to mind, if his lingering looks were any indication. Damn, when was the last time she’d known such excitement? Working in the backroom of Anecdote day in and out rarely afforded her glimpses of delicious men. While Reedy boasted a lot of fine cowboys, she had no interest.
That’s what pulled her toward Dr. Foxfire—he was as straightlaced as they came. The opposite of Kent, who had been one of those fine specimens of the countryside, working his tight Wranglers and roped biceps until she fell right into his bed. Sure, he’d married her, but for all the wrong reasons. As soon as her baby weight came on, he’d lost interest and started sniffing around women without the extra padding.
And now she had even more of the weight she hated to contend with.
Without looking in the full-length antique mirror leaning against her wall, she peeled her skirt down her hips. Stepping out of it, she kicked it aside with an extra ounce of fervor.
The fact was she was lonely. She hadn’t dated or been intimate with a man in three years and being around Brant Foxfire had only fanned those flames of want.
But she couldn’t possibly date. Who would want her with this extra poundage and a fifteen-year-old son?
“Ugh.” She plucked at her straining shirt buttons and fought her way out of the snug cotton.
She rummaged through a laundry basket and stepped into some comfortable yoga pants and a tunic. Spinning toward the mirror, she saw the long midnight blue shirt was tight across the hips, so she added a hoodie to hide her problems.
A Reedy Tigers ball cap completed the outfit. What did she care? She’d sit in the stands for hours during her son’s baseball practice, chatting with the other moms. She didn’t need to impress anyone.
In the bathroom, she swished aside the shower curtain and turned on the bathtub faucet. The sink faucet hadn’t worked in weeks, but the only answer she got from the apartment manager was that he’d fix it soon…which meant as soon as she wasn’t in arrears with her rent.
If only that asshole ex-husband of hers would pay up on his back child support. She’d been lenient with Kent in the early years after Drake was born, believing Kent’s stories that he was struggling with money on his family’s ranch. But when she’d seen him pull up in a brand new pickup with an expensive-looking woman in the passenger’s seat, Hayley had located her righteous anger in a hurry.
Everyone had problems like hers, she reminded herself. She’d moved with Drake from town to town during his young life, hoping to find the American dream. Instead, she’d discovered that financial security for women was only possible with an education. Her high school diploma did nothing to endear her to a boss who would hire her for enough to make her rent on time—or to pay for Drake’s braces.
And the kid deserved them. Needed them. His smile wore on his self-esteem as much as her tight skirts did on hers. Ignoring her chipped toenail polish, Hayley slipped on a pair of flip-flops and headed downstairs.
Drake was in the kitchen, scarfing down a trio of hot dogs as if they had waged an attack. When he spotted her ball cap, he groaned around a mouthful of relish. “You’re not gonna wear that hat, are you?”
“Yes.”
“None of the other moms wear them.”
“Maybe those mothers aren’t as proud of their sons as I am. They don’t have a reason to be, I guess, as their sons aren’t constantly being scouted by colleges.”
Scouting led her to thoughts of Dr. Brant Foxfire again. The man was walking sex on a stick. Broad shoulders, strong chest, arms with way more muscle than a man of his occupation needed.
She still saw the lingering image of his shirt pulling over his forearm as he’d shaken her hand.
A shudder worked its way up her spine and lifted the hairs on her nape. What would it be like to be under that big chest, to have those strong arms braced around her?
Dark need speared her. A man like Brant offered
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley