The Girl He Loves: A Second Chance Romantic Comedy Page 9

  “Perfect, that all falls on the calendar as this week. So, based on your argument about one one-night stand a week, we only have this one night left.”

  He snaps his fingers in disappointment. “Darn it, I should’ve thought that through better.” But the smile teasing at his lips tells me a different story. He’s not worried. Because he’ll come up with another argument tomorrow, and I can’t wait to hear it.

  “Can I kiss you?” he says.

  I nod.

  He walks slowly toward me, like a puma stalking its prey. I’m backed up against the counter, and his hands go to my sides and box me in.

  He lowers his head and swipes a kiss across my lips. Then another. By the third one, I’m meeting him halfway. It takes only three kisses to have me chasing him for more. I wrap my arms around him and pull him close. Time stops as I get lost in him, his kisses and the wonderful feelings that come with being held in his arms.

  It’s a make-out session reminiscent of high school, pelvises brushing each other, lots of kissing and nibbling. Only this time I have one ear for any sound of Tyler headed our way. Dax’s hand toys with the hem of my shirt. Mine is gripping his hip bone, pulling him toward me. We’re going too far, too fast, like an out-of-control rollercoaster ride and I have my hands up ready to give in]to the thrill.

  I push him away. “I have to get Tyler to bed.”

  He backs up a step and swipes his hand down his face. Then blows out a slow breath. “I forgot where I was there for a moment.”

  I beam. To know you do something magical to the person who is doing something equally wonderful to you is a self-esteem boost of epic proportions.

  I yell into the living room, “Time to shut it down, honey. It’s bedtime.”

  “Aw, Mom,” Tyler says, but the TV clicks off.

  He comes into the kitchen moments later. “Are you leaving Dax?”

  I say, “Not yet. Mom and Dax are going to hang out a bit.”

  Tyler points to Dax. “You promised you’d say bye.”

  Dax crosses his heart.

  I rub chocolate off my son’s face. “Bathroom. Brush your teeth. Take a wet towel to your face, too. Or I will. I’ll tuck you in when you’re done.”

  He groans but does as I ask.

  Dax and I stand in the kitchen staring at each other. If he’s as revved as me, he’s probably counting the minutes until Ty falls asleep.

  I put my fingers to my lips, “If we’re going to do this we will have to be very quiet. Ty must not know.”

  He whispers, “Challenge accepted.”

  Chapter 13

  Tuesday Morning

  Last night, we sat outside and talked about everything and nothing while waiting for Tyler to go to bed. We reminisced about college, and Dax shared stories from the NFL that cracked me up. What we didn’t talk about was his plans. Or anything beyond this week. We kept everything casual. No strings.

  Then Tyler fell asleep, and it was game on. We were as quiet as church mice but as naughty as devils. And if I thought sex with Dax in my minivan was good, in my bed it was a spiritual experience. The sort that makes a person weak in the knees and a believer in out-of-this-world experiences. And yes, his game performance last night differed from the minivan tryst. Both were oh-so-very-good.

  The banging of the bathroom door slamming wakes me.

  With a start, I sit up, disoriented. The sun’s bright and the birds are chirping and I’m stark naked.

  Dax lies beside me softly snoring, also naked as a baby.

  The toilet flushes, and my brain makes the connection. Tyler is up and about. A quick glance at my clock tells me I’d forgotten to set my alarm, and we are forty minutes behind schedule.

  Usually, I’m the one who wakes Tyler. On weekends, when I manage to sleep in, he wakes me by barging into my room.

  Bathroom first stop. My room next. I lunge at the door and flip the lock.

  After putting on my robe, I go back to the bed and place my hand over Dax’s mouth.

  His eyes slam open.

  “It’s morning and Tyler’s awake. You need to get out of here before he sees you.”

  He nods. I remove my hand. The doorknob jiggles.

  “Mom, we slept in,” Tyler says.

  Dax is up and trying to get his pants on. I shove him into my closet with only one leg in his jeans. I toss the rest of his clothes and boots in behind him, catching him in the forehead with the sole of one boot.

  He winces but stays quiet. I close the bifold closet doors as quietly as possible. Then go to my door and open it.

