Home > Hot Player (Hot Billionaire Daddies #7)

Hot Player (Hot Billionaire Daddies #7)
Author: Suzanne Hart







I park my car in the driveway and stare up at the house for a moment or two. It’s my family home. The house I grew up in. When I look back at my childhood, as an only-kid to my parents who have been nothing but kind and encouraging to me—I realize how lost I am now. As an adult. When I should have it all together.

I’m twenty-four. A recent college graduate, supposedly with the world open like a blooming flower before me. Yet, I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t know what I want. I thought I had ambitions and aspirations, but I’m not so sure anymore.

“Kimmy?” It’s Mom. She opens the front door and steps out on the porch, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “I thought I heard you drive in.”

I wave at her and roll up the windows. Mom and I have always been close, she being a person I can trust blindly. She has spent her whole life providing a safe home for me and a nurturing environment for my growth. However, this has led my parents to have high expectations of me too. As an only-child, I feel the pressures of making them happy, making them proud. It is only fair that they see some results for the effort they put into raising me.

I step out of my car and go over to hug her. Mom’s hugs are loving and warm.

“I’ve made your favorite creamy chicken bake, honey,” she says as we walk into the house with our arms around each other’s shoulders.

“Where’s Daddy?”

“Where do you think?” she replies, rolling her eyes indulgently.

“Is he still building that bookshelf?”

“It’s been three months now. It keeps falling apart when he puts in any more than five books. That man is not a carpenter,” Mom continues, and we smile at each other.

We head straight for the kitchen where the family usually congregates. I can smell the chocolate cookies in the air. She’s already got a pot of coffee brewing.

“How are you, honey? We haven’t seen you in weeks.”

I help her with the coffee and cookies, nodding as I try not to meet her eyes. I don’t want to worry her. I don’t want her to know that I’ve been having doubts about my future. That I’ve been feeling like everyone is moving ahead and I’ve been left behind.

“It’s all good, Mom.”

“Have you found a job yet?”

“Not yet.”

She reaches out to touch my arm lightly. I feel even more guilty when she reacts this way. I sometimes wish that they were the kind of parents who would just argue with me over my shortcomings. Just put me in my place and remind me of the failure I’m headed towards.

“I’m sure you’ll find something soon enough. There’s no rush. You have just finished college.”

“Almost all my other friends have found their perfect jobs by now,” I argue.

We sit down at the kitchen table together and she covers my hands with hers.

“The last thing you should do is compare yourself to other people, Kimmy. Nobody is like you, and you are like nobody else,” she says with a smile. I just stare down at my coffee.



Daddy and I take our cans of beer to the porch after dinner. Mom likes to watch her shows on the couch, preferably by herself so she can concentrate in silence. Daddy and I always end up talking too much and ruining it for her.

We sit beside each other, and he tells me about his recent carpentry fails.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re not going to give up on this?” I ask and he shrugs.

“I’m a retired man; what else am I supposed to do with all this free time?”

“You could go on a vacation? Hasn’t Mom always wanted to go to New Orleans?”

“I guess we could do that, sure. When was the last time you went on a vacation?”

I shrug. “That year I took off between high school and college felt like one long vacation to me.”

“Do you regret it?” he asks.

“Sometimes, I guess I do. Maybe I wasted time. Most of my friends seem to have it all figured out by now. I’m still looking for a job. A perfect job that is calling out to me.”

I can speak more freely with my father because I know he’ll worry less. He’s nodding now like he understands.

“I’m sure it’s out there somewhere, you just need to give it some time.”

“I can’t sit around doing nothing for much longer.”

“If you need…”

I cut him off.

“I don’t, Daddy, thanks. I can manage.”

“Your mother and I will always be happy to help, Kim.”

“Yes, I know that. I just want to do this on my own. Does that make sense?”

He leans towards me with a smile; his big green eyes are shining bright. Mom always says I’ve got his eyes, and since they are the mirrors to the soul, that I must have his soul too.

“Yes, honey, it makes complete sense. You want to prove yourself to yourself. That is fine. Best of luck, and I hope you get there. I just want you to know that we will always have your back.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” I say, and I hug him sideways.

Maybe it’s time to pull up my socks and put myself out there. Maybe not everyone finds the “perfect job,” their “ultimate calling.” Maybe I’m just destined to be stuck doing work that is nothing more than a job to me, and I have to make my peace with it.

“You two can come inside now,” Mom says with a chuckle, appearing at the door.

We stand up and follow her in.

“Scrabble?” Daddy suggests.

“Sounds good,” I reply, and he skips away to bring the board.

Mom turns to me with a sigh and a shake of her head.

“I hope you find a man like him to spend the rest of your life with, Kimmy,” she says. I smile, but I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen.

I’m not as lucky as that.



The next morning, I wake up in bed in my own apartment. It’s a small setup—a studio apartment with literally no space for any furniture other than one couch and a bed. My kitchen is a joke. The bathroom is as small as a closet. I’m not sure how much longer I can live like this. I can’t take any more money from my parents. They have done enough for me already.

It’s only when I hear an incessant knocking on my door that I realize it’s Sunday. Ever since I graduated, all the days have sort of merged together. The knocking continues as I drag myself out of bed.

It has to be Blair. It can’t be anyone else knocking on my door at eight in the morning on a Sunday.

“I’m not going to state the obvious that you’re up early!” I exclaim as I swing the door open.

Blaire is on the other side in her running clothes. Her earphones hang off her shoulders, and her face is glistening with sweat.

“Water!” she croaks as she comes inside.

“Seriously, do you have to do everything in your power to make me feel like a complete loser? I can’t remember the last time I went for a run,” I complain, watching as she pours herself a glass of water from the faucet.

“So just come for a run with me! You know you’re more than welcome.”

I start making coffee. I need lots of coffee.

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