Pro hockey star, Christian Brooks, has everything he ever needed as a starting forward Right Winger, and a three year old daughter. Or, so he thought.
When Brinley Cameron's newest patient happens to be, a star hockey player, for her favorite team'...
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4 months later...
"Mommy, match me! Match me!", Charlie jumps up and down. Each landing makes a teeny tiny little thud against the carpet.
"What do you wanna wear then baby?" My hands land on her shoulders to keep her in place.
"We match Daddy?"
I sigh before reaching up and grabbing my jersey with our last name and Christian's number on it. Knowing I'd be getting hot in the middle of the game, I slip on a v-neck shirt under the jersey before slipping on a pair of black maternity yoga pants that flare at the bottom.
I'm all about comfort these days. This baby makes my back hurt and I'm sweating all the time. Not to mention I have to pee five-thousand times a day, I can't really stand up without some type of assistance, and I'm eating some of the weirdest food combinations. I mean seriously, who knew Nutella spread onto Salt & Vinegar chips tasted so damn good.
I take Charlie's hand and we walk into her room, heading straight for the walk in closet. I reach up before I freeze, "Do you want to match me with Daddy's real name? Or the one that says Daddy on it?"
"Match you."
"Okay." I whisper to myself as I grab the smaller sized jersey that matches mine.
We both have a few different jerseys but, I usually end up wearing one of Christian's actual jerseys. I haven't been lately because with it being a bit bigger, there's more fabric so it makes me even hotter.
"Do you need to go potty?"
"No."
Liar.
"Okay..", I give her a skeptical look and she smiles. I walk out of the closet with Charlie in tow and sit down on her bed. Her bed that is about one foot off the ground. It was a struggle getting down this low but, I somehow managed to do it.
Charlie has one of those beds with the cute little house frames on top and a white picket fence around the sides.
Cute for little kids. Impractical for pregnant women.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her leggings and tug them down before she steps out of them.
I scrunch her little jeggings up, "Step.", she holds onto my shoulders and steps into the dark wash, stretchy material, one foot at a time.
I pull them all the way up to her hips, "I gotta go potty."
I sigh, "Charlie..."
"Sowwy!", she giggles and runs into the en suite bathroom.
I groan, using the house frame bedpost to pull me up and I waddle into the bathroom.
Life ain't easy when a 6-foot-something hockey player that weighs 200 pounds knocks you up.