  “We need to hurry. You’re going to be late for school.”

  My son stares up at me wide-eyed. “Are you sick?”

  He asks this because I never sleep in on work and school days. I shake my head and tighten the belt on my robe. Thankful I’d picked the hot pink robe over the light yellow, or I’d worry it was see-through.

  “No, I think with all the excitement yesterday and the company, I stayed up later than usual. I went to bed too tired and forgot to set my alarm.

  Tyler studies me. For an almost-eight-year-old, he’s clever. Observant. Has to be when trying to always be one step ahead of everyone else because the information you get isn’t always reliable. Such is the burden of kids with processing disorders.

  “Can I have waffles for breakfast?”

  These are a weekend treat.

  “Yes, but heat them up. It’s gross that you eat them frozen.” We have this conversation a lot.

  Tyler leans into my room and looks around, then looks at the closet and says, “Dax, you want some waffles? I can put them in the toaster for you.”

  My mouth falls open. “What makes you think Dax is here?”

  Tyler’s look is the equivalent of saying DUH. “Because he promised to say goodbye, and he didn’t.”

  I have no response.

  Tyler says to the closet, “Mom bought blueberry syrup, Dax. It’s pretty good.”

  From behind the closed doors, Dax says, “No thanks, Buddy. But I appreciate the offer.”

  Tyler shrugs as if it's no big deal to him and turns, heading to the kitchen, never bothering to ask why Dax might be in the closet. Maybe to an almost-eight-year-old, this isn’t weird.

  I close the bedroom door before I open the closet door. Dax is leaning against the wall, my clothes crushed underneath him. He’s still naked with only one leg in his jeans. A red welt marks his forehead.

  “Oh. My. God,” I say. “I’m the worst mother ever.”

  “Because you had sex with your kid in the house?”

  I nod.

  “What does that make moms who sex up their husbands? Are they awful, too?”

  “No, they’re married so they’re allowed.”

  He rolls his eyes and slides his other leg into his pants. “What are you doing later today?” He gives me that sexy boyish grin of his.

  This was too close a call. I can’t have Tyler walking in on me with a man in my bed. Especially one who isn’t going to be around after next week. “We’re done. We’ve maxed out on our one-night stands. You leave at the end of the week so we should just part ways today.”

  He tugs his T-shirt on. “That’s a stupid idea.”

  “I’m not a pitstop, Dax. I can do one night and walk away. I can’t do five or seven or however many nights, start to get attached, and then have you run off to your NFL life. It’s not just me—there’s Tyler. If you keep coming around and then just disappear, it’ll break his heart.”

  “A pit stop is NASCAR. And technically one night could be considered a pit—”

  I grunt in frustration, interrupting him. “Fine. I’m not the halftime entertainment.”

  He gives me a toothy smile. “You’d be awesome as halftime entertainment. How about a wardrobe malfunction?” He reaches for the belt on my robe and loosens the knot.

  I slap at his hand.

  “C’mon, babe. Let’s spend this week together. Hang out. We don’t have to have sex. We can if w
e want, but it’s not mandatory. I’m not going to turn you down. But I’m not gonna stop coming around if you say no sex.”

  “It’s hard to keep things no-strings if we get used to you being around.” It’s as close to the truth as I can get. I like having him here. I’m mindful that he’s gonna ride away in a few days, and that’s probably the last time we’ll see him. He’ll get busy and forget all about us.

  He steps out of the closet and sits on the edge of my bed, then pulls on his socks. “I know this is gonna be hard to believe, but I could use a friend right now.”

  “And I can be a friend.”

  “But?” he says, looking up at me.

  I sit next to him. “But it’s like we’ve skipped some steps. We’re friends who have sex, yet I know nothing about you or your life now. Only what Bleacher Report tells me.”

  He grins. “You looked me up on Bleacher?”

  I search his face for something, I don’t know what. All I know is that when I bring up the future, life after this week, he deflects with jokes. “I only looked you up once, after you left so unexpectedly following that call.” Which is not entirely true. I only looked him up once that day. Dax is someone I follow up on periodically.

  “Heather, you know how superstitious I am. I don’t want to talk about the call until things are solid. If I share too soon, I might jinx it.”

