Having a baby wasn’t in my five-year plan. Then again, neither was sleeping with a hockey player who hates my guts.
Star forward for the Grizzlies, Leo Wilson is my least favorite person on the planet. Unfortunately, after a night of drinking and debauchery—on both our sides—we end up in bed together.
It was supposed to be one time, not a night punctuated by a lifetime of parental responsibility . . . and the slowly sinking feeling that I may have misjudged Leo.
That there may be more to him than the playboy persona. That he may be everything I’ve ever dreamed of. And that . . . I don’t think I can let him go.
