Loved By The Single Dad (The Single Dads Club #1)

Chapter One

Hazel

Nothing says spring is here more than dodging stressed-out parents while wild kids run around looking like lost puppies trying to find a soccer field.

The early morning sun is warm enough to wear shorts and a tank top, but the chill in the air had me reaching for a jacket before making the trek from the car.

“The one by where the giant beehive was in that tree that one time,” my sister laughs obnoxiously into the phone. “Remember? A bee started chasing you and when you ran, you tripped on a branch?”

The image of that tree and a flashback to that day pop right into my mind.

“I still have a scar on my foot from where that branch cut me, you know. And that bee did sting me.” I can’t keep the amusement from my voice.

Although it wasn’t necessarily what I meant by “which soccer field?” it does the trick.

Wind rustles through the speaker. “Whatever you say,” her voice is thick with sarcasm. “The tree isn’t there anymore, but the stump’s still there. Right behind the goal.” I can hear Mason’s breathless voice ask her a question, drawing her attention.

“Got it. Be there in a sec.”

A great sense of nostalgia settles through me. Growing up, soccer was my family’s lifeblood. It didn't matter that I wasn't the most athletic of my parent’s three children—I still can't run to save my life—but every waking moment of Saturdays growing up was spent at the soccer complex.

I wonder if players still get free popcorn and soda after a game.

Families walk side-by-side, grandparents carry mugs of coffee and maps of the complex, while over-prepared soccer moms drag wagons of stuff behind them with their husbands trailing after them with their noses in their phones.

None of them bother paying attention to me as I weave in and out of the unnecessary traffic.

It’s never fun walking into the complex alone, but I’m used to it by now. My brother’s daughter Betty has played for several seasons, but today is Mason’s big debut and I’m all for showing my support.

The crowds get thinner the farther into the complex I walk. Fresh footprints leave marks in the dew-speckled grass, the scent of spring filling my nostrils. There’s something about the soft scent of wet grass and fresh, cool air that’s comforting.

I take a moment in all the chaos around me to enjoy it.

The spring sun warms my skin and I angle my face up to soak up the rays letting my eyes slip closed as I walk.

Red paints my eyelids making me think of long road trips.

I suck in a relaxing breath just as the world shifts.

Like a slow-motion shootout scene from a movie, the bright sky streaks by in a blur as I brace myself for impact.

"Shit!" I hiss as quietly as possible because I know I'll get hateful looks from uptight parents if they hear the words spill from my mouth.

The muscles and tendons of my ankle give way, buckling and rolling underneath me.

My hot pink lawn chair slides off my shoulder as I lose my balance, smacking me on the shin as I throw my arms out to brace my fall.

I bite my lip, my eyes squeezing closed against the onslaught of pain.

By some form of torture, I’m the klutziest person I know. If there's a single hole in an otherwise hole-less field, my foot will find it. Unfortunately, this isn’t the first time I’ve found myself in this exact predicament, calf deep in a hole.

Heat flames my freckled skin in pain and embarrassment. I'm just happy I didn't fall to the ground and that my ankle is one piece.

There's a distinct and all too familiar throbbing sensation centered around my twisted ankle, and I know there's no way I'm making it out of this hole unscathed.

No big deal. This sort of thing happens all the time. Surely, I'm not the only person to have ever twisted their ankle in this same exact hole, right?

Trying to look as unfazed as possible with a bruising shin and throbbing ankle, I readjust my chair strap over my shoulder and hobble—hopefully in the right direction— to my nephew's game.

The longer I walk the more pronounced my limp becomes. By the time I see my sister my ankle is swollen, my shin is pink and bruised and I look like I need a pair of crutches.

Rounding the corner of the field, Candice sees me limping toward her. "Hazel?" Her eyes go wide with concern. "What happened?"

"Oh, just another hole. I'm fine. Nothing I can't handle." I brush her concern aside, removing my chair from its sling and setting it next to hers. The ground is soft from recent rains, and I can feel the chair sink as I settle into it.

"At least let me look at it." Candice is way more maternal than me. She's the kind of mom full of hugs, kisses, and motherly affection.

Even though I don't have kids, I’m not sure I'm cut out for it. All the mothering genes went straight to my sister. My style would be more hands-off. Bleeding? Go play. Get up, brush it off—you’ll be fine.

