The Girl He Loves: A Second Chance Romantic Comedy Read online

  “I think this van is badass.” He rubs my upper thigh and looks at me.

  In the dim beam of my van’s interior light, our eyes meet. His hand rests on my leg and my relaxed body tenses as a surge of sexual need shoots through me. I’d love for his hand to roam, and I hate myself for wanting it so badly.

  His thumb strokes small circles on my thigh. “If I had one wish, I’d wish for one more night with you.”

  For the longest time after we broke up, I had that same wish. Sex wasn’t the only thing I missed about Dax; more the easy companionship we shared.

  And sitting here, talking with him, his hand on my leg, only emphasizes how lonely I’ve been. A person can get hugged by their family or child, but it’s different from being hugged by a man who’s sexually interested. Inside me, something sparks to life. It's a part that’s been on hold for a long time. Neglected and lonely.

  I lean forward so our faces are close. “We have right now. Right here. This van. Just you and me.”

  He holds my gaze. “Heather, that’s not a funny joke.”

  “It's not a joke. This may sound crazy, but I want to be Heather Lowell again. Just for a few hours.”

  “Like Cinderella with a glass slipper.”

  “Only I don’t mind going back to my kid. He’s awesome. But right now, I’d like to be more than someone’s mom.”

  “You’re the hottest mom I’ve ever seen. Especially with how that shirt clings to your chest. Makes it hard for a man to look you in the eyes. All those guys on the street were checking you out. I was glad your hurt leg gave me an excuse to carry you.”

  “You don’t have to flatter me, Dax. I’m a sure thing tonight, but if you keep talking, I might change my mind.”

  He shuffles forward on his knees slowly until his lips are a hint from mine. “I think I can shut up long enough to kiss you.”

  His hand slides up my thigh and around to my backside, cupping my butt. He slides me forward to meet him and when our bodies connect, the air between us sizzles.

  I’m going to embrace this experience with no regrets. This moment, this bliss, is all mine.

  His kiss begins soft as he explores and relearns me. Because it's been awhile, the first touch is almost foreign, but moments later the novel is replaced with familiar. I know this man, his lips, his taste. We slip into the past and know without having to ask what the other likes.

  “Where can we take this?” Dax mumbles against my lips.

  With his shirt fisted in my hand, I draw him into the van. “Let’s take this to the cargo area?” I say with laughter and a wink.

  He clicks the lever to close the door as I low scoot between the middle row seats and into the spacious cargo area. He follows. I flip open one of the spare blankets I keep in the back for Tyler and lie back on it, opening myself up to Dax.

  He hovers over me, and I see his smile in the moonlight. “I think I might be too tall; my feet touch the back of the driver’s seat.” His legs extend back between the two captain chairs of the middle row.

  “All the better to brace yourself,” I say wickedly.

  He laughs while lifting the hem of my T-shirt. “Let’s get this wet shirt off you.”

  It's a flurry of shirts coming off and jeans sliding down. We bump our heads against each other and the top of the van, but I don’t care, and I can tell Dax doesn’t either. His single focus is on me. Like I’m the center of the universe. And I revel in this adoration.

  “Heather, are you sure you’re good with this here? We can go back to my room, or we can—”

  “Are you gonna use that mouth to yammer all night, or is there something better you can do with it?” Because here is perfect. If we leave, I’ll second-guess everything. This is living in the moment.

  Dax cups my cheek and says, “Let me show you what I can do.” He softly drops on top of me and proceeds to show me his skills.

  Setting doesn’t matter. All that counts is that we are in each other's arms. We caress and explore once-familiar land. He kisses my cesarean scar. When we join, I cling to him as I shudder and release and then hold him tightly when he does the same.

  Afterward, I rest against him, his large hand stroking my hair. He kisses my temple.

  “I have a cramp in my injured leg,” I say with regret. Because I don’t want to pop the bubble.

