Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Mazzy pats my chest, taking the cup from me and then putting the back of her other hand to my forehead. “You’re still cool so it looks like your fever is gone for good. I’m thinking you’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”
“Today,” I say, pushing her hand away. “I’m getting up and we’re going ice skating.”
I attempt to sit up from my position on the couch, but Mazzy pushes me back down. “Just rest and don’t try to be all tough. You can’t be a baby about medicine one minute and macho the next.”
“I’m not a baby,” I mutter.
Mazzy laughs and then bends forward, pressing her lips to my forehead. It’s a decidedly intimate move, not born of sexual desire but a nurturing instinct to care for me because I’m sick.
“You’re definitely not a baby,” she says softly, lifting to stare down at me. “But you are sick, so you are staying on the couch and resting today.”
Yeah… I’m fucking sick, which is something that doesn’t happen to me often. I started feeling a little run-down on Wednesday, but we had a hectic game schedule this week and I powered through it.
I actually tried to ignore the signs—sore throat, stuffy nose, cough and eventually a slight fever. It was the fever that kept me from dressing for last night’s game and today I’m on the mend for sure. But the cough bothers me the most and it’s why Mazzy keeps pouring that nasty-ass syrup down my throat.
She’s been a godsend though because she’s stayed all week at our house, refusing to take her days off when I was home because I wasn’t feeling well. Mazzy not only did her regular care of Bowie Jane, but she’s taken such good care of me that it makes me want to stay sick just to have her attention. Outside of my own mother when I was little, I’ve never had someone worry over me. If she wasn’t checking my temperature, making homemade chicken noodle soup, fluffing my pillows or plying me with Gatorade, she was ordering me to rest and catering to my every need.
I’d like to say it was cute as fuck, but it wasn’t. It was absolutely endearing. It was the purest form of Mazzy’s being—the nurturer—and it’s the main reason I’ve fallen for her.
I want to fight her on letting me off the couch today because we had plans to spend the day together. I’ve been eager for the three of us to do something outside of Mazzy’s role as the nanny. I want Bowie Jane to see her in the capacity of my girlfriend. I want my daughter to see me have a healthy, solid relationship.
“How about we compromise?” I drawl, taking Mazzy’s hand in mine and glancing down the couch at Bowie Jane who watches with interest. “I’ll nap for a few hours and then we go ice skating.”
Before Mazzy can shoot me down, Bowie Jane pipes up, “I agree with Mazzy. You need to rest to get better. We can go ice skating any time.”
“But you’re going to be starting hockey soon. You need to practice,” I point out.
Bowie Jane levels me with that look that says, Are you serious? “Dad… I’ve been skating for like seven years. I think I’m good.”
I really did want to get her on the ice. It’s true she’s been skating almost as long as she’s known how to run, but her desire to sign up for a local co-ed youth hockey team inspired by Drake enrolling his boys is bringing out a bit of the competitive dad in me.
On top of that, Drake is also recruiting teammates to be advisors to the different coaches because this isn’t a high-level, competition league but rather one created for disadvantaged youths who want to learn the sport. They’re enlisting parents who don’t know much about hockey to be coaches, so I thought it would be fun to help mentor Bowie Jane’s team. I know King and North have already committed to help out.
Nudging Bowie Jane’s leg with my foot from underneath the mountain of blankets, I say, “I just wanted the three of us to do something together today.”
Christ, that sounded whiny.
“We are doing something together,” Mazzy says with a wicked grin. “Bowie Jane and I are taking care of you.”
“Something fun,” I amend with an eye roll that will never be as good as Mazzy’s.
“This is totally fun,” she quips, turning to pick up an empty mug that once held the lemon and honey tea she made for my sore throat. “I like bossing you around for a change.”
Bowie Jane and I exchange a grin as Mazzy walks into the kitchen. She’s behind me so I can’t see what she’s doing but I hear her rattling around with the dishes. Instead, I focus on my daughter at the opposite end of the couch, sitting with her legs crisscrossed and her back against the armrest.