She stands before crouching down in front of me. "Which ankle is it this time?"

I bend down and point to my swollen left ankle. "Really? It's the size of a watermelon and you ask which one it is?" I laugh.

"I didn't want to assume. For all I know, your ankle is always this big." She smiles up at me, her eyes crinkling as she does. Her hands are cold as she gently examines my injury. "I think it's just twisted."

"I could've told you that," I reply, my voice thick with sarcasm.

She ignores me and pushes herself up. "We should probably put some ice on it. Where's Tony?" She scans the field for her husband, but he's nowhere to be seen. "Wait here."

"Like I have anywhere to go," I mumble as she walks away.

While waiting for Candice to return from wherever she took off to, I watch my nephew run around as he warms up for his game.

It's his first year playing soccer and he's been bouncing with excitement for weeks that he's finally playing.

He's been watching games with his dad since he was born, and I have a feeling he's going to be a natural.

Not gonna lie, these kids are freaking cute. The little boys on the team are adorable in their matching uniforms and socks that cover half of their little legs. One player's shirt swamps him, hanging down to his knees as he runs to the sidelines presumably to get his uniform tucked in.

"I've got ice coming." Candice sits in her chair next to me adjusting her ball cap. We’ve got the same shade of dark auburn hair, but hers is more manageable in every sense of the word. Sleek, shiny, and short, her low ponytail tickles the collar of her jacket.

We’re exact opposites, her and I. She’s graceful and lean, while I trip over the air and have abundant curves. Straight hair to my wild wavy tresses that I can barely keep contained on a good day. She’s nurture and I’m nature. Ying versus yang or whatever.

"Thanks. You didn't have to."

She waves me off. "What’re big sisters for?"

We catch up on our week as we wait for the game to start while watching Mason run in excited circles around the field. I got here earlier than I thought and I'm enjoying the time I get to chat with my sister.

She teaches nursing courses at Liberty College in Briar Springs, is the president of the PTA, and hosts a monthly book club. I swear, I’ve never seen her relax, but she always has the best stories.

"Someone needed ice?" A man's voice pulls us from our conversation, and I raise my hand like I'm still in school.

"That would be me," I say, still a tad embarrassed by the fact that I can't seem to walk without harming myself. The mid-day sun makes it hard to see the man walking towards me. He’s cast in shadow, the sun shining behind him making him nothing more than an outline.

"I've got a bag right here," he says, holding the zip-lock bag of ice.

Shielding my eyes I look up at him. He's young, probably around my age, with a tattoo inked on his upper arm, the dark edge peeking out beneath the hem of his sleeve.

He looks like he works out, his long legs toned in his shorts.

Aviator glasses frame his eyes but they do nothing to block his kind smile.

"Thank you so much. I'm such a klutz, but you should see the other guy. No,” I rush, after he quirks an eyebrow, “there isn’t another guy. I’m all alone.

So alone. It was a hole. My foot. I stepped in it.

Not on purpose, of course. Accidentally.

” I don't know why I'm telling him all this, but I can't seem to stop myself.

"You're my hero," I say, taking the ice he offers and biting my lip to keep myself from spewing another damn word.

What am I saying?

"Twisted ankle?" He asks, and I nod trying to get the bag to stay put on my gigantic ankle. He gestures towards my foot. "Mind if I take a look?"

Fully aware of the word vomit I spewed, I try to keep my answer as short as possible. "Go for it."

He squats in front of me and now I'm able to get an up close and personal look at him.

And damn it, he's just my type. Tall, tan, lean, and ruggedly handsome.

The sun highlights his light brown hair making it look blonde.

He slides his sunglasses off his face as he examines my swelling appendage.

"We should get this ankle in the air. Let me go get my cooler and we'll be all set. "

"Oh, no. I'm fine,” I stammer. “This isn't my first rodeo," I joke.

"Mine either," he says, and I swear he winks. It was probably the sun catching his eye before he slid his sunglasses back on, I’m almost sure of it. "I'll be back."

And damn it, I watch him walk away, admiring his tight-looking ass. Which is totally inappropriate given we’re at a kid's soccer game. Not the time or the place.

"Um, Candice?" I lean over and tap my sister’s arm to get her attention the moment he’s far from earshot.

"Hmmm?" She’s busy looking at her phone, probably texting her husband to find out where he is.

"Who’s that?" I ask.