Tumbling Into You – By Gwen Galloway #2
“I saw you go down, and my heart literally stopped,” Maggie's dad said, pulling her close again. Feeling dismissed, I reengaged in Hamish's game of catch-me-if-you-can , scrambling like an idiot as he zigzagged with perfect agility, just beyond my reach. My dog needs to cut this shit out.
“Daddy,” Maggie exhaled sharply, squirming out of his embrace. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she quipped, “If your heart stopped, you'd be the one on the ground.”
“Very funny, Maggie pie. You've got only one parent, so let's not tempt fate,” he replied, his tone a blend of humor and caution.
Realization washed over me, warming my insides as I processed his words— wait, there's no mom in the picture? Curiosity piqued, I abandoned my futile chase— fuck it, Hamish can run around like a lunatic on his own —returning to my full five-foot-seven height, prepared to rejoin their conversation.
Suddenly, Hamish crashed into the back of my knees, pitching me forward with the grace of a capsizing ship. My arms flailed helplessly as I collided with Mr. Sexy Pants—thankfully missing Maggie by inches—sending us tumbling toward the unforgiving pavement.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I braced for the sharp sting of concrete scraping against my skin.
But instead of meeting hard ground, I was enveloped by his strong arms, cradling me against his warm, solid chest. Twisting beneath me, he absorbed the fall with a grunt as his back hit the pavement with a heavy thud, sending shockwaves up my spine.
His legs intertwined with mine, anchoring me in place and stopping me from sliding off his body.
Time seemed to accelerate and slow down at the same time, while the world outside our embrace faded away.
For a moment, I lay there, dazed, my cheek pressed against the warm, soft cotton of his t-shirt, inhaling the faint scent of sunscreen mixed with laundry detergent.
Every point of contact tingled with heightened awareness.
His muscular thighs pressed against mine, and his chest moved beneath me like waves in the ocean.
With his arms wrapped around me protectively, his hands rested securely on my exposed midriff, left bare when my t-shirt rode up during our fall.
My eyes fluttered open, and I slowly lifted my head to meet his gaze. His hazel eyes, speckled with flecks of gold I hadn't noticed earlier, searched mine with worried intensity. A stray lock of his dark blond hair had fallen across his forehead, his cap no longer on his head.
“Are you alright?” His voice rumbled deeply, resonating through his chest and vibrating against my body.
“I'm fine,” I whispered, feeling my cheeks flush. “Thank you for . . . um . . . catching me.”
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “My pleasure, darling,” he said softly, and with that term of endearment, I swore his arms tightened around me a bit more.
Scrambling out of his hold, I immediately regretted the loss of his warmth. Struggling to my feet, embarrassment flooded my senses. Mr. Sexy Pants—whose real name remained a mystery—rose gracefully to his feet, brushing off his jeans as if our fall had been nothing out of the ordinary.
“I'm fine, too,” he assured me with a crooked smile, making my stomach flutter. “I've had worse falls.”
Steadying myself, I suddenly remembered Hamish. Whirling around, my panic spiked as I looked for my naughty dog. To my surprise, and immense relief, I found him sitting obediently at Maggie's feet, his tongue lolling out lazily. Maggie's hand was firmly wrapped around his purple collar.
“Thanks, Maggie. You're a natural with him.” Maggie beamed with excitement as she basked in my praise. Turning to her dad, her bright smile met his slow, subtle shake of his head.
Clearing his throat gently, he extended his calloused hand.
“I guess we should officially introduce ourselves.
I'm Sterling.” An electric shock jolted up my arm when I placed my hand in his.
His eyes widened briefly before glancing down at his daughter.
“And this is Maggie, my seven-year-old daughter.”
With my hand blissfully still in his, I replied, “I'm Winnie. And you already know my wrecking ball, Hamish.” I hoped my playful introduction masked the sudden ripple of shyness in my chest. Maggie's cheerful giggle filled the space between us as I reluctantly pulled my hand from Sterling's, reaching over to gently retrieve Hamish from Maggie's sure grip.
Near our feet, I noticed Sterling's hat lying upside down on the dusty pavement. Snatching it from the ground, my fingers brushed off the dirt until the embroidered logo came into view: The LA Storm. Los Angeles’ NHL hockey team. A lump formed in my throat as a cold wave washed over me.
“Well shit,” I muttered before returning the hat to Sterling. I quickly added, “Uh, here you go,” then stepped back, my racing heart demanding some distance between us.
