Play Dates. Maggie WellsЧитать онлайн книгу.

      LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Copyright

      Lyrical Press books are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2017 by Maggie wells

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

      All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund- raising, and educational or institutional use.

      To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

      Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager:

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      119 West 40th Street

      New York, NY 10018

      Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

      Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      LYRICAL PRESS Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

      First Electronic Edition: October 2017

      eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0349-2

      eISBN-10: 1-5161-0349-1

      First Print Edition: October 2017

      ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0352-2

      ISBN-10: 1-5161-0352-1

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      I married a man just like my father. I’m still not sure why my mother recommended against doing that, because I think it was the best choice ever. This is for Bill, do-it-all single dad who captured my heart many years ago. Your domestic skills only enhanced your hotness.

      Acknowledgements

      Enormous thanks to my editor, Marci, I love working with you! To Martin, Renee, Michelle, and the whole Kensington/Lyrical team, my deepest gratitude for your continued faith in my work. For Sara, Julie, and all my Super Cool Party People. My life would suck without you.

      Chapter 1

      Monica Rayburn inched closer to the picnic tables littered with diaper bags and juice boxes and lifted her cell a centimeter higher. The angle was perfect. Her subject was centered in the frame. This was a skill she’d honed during years of after-work happy hours and had finally mastered—the sly snapshot.

      A quick look at the enormous play structure mounted in the center of the playground verified that her niece, Emma, was safely ensconced in one of the numerous hamster trails leading from one slide to another. Wiggling her thumb over the screen as if frantically typing a text, Monica tipped the phone up to adjust the angle a smidge. The whir of a fake shutter marked her success. She gave the photo a surreptitious glance as she lowered the phone.

      Perfection.

      All she had to do was determine if the handsome hunk of a man leaning against the wide trunk of an oak tree was parent or predator. If he was the latter, she had a great picture for the police. If he was some lucky kid’s daddy, there was a good chance she could snag the prize for best “Spotted in the Wild” photo on her friend Sarah’s photo blog. There were many beautiful specimens of manhood in the urban jungle, but few rocked the whole package like this guy did. He was tall, a bit brawny, and sported the right amount of scruff shadowing his jawline. Wavy black hair set off skin so creamy a cartoon princess would put in a call to her dermatologist.

      But all those tasty tidbits weren’t what kept her riveted. There was something about the way he stood. Yes, those broad shoulders were touching tree bark, but there was a readiness in his stance. Like he could spring into action at any moment. Like a jungle cat. Her heart did a little stutter-step. She focused on her breath until the pounding organ tripped into a semi-normal rhythm. Judging by the number of drive-by glances he was racking up from the mommy brigade, every woman within a hundred-yard radius was thinking the exact same thing.

      Exhaling long and slow, as her yoga instructor taught her, Monica tore her eyes off the man of the minute to run a munchkin check. Emma had made her way to the twisty slide and was patiently waiting her turn in line. With her lopsided nut-brown pigtails and solemn expression, her niece resembled Monica more than her own mother. Melody was as fair and light as her name. Petite. Easy-going. The popular girl. The fact that her niece resembled her was an odd, and probably petty, point of pride for Monica, but she couldn’t help feeling smug. Melody’s only offspring took after her. Score!

      She’d been the gangly girl who wrecked the curve.

      Though she was older, for most of her life Monica felt like her sister’s negative image. The one who got all the miscellaneous traits. Like her parents couldn’t get everything right the first time. She had their dad’s boring brown hair and lean build. Mel claimed to envy her sister’s fast metabolism, but Monica would have happily swapped a few hundred calories a day for a little more, uh...endowment. The only feature she shared with her sister were the blue eyes they’d inherited from their mother. Well, the blue eyes and the residual effects of their parents’ miserable marriage.

      Emma called her name and Monica veered away from those disturbing memories. She’d collected dozens of self-help books over the years. Enough to start a library. But she’d have to think about her many manifestations later. Today was about Emma. She waved as her niece showed off her swinging skills.