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Alexander Wright, the guy whose multimillion-dollar career I kind of ruined. Technically, he ruined it. It’s his fault!
    He looks at me. “Got anything to eat?”
    “You’re joking.”
    He walks past me, into my kitchen, and picks up the Cheesy Beef box from where it came to rest on top of the garbage can. “What is this? Are you feeding a kid this crap?”
    “Um,” I say. “Go home. Yeah. Go home. Why are you still in my house?”
    “If I go out there, I’m ending up in your holding tank again. Do we want that?”
    I glance at the door. I can see the silhouette of someone aiming a camera at it. “No. I don’t. I want you gone. If I could go back in time and never give you that ticket, I’d do it right now, you better fu…” I trail off when Carrie looks at me. “You better flipping believe it.”
    “Mom, language,” Carrie says.
    “Are you still doing ‘language’?” Alexander says with a chuckle.
    “Fine, just sit in the living room until I can get rid of you,” I tell him.
    After I finish wiping Carrie’s tears and de-snotting her, she furtively creeps into the living room with him.
    He looks at her, and I tense.
    My God, he’s huge. When he sits on the couch, it barely comes a third of the way up his back. I swear, one of his legs is bigger than my daughter. Sitting down, he’s twice as tall as she is standing.
    She gingerly sits down on the other side of the couch. I can’t help but watch this. He very pointedly doesn’t look at her.
    “Hi,” she says.
    Alexander glances back at me. I give him a plaintive look. She adores him. If he’s mean to her, I swear I’ll take a rolling pin to him.
    “Hi,” she says, very softly.
    “Hi, kid.”
    “My name’s Carrie.”
    “Mine’s Alexander.”
    I blink a few times when he holds out his hand. He gives her the world’s most ridiculous handshake, her tiny little hand vanishing into a two-finger-and-thumb grip.
    “Hi.”
    “Want to watch some cartoons?”
    “She has homework,” I remind her.
    “Mom, it’s Broadside.”
    “She can do homework later,” he says. My glare intensifies. He shrugs his huge shoulders.
    Carrie’s only reply is, “Yay!” as she turns on the television.
    “So how about some dinner?” he says. “I need to keep up my macros.”
    “Your what?”
    “I’m hungry.”
    I retreat into the kitchen and lean on the counter. “You have to be kidding me,” I tell myself.

Chapter Three
    A lex

    Y ou know what ?
    She’d look great in an apron, and not much else.
    As Maguire saunters around the room, I quickly conclude she has an amazing ass. She left me with the kid to dart upstairs and change, and as she ascended I had a great view of her rump stretching the seat of her uniform pants.
    Now, she’s in the kitchen in an apron, tank top, and jean shorts. It’s a really good look for her, even if the shorts are cut like mom jeans. She may be slender, but she has the kind of curvy hips that make a high waist work to accentuate her assets.
    She works out, too. I could watch those legs all day, but I turn back so I don’t pop a boner over the mom while I’m sitting next to the kid.
    This is awkward. I look at her. She looks at me.
    “Do you like Ninja Turtles?” I ask her, trying to be conversational.
    “What? No. I like football.”
    My eyebrows twitch a little. What kind of little girl gives a shit about football? If I was sitting next to a boy, I would expect that, but…
    “I want to be like you when I grow up.”
    I jerk back a little. Why the hell would anyone want to be like me?
    “You really don’t,” I say with a sigh, turning back to the television.
    The kid keeps staring at me. Usually this is where the autograph request comes in, but she’s silent. She just looks at me, then glances at her mom. I smell food, and my stomach rumbles. I’m hungry . I had my usual post-workout dinner after I left my new gym, but I need about another four thousand calories for the day.
    I’m not going back to my house