Current Day

“Fuck these bills.” I mentally raise the white flag in defeat and drop my forehead on the kitchen table. The facts don’t lie, and neither does my expense versus income list. There simply isn’t enough income to cover these bills. Dread washes over me as I realize one thing—I have to get a job. Shit. It’s been over six years since I had to worry about money. Fucking Carl. Finding a job now will be close to impossible with no experience. What am I going to do?

“Uck bills,” Melanie chimes in.

My two-year-old bangs what’s left of the squashed banana on the highchair tray and points to my stack of envelopes. I bite back a laugh.

“Uck,” she repeats.

I’m definitely not winning Mother of the Year anytime soon.

“Icky bills,” I pipe out. “Those bills are icky.”

Her giggle resonates through the room, and I wince at the gleam in her eyes. She’s so happy but has no clue what’s in store. For the first time, I’ll have to get a sitter for my kids. I hold back the expletive I so want to yell. An entire year has passed since the divorce, and the desire to kill Carl still holds strong. The asshole. I don’t understand why he would do this to his kids. Cheat on me, fine, but he hurt more than just me. Our kids suffered as well because they actually miss him. Hope your affair was worth hurting them.

I should have demanded more alimony. He is, after all, the one who insisted I stay home and raise them. I had every intention of raising a family and working. A majority of mothers do it, and their kids turn out just fine. But I altered my goals to carry out his wishes. I was stupid. Of course, not working never bothered me before—I rather liked staying home with the munchkins—but now I have bills that need to be paid.

Did he think of the consequences before his quest for a better lay? Or was he that desperate to seek satisfaction he had to find it from someone else? But my worst fear, the one I don’t want to admit, is that I was awful in bed.

Frustrated, I shove the bills aside and stand, taking a calming breath. What happened to the carefree and easygoing days? I miss them. I miss the old me. College days were simpler, even when most were spent with Carl.

The weird thing is, it’s not Carl or the lack of responsibility I miss. After this past weekend, I’m missing what I had with Jax. And that frustrates me more.

We could give it another go.

Nope. No way. He must’ve been drunk when he suggested that, or he hadn’t thought it through. I’m a single mother of three kids. He wouldn’t just be dating me, but my kids as well. I refuse to be used like that again. Not from Jax. Not from Carl. Not from anyone.

“Just a second, Mommy will get you cleaned up.” I grab a wet dishcloth and shift my focus to my girl. As I wipe the banana goop off her hands, I wiggle my nose against hers. “You sure are a messy girl.”

“Paw Patrol,” Mel says through giggles.

“Okay, okay. I’ll put your favorite show on.”

I grab her worn-out stuffed dog and hand it over as she settles on the couch, getting lost in a world of puppy adventures. I pull up the search bar on my laptop. With a business marketing degree, there should be some type of job for me, right? Wrong.

A half hour later, I slam the laptop lid in frustration. I may as well have majored in basket weaving because an inexperienced business marketing major doesn’t mean shit. Not in this job market anyway.

I glance over at my daughter, who’s abandoned the television for her pastel-colored building blocks. I need something. I don’t need to earn a lot but enough to supplement the gap. If marketing is out, then maybe I could get a job that highlights my skills. I turn toward my kitchen and frown. Two things I’m good at, cooking and making lists.

With new inspiration, I reopen my laptop and search for anything in the catering business. I pause when I see a hotel on the outskirts of the city needs help in their catering department. I bookmark them and keep scrolling. A bakery in the upper west side looks appealing. The commute from Brooklyn will be a bitch to either place, and I’ll still need to find a sitter, but it will give me the extra income I need. I quickly fill out the applications and send them off.

As I wait for my email notifications, I play with Melanie. Once she’s down for a nap, I try cleaning the house, but it’s pointless. Memories of Jax replay in my mind, making it hard to concentrate. Good ones. Bad ones…well, just the one bad one. We only had two arguments and never fought until the day we broke up. The day he broke my heart. Before then, our relationship was new and exciting. God, I was so fucking happy, even after he railroaded me into dating him.

