Intercepted (New Hope #1)

CHAPTER ONE

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

Mallory

By nine o'clock on a Saturday night, our suburban town on the outskirts of Philadelphia is ready for bed. Yellow porch lights dot colonial homes. Old-school lanterns illuminate the quiet streets, which are riddled with potholes. The lone dive bar will be announcing last call within the hour.

It's a bit of a lie, to be honest. I know for a fact that the modest population of local teenagers are gathered at the old oil field. The graffiti-marked drums and broken fences make it a popular spot for clandestine gatherings, where high schoolers can dabble in sour-apple flavored vodka and cheap marijuana.

They think they're sneaky with their originality, but almost everyone that grew up here knows about the oil fields. We all partied there, including me. Mason was the most popular kid at Pemberton Academy. Girls went out of their way to be seen on his arm, and boys did idiotic things to gain access to his inner circle. I wasn't much of a partygoer, but Mason was my boyfriend, so I went where he did.

That's one of the only differences between then and now. The oil fields are still a secret everyone pretends not to know about, and Mason is still one of the most popular men in America. But I no longer follow him around like a lost puppy. I've got a litter to watch over.

"Speaking of children," I mumble, glancing at the screen on my phone. "My son is calling."

James smiles at me from the driver's seat, one hand draped over the steering wheel of his shiny pickup truck. He's a sexy single dad who just moved here from South Carolina. His daughter is in my beginner's dance class, and he owns a small construction company. Did I mention he's new to town? Because that's important. It makes him dateable. All of the men in New Hope—even the single ones—treat me like I've got 'Property of Mason Reeves' stamped across my ass, although I haven't slept with Mason since we were kids.

Technically, we fucked five years ago but we don't mention that.

"No worries, darlin'," James says nonchalantly, his lips quirking up in the corner.

Oh, sweet Jesus, he's hot. His ripped dad bod, scruffy facial hair, and calloused worker's hands accentuate his southern accent, which is like the cherry on his masculine sundae. And I haven't eaten dessert in... far too long.

I clear my throat, pressing the speaker to my ear. "Hey, sweetheart."

"Momma," Aidan says, and it's clearly a warning to shut his friends up. I roll my eyes. The kid is not fooling anyone. I can hear muffled laughter and rap music in the background. "I'm just calling to check in like you asked."

"Thanks, Aides. Are you still spending the night at Payton's?"

Please say yes.

I love my children more than my next breath, but it's not often that I get all three of them out of the house. Aidan and Grace are staying with friends, and Blake, my seven-year-old, is with my mom. It's my fifth date with James. I've waited the respectable amount of time, and I'm ready to climb this southern gentleman like the palmetto tree on his home state's flag.

"Yeah, if that's cool?" Aidan asks, his voice rising a couple octaves toward the end.

"Yup!" I answer, trying not to let my excitement flood the word. "I put a couple condoms in your overnight bag."

He groans. "I'm only fifteen, Momma."

"And I'm thirty."

My son goes deadly silent.

"You just did that math, didn't you?" I ask, grinning ear to ear.

"That's horrifying."

"Imagine having twins at your age and tell me how horrifying your life would be," I remind him.