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    Ballerina Dad
    Ballerina Dad
    Ballerina Dad
    Ebook69 pages1 hour

    Ballerina Dad

    By Amy Aislin

    4.5/5

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    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Attending his daughter’s holiday dance recital should be easy for pro hockey player Patrick Barnes. Showing up in a tutu, however, wasn’t exactly part of the plan. And yet the holidays get even more interesting when he bumps into Lee, the man he let get away years ago.

    Ballet instructor Lee can’t believe who just walked into his studio. He also can’t believe how quickly the flare of attraction between he and Patrick resurfaces, despite the years that have gone by since they last spoke.

    Once upon a time, they let opportunities get away. Is it possible they’ll now have the chance to pursue the spark that has come back to life after just one conversation?

    Holidays are a time for giving, and neither Patrick nor Lee are about to take this particular gift for granted.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherNineStar Press, LLC
    Release dateDec 11, 2017
    ISBN9781947904576
    Ballerina Dad

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      Book preview

      Ballerina Dad - Amy Aislin

      A NineStar Press Publication

      Published by NineStar Press

      P.O. Box 91792,

      Albuquerque, New Mexico, 87199 USA.

      www.ninestarpress.com

      Ballerina Dad

      Copyright © 2017 by Amy Aislin

      Cover Art by Natasha Snow Copyright © 2017

      Edited by: BJ Toth

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact NineStar Press at the physical or web addresses above or at Contact@ninestarpress.com

      ISBN: 978-1-947904-57-6

      Printed in the USA

      First Edition

      December, 2017

      Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content, which may only be suitable for mature readers.

      Ballerina Dad

      Amy Aislin

      Table of Contents

      Dedication

      Acknowledgements

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Epilogue

      About the Author

      For Brenda, who asked for Patrick’s story over a year and a half ago and is finally getting it. I hope it was worth the wait.

      Acknowledgements

      Huge thank you to Barb, Raevyn, and the entire NineStar Press team for giving Ballerina Dad a home and for making the entire process fun and easy!

      Chapter One

      ARE WE THERE yet?

      Not yet, baby girl.

      Patrick glanced at his four-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Jordan, in the rearview mirror. Strapped into her booster seat, she clutched her well-loved stuffed bunny. Mr. Mutsy had been drooled on, vomited on, spat up on, and when Jordan was two, drawn on with a purple Sharpie. It was tattered and faintly smelly, yet she still refused to go anywhere without it.

      She sang a song under her breath that sounded vaguely like bee-boop-bee-bee-bah-boop-bo! Her lyrics needed work, but he had to give the kid credit: she could lay down a sick beat.

      Daddy, now are we there yet?

      We’re about thirty seconds away from the last time you asked. In Jordan’s defense, she was excited because it was Parents’ Day at her ballet class.

      Five more minutes, he said, exiting the highway. The wipers worked against the windshield, swishing away the wet snow falling from the slate-grey sky. Nine days until Christmas and it still wasn’t cold enough to snow properly in this bustling suburb of Toronto.

      Parents’ Day was actually Moms’ Day at the ballet studio, but his ex-wife, Jordan’s mom, had been called away on a last-minute business trip, leaving Patrick as the sole parent to Jordan for the weekend. Jordan had been so excited to have him come to her ballet studio for the first time that he couldn’t say no, even though he was dead sure that he was about to have his non-ballet-dancing ass handed to him by a bunch of tiny four- and five-year-old girls in shiny pink tutus.

      It was just his bad luck that his team skate today was optional.

      They were a few blocks away from the studio when Jordan said, Daddy, Ash said we can record and take pictures. Did you remember to bring the video camera?

      Ash was Ashley, Jordan’s ballet instructor. I have it, honey.

      Said video camera sat ominously on the passenger seat next to him. Maybe the batteries were dead. Or the room would be too dark and the recording wouldn’t come out clearly. He could always accidentally drop it in a puddle.

      Good, ’cause I want Mommy to see our dance when she gets home. You’re gonna be one of the only boys, Daddy. Are you nervous?

      Nervous? He was a pro hockey player. A veteran pro hockey player. He didn’t get nervous. What he was was oh-my-God-if-word-of-this-gets-out-to-my-teammates-I’ll-never-live-it-down anxious. His nickname would go from Pattycakes to Pirouetting Patrick or Ballerina Barnes.

      No, I’m not nervous, he replied, pulling into the studio’s parking lot. Jordan had unhooked herself from her booster seat and was out the door almost before he turned off the engine. Whoa, whoa, whoa! Patrick opened his door and stuck his head out to find Jordan already a row over, Mr. Mutsy tucked into her purple backpack, and a small gift bag clutched in her right hand—Ashley’s Christmas present. Where do you think you’re going in such a hurry?

      Jordan huffed impatiently and dragged her booted feet as she made her way back to him. She was adorable in her white tights and purple winter jacket. The hem of her pink tutu peeked out from beneath her jacket. Her brown curls were piled atop her head in a sloppy, lopsided bun she’d insisted on doing herself. The mix of rain and snow had slowed, yet occasional drops still landed on her head and shoulders.

      Wait for me, please. Getting out

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