I let out a laugh and cradle my head in my hands as the memories crash through me.

The memories are fresh in my mind. The day I met Carl? It’s fuzzy and filled with nothing in particular, but not with Jax. Our encounter is seared into my brain.

JOCELYN

August, Ten Years Prior

Ten more minutes. I take a deep breath and slowly exhale, mentally blocking out the students surrounding me. My clammy hands grip the edge of my desk. I can do this. They’re only people.

Thank God, I only have two lecture hall classes this semester, and Sociology 101, the one I’m quietly suffering through, is almost over for the day. And the best part is? I did it without vomiting.

The class itself isn’t bad, but more students fill the room than my entire graduating class. Of course, that’s not a big surprise, considering I come from a town with a population of twenty-five hundred. Even though I graduated with the largest class size since the eighties—a whopping sixty students—Penn State is no Bowling View, North Carolina. I’m completely out of my element.

I foolishly thought sitting in the top rows would help me blend in. Fade into the background. The opposite happened actually. People may not be able to see me, but I have a full view of them. When the professor announced this was our permanent seating arrangement, I knew I made a bad choice, and escaping wouldn’t be so easy.

Anxiety is a strange beast. Although large crowds intimidate the hell out of me, I don’t let the fear cripple me. My grandma called me stubborn, and maybe she’s right. I didn’t succumb to the false sense of security small towns bring. Nope, I broke free. I love where I grew up, wouldn’t trade it for anything, but I never had aspirations of staying there despite the beauty of it.

Unable to sit still, I remove my planner from my book bag and flip to the middle section. I read my schedule list and only then do I smile because there is a latte that has my name written on it.

Call me a nerd, but my planner is my life. My pulse. Organization is the key to keeping my mind focused on my goals instead of my surroundings. I learned to adapt by creating lists.

Besides my itinerary, I have my ultimate lists: where to eat, emergency phone numbers, entertainment, etcetera. The big daddy of them all is my “must do before graduation” list.

Pretty much everything there is to know about me can be found on a list inside my planner. My neurotic tendencies got me out of Bowling View, North Carolina, and that’s a large undertaking.

I close the planner and shrink farther in my seat to wait out the last remaining minutes. All I have to do is grab my bag and dart down the aisle. My gaze follows the path to freedom but then lands on a dark-haired guy who seemingly has no problems adapting to his surroundings. Jaxon “Jax” Carrigan. Penn State’s newest shortstop. Oh, how I wish I exuded that level of confidence.

Sitting seven rows down, he currently resides on my “dating ban” list. Yes, I even researched the sports team, including the incoming recruits. All athletes are banned. It might be wrong to lump all jockstrap-wearing guys together, but I won’t end up with an arrogant, cocky asshole like my ex-boyfriend Devin—star quarterback and team captain. He’s a legend in his own mind. In a small town where everyone dotes on the captain of the football team, Devin thought he was the modern-day Hercules. Or maybe he thought he was Eros—god of sexual desire and attraction. After all, I caught him acting out those desires with my best friend. Fair or not, I cut all ties to sports jocks.

My new roommate, Cassie, thinks I’m crazy. She fell madly in love with his teammate-slash-roommate, Zach Pritchett, during freshman orientation week. I arrived late to campus and missed half of the welcoming week activities, but from what she tells me about Zach, no thank you. His arrogance reaffirms my beliefs—athletes equal trouble. Nope, the perfect guy for me will be sweet, thoughtful, and completely loyal. I won’t settle for less.

“Check out the latest baseball recruits.” The girl sitting to my left speaks in a loud whisper. According to the sign-in sheet, her name is Marissa.

“Mmm, I noticed,” her friend replies. “The dark-haired guy sitting across the aisle is delicious looking.”

“I predict by semester’s end I’ll have slept with him.”

You can have him, honey, I think as I study his profile. There’s no denying he’s hotter in person than the team picture. His thick ebony hair is cropped short at the sides and reveals his strong angular jawline. Out of every guy I added to my list, he’s the only one I toyed with the idea of leaving off. Of course, my hesitation was based on sheer looks alone. But damn, even his coloring is beautiful. His skin is a perfect blend of olive tones, naturally darkened by the summer sun. The pure richness practically screams touch me.

“You said the same thing about the pitcher. You can’t have them all.”

Marissa snorts. Actually snorts. “We’ll see.”

Her friend laughs as the guy next to me exhales in frustration. Carl, I believe is his name, but I don’t pay him any attention. Instead, I continue to eye Jax. He adjusts his gaze to the guy across the aisle while the professor explains his expectations for the semester. From the smirk Jax shoots his friend, I suspect he thinks this class will be a breeze. I’m not going to lie—I think the same thing, but I’m not assuming anything this early in the semester.

That cocky attitude is the exact reason I kept him on my list. All athletes exert the same type of behavior, or at least the talented ones do, and he certainly fits the bill. He’s a pretty good player, according to his stats, but making it pro isn’t a guarantee. A small percent goes on to the minors. An even smaller percent makes it to the majors. He best be taking his academics seriously. And that leads to the question, what is Mr. Ballplayer’s major? Weight lifting comes to mind. I hold back my own snort. Professional weight lifter. Could that even be a career? As my gaze travels down his toned body, I somehow think it could. The guy’s stacked. Marissa’s friend is right. He is rather delicious looking.

Caught up in my analysis, I almost miss the professor’s dismissing words. I snatch the planner from the desktop and shove it inside my bag. I don’t bother with the zipper; there isn’t much time to slip down the aisle and beat the other students. Why did I sit up here?

I lower my gaze and rush down the stairs. A slight hum fills the air as Marissa’s and the other students’ voices fade in the background. The curtain of protection my hair provides blocks the further surroundings, allowing me to concentrate on each step. Seven rows down.

The next moments happen so fast everything becomes a blur. A scuffling sound causes me to jerk to my right, but a wall of white fabric blocks my view as a sharp, jarring pain soars through my right shoulder. The impact shifts my book bag and knocks me off balance. I stumble forward.

“Whoa there,” a rich voice calls out. Strong, firm hands grip my waist, which keeps me from falling, but in haste I straighten too fast. The back of my head connects with a hard, bony surface, and I freeze as the words “Son of a bitch” screech behind me.

Laughter erupts, but the pounding in my chest drowns them out. Mouth agape, I turn to face the would-be assailant. He did, after all, hit me first. Jax stands a few inches away, rubbing the bottom of his chin, and I want to die of mortification. Then I make the mistake of following the path leading to his face. My heart nearly stops. He’s even sexier up close. Those deep brown eyes trap mine for a brief moment before my senses come back to me. I pull myself away and scurry down the remaining stairs, not looking back. When I reach the bottom level and close half the distance to the door, I hear him call out, but I’m not positive the “hey” was for me. The warmth flooding my face heats up a few degrees, but I push forward, my feet continuing to beat a path across the concrete. I don’t stop until the next line item on my itinerary is within sight—the coffee shop. Thank God, because I’m in dire need of caffeine. Yeah, I’m one of those strange people who needs a stimulant to relax.

Once the latte is in hand, I find a table and start to calm down. That is until the mortification of slamming my head into Jax’s chin rolls my stomach. Ugh. Not only did I draw attention to myself, but I was rude. I don’t think I apologized.

I drag my sociology book out and flip through the pages while sipping the hot latte. It doesn’t take long for me to realize I’m not accomplishing anything. I can’t focus. Abandoning the idea of studying, I reach inside my bag for my planner but come up empty. “What the heck?” I ask no one while rummaging through my backpack. Beads of sweat break across my forehead as I continue to shove my folders and books aside. Still, nothing.

