?” She steps toward me. “I saw the photos of you together at some charity function last weekend. She’s a very lucky girl.” When she places her hand on my bicep, I back away.
“She’s just a friend.”
“Mmm-hmm.” The way she looks me up and down makes it more than clear she doesn’t believe me.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to get going.” I skirt around them before having to explain myself any further. News travels quickly in a small town, especially news about any pseudo-celebrities, as it appears I still am, even though it’s been six years since I’ve played professionally. My relationship with Skylar is none of their business. It’s not even a relationship. Just a mutual understanding between two consenting adults.
“Okay, Andrew,” Misty huffs. “But if you ever need a new ‘friend’, call me.”
I glance back at her, trying to hide my disgust when she gives me an exaggerated wink. The other women chortle and giggle. The sad thing is, every single one of them would gladly invite me into their bed.