When the plane takes off, leaving the beaches of Florida behind, I finally release the breath I’ve been holding. I didn’t spread my legs for Ford Jacobs. Mission accomplished.
Now if only I could stop replaying his intense stare or the feel of his arms around me in his daughter’s nursery. Not that it’s much of a nursery. A crib, a rocker. No decorations.
I was just doing him a favor with Annabelle. He let me stay the night with no notice, so I was being nice, like anyone would, right? He played a hard game the night before and we were up late, eating and chatting about all kinds of things—where to get the best egg rolls in New York City, how he first got into hockey. The topic of his playboy ways was put aside, and as much as I’m surprised, I actually enjoyed his company.
I couldn’t fig