Where the hell is it?

I mentally retrace my steps back to class. It was lying on the corner of my desk when class dismissed. I shoved it into the book bag when I stood. It has to be here. I blink away the tears threatening to form as the hard truth sinks in—it fell out. No. No. No. I dig deeper into the bag, willing it to appear. Before I go into pure panic mode, a ding sounds and pulls my gaze toward the front door.

And there he stands, Jaxon Jax Carrigan, holding a purple notebook in his left hand. My notebook.

He scans the room, and when he catches me seated in the booth, he glances upward and utters a soft curse. I remove my hand from my bag and will my heart to calm down. Play it cool. Acting casual, I take a gulp of my coffee, the caramel-flavored liquid burning the back of my throat.

“Looking for this?” He waves my most valued possession in the air before sliding into the seat across from me.

“Thanks.” I snatch my planner from his hands and tuck it deep within my bag. Even though I know the answer, I ask anyway. “How’d ya know where to find me?”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “You’re pretty easy to find. You have each day scheduled.”

Another wave of nausea hits my stomach. “You looked inside my planner?”

A dimple pops on his left cheek, and my heart starts racing again but from something other than fear.

“I may have glanced through it.”

Kill. Me. Now.

He chuckles at my lack of response. “I have to say, you have some pretty interesting lists. For instance, I now have recommendations for a good romance novel, or if I’m craving Chinese, four streets down from your dorm is Green Jade, which comes with a stellar five-star rating.”

I press my lips together and just stare at him.

“Really, I can see it being helpful, but isn’t the making friends one obvious?”

Oh, dear God, I seriously want to die. How many pages did he flip through? Some items on those lists are personal. Private.

“Let me tell you how not to make friends; don’t headbutt them in the chin.”

“I feel really bad about that. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Not even a mark.”

No, there isn’t. In fact, his face looks pretty damn good. That is, until his lips start to twitch. Fearing his next words, I hold my breath.

“How rude of me for not introducing myself. I’m number twenty on your ‘dating ban’ list.” He extends his hand. “Jax Carrigan.”

“Jocelyn Kennedy,” I manage to squeak out and shake his hand.

“Well, Jocelyn, I’m curious. What did I do to make it on your list?”

“You’re an athlete.” The excuse sounds lame when I admit it out loud. Seriously, lame.

He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, and?”

“I—I don’t have to explain myself.” And I won’t. He doesn’t need to know about my cheating ex-boyfriend.

“Come on. You obviously did your homework. Don’t I deserve to know why I’m being judged?”

His neutral expression makes me question whether he’s serious or not. Surely, he’s not. I mean, why would he care?

“You really want to know?”

“I think I deserve that much.”

I take a deep breath and answer the best way I can without admitting I wasn’t good enough to keep a high school boyfriend. “I’m a bitch.”

That earns me an exasperated laugh. “Come again?”

I lift a shoulder. “Sorry, but from my experience, athletes are pigs. They only want to date a walking, brainless pair of boobs.”

He shakes his head as if he’s baffled. “Your experience?”

I purse my lips. Why are his two-word sentences causing me discomfort? Probably because I’m being totally judgmental and he’s calling me out on it.

“It’s…personal.”

He studies me for a second and leans back in his seat. “Let me guess. Your ex-boyfriend played sports and ended up being an asshole.”

“The biggest. And before you go deny anything, my roomie’s crushin’ on yours. She’s told me enough about him to solidify my beliefs.”

“I really don’t know if Zach’s a pig. But that doesn’t mean we all act the same.”

“Like I said, a bitch. Just because I’m quiet and hate crowds doesn’t mean I’m sweet and innocent.”

“I have no doubt you’re not innocent, but the debate’s still out about your sweetness. Although my bet’s on sweet.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” I reach for my coffee and bring it up to my lips. Just how far did he read?