  “I can help with that,” he says and rolls me over. He straddles me then claps his hands together with a solid smack. He rubs them vigorously as if to warm them then presses one palm to my bruised hip and the other to the inner thigh on the same leg.

  “Let me show you a few things I learned since we last connected,” he says.

  “Mood killer,” I say. “No woman wants to hear about a guy’s other conquests, especially after having rocking sex in her shaggin’ wagon.”

  “Oh, this isn’t about other conquests. And I promise. I can get that mood right back.”

  He proceeds to prove his point. And I’m happily wrong all night long.

  Chapter 7

  Saturday

  I can’t even recall the last time I came home way too late and snuck in quietly. Before college, maybe?

  Dax’s scent still on my body and a smile on my face, I fall into bed and sleep solid, something I rarely do.

  Thankfully, my mother and Tyler were none the wiser as to how I spent my night. Though, as Mom stares at me over morning coffee, I once again feel like a teen who did a whole lot of something she shouldn’t have.

  “How did last night go?” she says in her sing-song voice.

  Tyler’s watching cartoons on the couch, eating frozen waffles. Literally frozen, straight from the freezer. I used to make homemade ones, but he prefers these, so he gets them on weekends for a treat.

  “Fine. Josie texted this morning and said we made a lot of money for the charity.”

  Mom gives me two thumbs up. “And afterward, did you have fun? You work so hard, sweetheart. I hope you treated yourself.”

  I blow on my coffee, a slight smile playing on my lips. “I did treat myself. I had a wonderful time.” And maybe I’ll be good for another two years or less if I can get this criminal record thing worked out. How sad I put so much on hold until after I graduate. As if my life only begins once I have my degree. Or maybe it's because I can't juggle all those balls.

  Dax and I separated after two in the morning. We didn’t exchange promises to keep in touch. I made it clear I had no expectations. Our time together was a one-off. I wanted to pat myself on the back for not falling into some fantasy that more could come from sex in the minivan.

  “I’m glad,” Mom says. “And so now you can let your father and me treat you. We want to buy you a new dishwasher.”

  I set down my mug, a tad too hard, and coffee sloshes over the side. “We’ve had this discussion. I appreciate the offer, but a new dishwasher is a waste of money. It's an issue of parts and labor, and this one can be fixed.” I gesture half-heartedly to my dishwasher.

  “Then let us pay for that.”

  “Mom,” I say on a sigh. “You already do so much for me with keeping Tyler after school and last night. I can’t continue to mooch off you guys for everything else. I still owe you and Dad for the tires on the van.”

  When Justin and I divorced, the first thing my dad said was how he anticipated Tyler and I would need to move in with him and Mom, and if that were to happen, then we could only stay for two years. He would not have a child of his living with him forever. That’s why when Mom offers to pay for something, I know she doesn’t tell Dad. I know it's behind his back, and I love her for wanting to help. But I’m not about to put her in a position to have trouble with my father. Who, by the way, when he loaned me money for tires, made me sign a contract with terms, interest, and a payment plan.

  “When you’re out of school and making steady money, then you can make this argument, but right now is when you should take all the help you can get.” Working for Jayne pays better than minimum wage but still lower than an entry-
level teacher. Plus, the health insurance with Jayne is costly because she’s a small business. Even though Tyler's covered by his dad's insurance, I am not.

  I love my mom and her generous heart. I say, “I’ll take the money from my savings and have the dishwasher fixed if it means that much to you.”

  Mom looks horrified. “No, you’ve been saving for over a year. That money is earmarked for your student teaching.”

  I smile and put my hand over hers. “Exactly. If the dishwasher was so important, then I would make accommodations for it. But it’s not. When I'm working in my field, then I’ll take care of the dishwasher. It’s just not that important to me right now.”

  This was my way of putting the conversation in perspective and not hurting her feelings.

  She squeezes my hand. “I want to help as much as I can.”

  “I know, and I appreciate it. It’s just me and Ty. We don’t make a lot of dirty dishes,” I say jokingly because my kid is like a dirt gnome. He can dirty up a kitchen, bathroom, or any room in a matter of seconds. He’s a one cup per drink kinda guy, even if the drink is a refill.