“Thanks, Winnie.” Sterling narrowed his eyes, as if confused by the sudden change in my demeanor. Maggie moved in close to her dad, drawing his attention away from me as she once again slipped her hand into his, intertwining their fingers.
Turning to Maggie, I flashed her a genuine smile. “It was awesome meeting you, Maggie,” I said, giving her shoulder a quick, friendly squeeze. Then I bent down to secure Hamish's leash to his collar, the soft clink of metal punctuating our farewell.
Standing up, I avoided looking Sterling in the eye, managing only an awkward, “Oh, and you too,” before spinning on my heel.
With Hamish tugging excitedly at his leash, I started walking uphill, waving my arm above my head as I called out, “Bye!” My retreat was slow enough to hear Maggie ask her dad why I left so quickly, but too fast to hear his answer.
After about sixty seconds, I paused, grabbing my phone from my backpack to text Darcy.
Me: Darcy! Still mtg @ Perkolate Coffee? Cray-cray day at Runyon!
STERLING
“Hippity hop, sweet pea! Use those mighty legs to jump into the car fast.” We’d finally reached my silver Range Rover after urging Maggie to pick up the pace down the last part of Runyon. “We need to be on time for the school car drop-off line.”
“But I like it when you park and walk me to Ms. Camacho's class.” Maggie looked up at me with her big, hopeful eyes, her lower lip jutting out slightly in a practiced pout.
Letting out a sigh, I knew I couldn't explain the strategy and finesse I needed to navigate school drop-off as a single dad—and a professional soccer player for the LA Blaze F.C.
“We'll see, baby girl,” I said gently, hoisting her into her booster seat.
Last time I’d walked Maggie to class, Gretchen Cartwright, a newly-single mom, had cornered me on the grassy yard outside school.
“My son really loves soccer. Maybe we could get together for a little training session,” she had said, winking at me.
I'd politely declined, but Gretchen hadn't been deterred.
Three days later, leaning against her gray minivan like it was a damn photo shoot, she'd waved at me seductively, with her practiced, megawatt smile. Not. Going. To. Happen.
Unfortunately, Maggie's mom, my ex-girlfriend, Tara, had shattered my naive dream of having a successful soccer career and a relationship built on love and trust. During my second season with the LA Blaze—young and overwhelmed by the demands, both on and off the pitch—Tara had pursued me relentlessly.
Gorgeous, sexy, and fun, she'd stroked my ego—among other things—blinding me to the fact she cherished only the glamorous life of fame, luxury, and star-studded parties.
Believing we had shared a genuine connection, my excitement at those two pink lines had evaporated when Tara coldly declared her life would never include motherhood.
Negotiating a sizable monthly stipend during her pregnancy in exchange for granting me full parental rights, Tara had walked out of our lives less than seventy-two hours after Maggie had drawn her first breath.
“Daddy, don't you love Hamish?” Maggie asked from the back seat, flashing me her eager smile in the rearview mirror.
Maggie had just gushed nonstop about everything Hamish—animatedly describing his soft glossy fur, slobbery kisses, and wiggly butt.
She'd casually mentioned how funny and pretty Winnie was, though in my opinion, the woman was absolutely captivating.
I was still surprised that she appeared not to know who I was.
As the all-star goalkeeper for LA—often the face of the team on billboard ads and magazine covers—there were few places in LA I could go without being recognized.
It had been many years since I'd felt such an immediate and intense physical attraction to a woman.
Maybe never. Her shoulder-length wavy hair was the color of honeyed caramel, so shiny it sparkled in the sun.
The carefree bounce of her hair and the smattering of freckles on her nose perfectly reflected her spunky personality, drawing me effortlessly into her orbit.
But that oversized men's soccer shirt she wore knocked me off-kilter, sending up red flags in my mind.
Was it a hookup trophy she stole after a one-night stand with some soccer stud at Penn?
“Sure, he seems like a nice dog, if your idea of fun is being barreled to the ground and mauled,” I said with a chuckle, giving Maggie a playful wink. Her laughter spilled out, transforming into a cute snort-giggle.
Hamish was a nice enough dog, but my thoughts kept returning to Winnie.
She was utterly enchanting, and everything about her held me spellbound.
Her curvaceous hips and seductive legs were intoxicating to touch.
Her soft body fit perfectly against mine, and her alluring lavender and vanilla scent was a sensual invitation.
The urge to kiss and taste her had been overwhelming.
“Daddy?” Maggie's voice was hopeful, pulling me from my daydream.
“Yes, sweets?”