The Goal (Off-Campus #4)(103)

“Hey, look at that, little darlin’,” I tell my daughter as we stop at the crosswalk. “It’s a doggie.”

Said doggie tries to sniff the stroller as he and his owner sidle up to us. And damn, I should’ve kept my mouth shut, because now I’ve attracted the owner’s attention.

“Oh my! Look at this precious little angel!”

She crouches down and starts pawing at Jamie, which makes me bristle. Is this normal? Strangers constantly trying to touch your baby? Because it happens way too often for my liking.

The woman presses a kiss to Jamie’s tiny fingers, and I make a mental note to wipe them down the second we’re out of sight. Hell, I’d hose her down if I didn’t think it’d hurt her. I don’t want all these germs all over my kid.

“What’s her name?” the woman asks.

“Jamie.” I stare steadily at the crosswalk signal, willing the little green man to pop up before the chick starts flirting.

“And what’s her daddy’s name?”

Too late. “Tucker, but my wife calls me Tuck.”

That shuts her up fast. Normally I’m not this rude during these random street pick-ups, but I really don’t like the way she touched my child without permission. Fuck that.

Once the light turns green, I swiftly push the stroller forward, murmuring goodbye at the woman and her dog.

“Well, at least the doggie was cute, right, darlin’?”

She doesn’t answer, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve taken to carrying on entire conversations with this kid. I find it kind of soothing.

“See that over there? That’s a swing set,” I inform her as we walk by a small park. “When you’re a bit older, Daddy’s gonna take you there and push you on the swing.”

I walk two more blocks, speeding up when we near an adult toy store. “And that’s a place you’ll never go into,” I say cheerfully. “Because you’re never, ever going to have sex, right, princess?”

There’s a loud snort.

I glance over my shoulder to see an elderly couple walking behind me. They remind me a bit of Hiram and Doris. Man, I wonder what those two are up to. I kind of wish we’d gotten their contact info after that kickass naked painting date.

“Good luck with that,” the man calls to me with a crooked grin.

“Four daughters,” the woman confirms. “Poor Freddie over here couldn’t convince a single one of ’em to stay virgins.”

I grin back. “Obviously he didn’t try hard enough. Did you consider purchasing a shotgun?”

The couple roars with laughter.

Jamie and I keep strolling for a few more minutes, until I suddenly come to a dead stop at a familiar corner. I haven’t been to Paddy’s Dive since the night Sabrina went into labor, but somehow I’ve found my way back to it now.

And there’s a FOR SALE sign in the window.





36




Sabrina


“I’m sorry I’m late,” I apologize as I slide into a chair at Della’s.

Carin and Hope already have their drinks, and by the pool of condensation on the table, I’m later than I realized. Or they were early. Ever since Jamie was born, I have a hard time getting anywhere on time.

“Where’s the baby?” Carin asks, dismissing my tardiness with an airy wave of her hand.

“She’s with Nana.” I grab the menu, quickly searching it for the juiciest, meatiest thing I can find.

Both girls pout. “We wanted to see the baby!” Hope cries.

“Yeah. The whole point is for you to bring Jamie so we can coo over her. I’m almost done with the booties.” Carin pulls out a mess of yarn that looks nothing like a shoe or even a sock.

“What is that thing?” I lay down the menu to get a better view of the object she’s holding up. It’s kind of like the wool equivalent of Logan’s horrifying teddy bear.

“It’s a sock. Is it too big or too small?” She stretches it out and I vaguely see something shiplike in the mess.

“It’s…are you sure that’s a sock?”

Hope giggles behind her menu.

Carin scowls at me. “Have you ever tried knitting? It’s hard as fuck, thank you very much.” With a sniff, she stuffs the mottled mess in her bag.

“Besides knitting, which I do appreciate, how’s MIT?”

Hope lights up. “Carin knocked beard off her bucket list.”

“Nice.” I give her a thumbs-up. “Tell me about it.”

“Nah, it’s nothing.” Carin lifts the menu up to hide her face.

“Mr. Beard is Carin’s TA,” Hope explains. “She thinks you’ll be pissed.”

“He’s not my TA,” Carin objects.

“Okay, fine,” Hope relents. “He’s the TA in another class, which Carin will likely take next year.”

“Eh. I’m fine with it.” I pick up my menu again and study my choices.

I’m torn between the burger with blue cheese and the Philly steak sandwich. Can I even eat blue cheese? I lower the menu to ask Hope, only to find my friends staring at me.

“What?” My eyes drop to my chest in a panic. “Am I leaking?” No, my shirt is dry, thank God. Those little silicon nip pads are working great.