  My phone rings, catching me off guard. No one calls early in the morning on a weekend unless it's my mother, and she’s sitting right across from me.

  The screen tells me it's Jayne calling from the shop.

  “Hey,” I say, wondering if I maybe forgot to do something at the store. My job is to log inventory, photograph it, and send the info to the website manager to put online. I also help with setting up the store, scheduling private clients, and logging whatever I can into her accounting books since Jayne sucks at doing that.

  “I’m soooo sorry, Heather,” she says in a rush of words.

  “For what?”

  “Your fella was here. Dax. He was looking for you. Did you tell him you were part owner?”

  I groan. “Oh. My. Lord. I’m so sorry—”

  In a flurry of words, she says, “Oh, I don’t care about that. But I think I might have blown it for you. He came in, said he was looking for the owner. I said I was the owner. He said the other owner, and I said there is no other owner. He said Heather Lowell then corrected himself and said Michaels. And I said, ‘Oh, that other owner. She’s not in today.’ I was totally caught off guard when he didn’t ask for you straight off.”

  My heart is racing. “Then what happened?”

  “Oh dear,” she says. “I said you were at home, and he asked where that was. I was so flustered trying to cover for you that I told him where you live.”

  I gasp and stand up, suddenly knocking over my coffee mug, sending the contents across the table and onto the floor. “I think I might be sick.”

  Jayne rarely gets flustered. If the fact that Dax was on his way to my house wasn't so unsettling, I'd call her on her BS. Likely, she was matchmaking. But right now I have bigger issues.

  “How long ago?”

  “He just left. If he comes straight away, then you have fifteen minutes.”

  Holy crap. I needed to get out of here. I didn't want Dax to know where I lived. Fifteen minutes was not enough time to move or get Tyler out of the house. I glanced at my mother and knew she couldn’t be trusted to wave Dax off. She’d invite him in and make him breakfast, lunch, and dinner - all the meals until I returned home.

  “Heather, what’s wrong?” Mom asks as she rushes to the sink to get a towel to mop up my coffee.

  My white T-shirt is oversized and stained. My biker shorts are ratty since they’re older than my child but comfortable as heck to sleep in. My hair is a tangled mess. Actually, the only thing I did when I came in early this morning was brush my teeth and wash my face. I can’t sleep with makeup on; I’m quick to get acne.

  I spin in a circle, trying to make a plan. “I have to go,” I say to Jayne.

  “Do you want me to call in reinforcements? I can’t leave the shop but—”

  “No, no. I got it. I’ll text an SOS if I need one.”

  “Darling, I know you aren’t going to answer the door. But maybe you should. Even if it's to tell him to bugger off and slam it seconds later,” Jayne says.

  It's like she read my mind. I was contemplating turning off the TV and pretending not to be home. Trouble would be my mom and Tyler. Neither are good at covert. But Jayne’s right. I need to face this head-on.

  I smooth my hand down my T-shirt. “I'll meet him outside.”

  “Atta girl,” Jayne says.

  “Who?” Mom says.

  “I’m hanging up now,” I tell Jayne and hold a finger up to tell Mom she’s next.

  “Good luck,” Jayne says and disconnects.

  “Someone’s coming from Jayne’s shop. I’m going to meet them outside. You good to hang with Tyler for a few minutes?”

  “Sure,” she says and gives me the once over. “You aren’t meeting this person dressed like that?”

  I cross my arms in defiance, about to claim I was, when I realize I’m not wearing a bra. “After I put on a bra,” I say, and scuttle to my room. Being a Florida girl, I don’t need to worry about shoes. We’re used to walking on scorching sand, so a driveway is nothing.

  “And maybe a better shirt,” Mom calls behind me.