“Not fully.” His gaze falls to my mouth, and he watches me take a sip. “But after reading a few extensive itineraries, I think I’m qualified to say I know you a little.”

He must’ve have read the entire planner, clear to the last page. Wrapping my fingers tightly around the cup, I place the drink down and swallow past the lump currently residing in my throat.

“You read all of it?” I maintain a stoic expression.

“Although I’m quite capable of helping with number five, I want to know why you’re so hung up on letting one asshole, who obviously can’t fuck worth a damn, ruin all athletes’ chances.”

Heat rises to the top of my ears. I release the cup before I squeeze too hard and crush it. Hot coffee splayed everywhere won’t be good for either of us, but dear God, my “must do before graduation” list was private. My eyes widen as a horrifying thought comes to mind—who else has seen this? I don’t want the entire student body knowing my sexual desires. It’s bad enough that Jaxon Jax Carrigan, Penn State’s upcoming baseball star, knows I’m in need of a good fuck, but everyone else? Seriously, kill me now!

“How many people did you show this to?” The squeak in my tone causes his smile to drop.

“No one. I made sure.”

“Thanks.” His reassurance calms me a little, but the embarrassment of him reading my most intimate thoughts remains.

“I was just teasing about number five, but otherwise, I’m serious. Why don’t we tick off the first line item?”

“You’re seriously asking me out?”

“Why not? I think rock wall climbing sounds fun.” He leans in closer. “Unless you wanted to start with number five.”

“You think you’re up for the challenge?” Jesus, am I actually flirting back?

“I know I’m up for the challenge.” He laughs and nudges my hands with his. “Let’s start slow. Rock wall climbing it is.”

The intensity of his stare burns through me as heat curls down my spine. But can I trust him? He did just learn that I want to have a mind-blowing orgasm. Is he just some dumb jock wanting to up the score? Or is he actually sincere? Jesus, I’m overthinking it. It’s one date. It’s not like I’ll have sex with him.

“Usually my lists are set in stone, and I do believe you’re listed on the banned list.”

“That’s why they make erasers, Dixie.” He cocks his head to the side. “What sport did the selfish bastard play?”

“Football.”

“There you go. Everyone knows football players are assholes. Us baseball players are best known for being sweet.”

“Oh, really? That’s a fact?”

“Absolutely. It’s common knowledge.”

I shake my head, not even knowing how to respond. “Why Dixie? Can’t you be more original?”

“Don’t be dissing on Heart of Dixie.”

I raise my eyebrows, prompting for more information while his hearty laugh washes over me.

“Okay, but if you tell anyone this, I’ll promptly deny it.”

I pretend to zip my mouth closed.

“Your southern accent is as sweet as Lemon’s, but you’re as hot as Zoe.” He scrunches his nose a bit. “I can’t call you Zoe, so Dixie it is.”

He thinks I’m hot? I shake that thought off and lean forward. “I’m more interested in how you know so much about the show?”

“My mom and grandma were huge fans when it aired. I may have watched a few episodes with them.”

Damn, that’s actually cute. Perhaps he’s not all bad. “As sweet as that sentiment is, I’m still not going out with you.”

He narrows his eyes as he studies me. “Are you serious about your list?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you ever been rock climbing?”

“No.”

“Wouldn’t you want to go with someone who’s an expert and can guide you?”

I draw my lips into a thin line, feeling like I’m being boxed into a corner. “I suppose.”

“Then I’m your man.”

“You’re not going to drop this, are ya?”

“Not a chance.”

“Okay, Mr. Ballplayer, on one condition. What’s your major?” If he says something along the lines of weight lifting, I’m out of here.

The lines on his forehead crinkle as he leans back into the booth. “Sports communications. I figure if the baseball thing doesn’t work out, then I’d better choose a career I’d enjoy.” He shrugs. “It’s only plan B, but just as important.”

Well, damn. The first school day isn’t even over, and my list was busted like the eleventh-seed winning bracket of the NCAA March Madness tournament.