  I’m outside in under five minutes. My van is in the driveway next to my mom’s Nissan SUV. I pop the back and pull out the blankets from last night, balling them up and throwing them against my non-working garage door as a reminder to wash them. They're not grody or anything, but my mom brain demands I wash them anyway.

  My house is cute. Built during the second world war, it’s four blocks from the beach and just under fifteen hundred square feet. The bedrooms are so small a king size bed takes up the entire space. There’s no such thing as a master suite.

  The outside is white stucco with navy blue shutters. The roof is orange Spanish terra-cotta tiles, though many have turned black with age. I have two lovely palm trees in my yard that are probably as old as the house, if not older. They’ve weathered many hurricanes. I can’t say as much for the roof tiles.

  I sit in the back of my minivan and swing my legs back and forth until a motorcycle creeps down my street and turns into my drive.

  Dax pulls to a stop a few feet from me and swings his long leg over the bike before lifting off his helmet.

  “Do you sit outside in your van often?” He smiles big and friendly.

  “What are you doing here?” I can’t afford friendly. The point of having a one night stand is to leave it at the one night. “I thought we agreed to let it be.”

  Chapter 8

  Saturday

  Dax gives a one shoulder shrug and runs his hands through his hair. “We didn’t say that specifically.” He’s dressed in jeans, heavy boots for riding, a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a T-shirt underneath. “Besides, you promised you’d text to tell me you were okay, and when you didn’t, I worried. How’s your hip?”

  He looks good enough to eat. I harden my resolve.

  “Fine, just an ugly bruise. Dax, we were together until two. I figured you'd assume I was okay. And what we said, specifically, was that last night was good. Real good, and we agreed to leave it at a one-night stand.”

  He gives me a dazzling smile. “I didn’t think you were serious about all that.”

  He’s picked up some skills since we parted ways. Like the charming player-like smile. He can try his newfound moves on me, but they won’t work.

  I make myself swear not to give in. I stay on topic. “How did you find me, by the way?” I know how he found my house. But how did he find the boutique? I hadn’t given him the name or any other detail.

  “I did an internet search. Then narrowed it down from there. On the Daily Mirror’s website is a picture of your friend Jayne, who was at the restaurant last night. I dug around the site and saw an email for you as well.” He snapped his fingers. “Took seven minutes.”

  I’ll be honest. Sarcasm is my default. It's how I set limits. And now was the time to use it on Dax. “Wow, you have a mech
anical engineering degree, only because I helped you with the English assignments, but that's neither here nor there. You played in the NFL and you’re a citizen sleuth. You. Are. The. Complete. Package.”

  He turns to rest against the seat of his bike. “I’m getting the vibe that I’m not wanted here.” He gestures to my neighborhood. “Here being your beachfront house.”

  I point up the road. “Four blocks that way is the beach. I can hear the waves crashing from here.” As if on a cue, a seagull squawks. Bless his scavenger heart.

  “Loosely playing with the word ‘beachfront,’ though. Not that I care.”

  I make like I’m raining money, swiping one hand over my palm repeatedly. “Not all of us made fat cash right after college.”

  Dax puts his hands up in surrender. “Heather, I just came here because I wanted to say I really enjoyed last night. I’m in town for the next nine days for Bike Week, and I thought maybe we could see each other again. But it’s clear you don’t feel the same way.”

  Okay, so I feel a tad guilty for being bitchy. “It’s just that you’re on vacation, and this is my life. It’s not like we’re both in Hawaii and can leave it all behind when we get on a plane to go home.”

  “But we’re not strangers,” he says.

  “We kinda are. We’ve had very different lives since college. I’m not Heather Lowell anymore. I’m Heather Michaels. I’m a single mom.”

  He nods as he considers my words. Then looks at me from under his brow. “I’d like to get to know Heather Michaels.”

  I shake my head. “For a week, and then you’ll leave and go back to your real life. We should leave it at a one-night stand.”

  He puts one palm up. “How about a two-night stand?”

  Against my better judgement, I laugh. “They don’t exist.”

  “They should. So should three-night stands and four-night.”