  Caught off guard by the sudden flash of memory regarding Dax’s superstitious nature, I laugh. Of all the things I remembered about Dax, how had I forgotten how superstitious he was? Always tight-lipped until whatever he was sitting on was decided.

  No surprise that this was a large part of our breakup. Sure, I understand the need to have all the information before sharing, but I don’t understand making big life decisions that affect others without consulting them.

  And now I know the call was about work.

  I say, “Remember when you learned The Pioneers were hoping to draft you in the first round? You and your dad sat on that info for a few weeks.”

  He nods. “Because there's no way of knowing what's going to happen. Last minute trades to move up in the draft could have affected where I landed. Unless you're going number one, it’s anyone's guess what comes after.”

  I take his hand. “I get that. But not once during that time did we talk about all the options and where that left us. I find out you’re going across the country by watching it on TV like the rest of the football world.”

  “And you think that’ll happen again? Now?”

  “It kinda feels like it’s already happening. And we aren’t even dating. And if we’re friends, wouldn’t you want to talk it out with me, as your friend? I get a job offer, and my friends are here immediately, helping me figure out the logistics. You’re here helping, too. But that flow doesn’t seem to be going both ways.”

  He sighs. “I’m just so used to keeping everything so tight that sharing is hard.”

  “I get that, But not sharing leaves people guessing. I had no idea what the plan was back then. It left me wondering what you thought of me, of us.”

  He looks me in the eye. “So you dumped me.”

  “I got a jump on the inevitable. Your dad was right. You had big plans, and a girlfriend wasn’t in them. I was scared, hurt, and angry, and I was determined to dump you before you dumped me.”

  “My dad told you that? When?”

  I look up, trying to recall the timeline. “The day after the draft. I was working at the gym. We hadn’t had a chance to talk yet. You were swamped with press things. Your dad came to the gym, and we had a conversation.”

  “And that night you ended it.”

  I lean into him and put my head on his shoulder. “Tell me I did the right thing?” Because it felt awful for years after.

  Dax kisses my forehead. “We’ll never know. What I do know is that I wasn’t planning on ending things. But, yeah, it would have been hard for us to be long-distance. My first year was a ballbuster.”

  We sit in silence for a beat.

  “Having you around has been nice,” I say.

  “There’s that ‘nice’ word again.” He chuckles.

  “But where’s the meaning of it if we aren’t really being friends? If I weren’t a single mom and my life looked different, I’d be game for no-strings sex. You’ve got skill.”

  His chest puffs out.

  “But if you were to leave today, I would question the sincerity of this… whatever we’re calling it. Does that make sense? If we left it at the one night, if we really kept it no strings, then the expectations wouldn’t be there. But this feels like it’s more. You talk about friendship, and that creates a different expectation, at least for me.”

  “I get it,” Dax says. Then, “Last time, a communication problem put us both on unexpected paths.”

  “Me more than you,” I say.

  “Funny, though. I look around at what you have and think you got the better end of the deal.”

  Chapter 14

  Tuesday Afternoon

  “You’re a fool,” Josie says as she holds the ladder still.

  It’s after work and we’re in my garage, talking about how the morning ended. When Dax left, I had the feeling we wouldn't see him again. We should have left it at the one night. Because watching him ride away made me sad.

  I knew if he kept coming around, this feeling would be inevitable. And I try to convince myself that Dax not coming back is for the best.

  I stare up at the garage door opener and have no clue how to fix it. I’ve watched a few YouTube videos, but still I’m clueless. I’m only up here because I need a distraction from my thoughts.

  A pang of doubt comes over me. Is Josie right? Am I fool?

  I shake my head. Nope. No way. She’s crazy.

  I tell her as much. “Thing is, yeah, I can be friends with him. But let’s define that.”

  “You never needed our friendship defined.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you. No chance you can knock me up.”

  She lets out a string of colorful words. “Just let things happen. Have sex. Don’t have sex. Let him share. Don’t let him share. Who cares? Unless there’s another reason you’re fighting this.”

  Yeah, there’s another reason. Not one I want to say out loud anytime soon. Dax is someone I could easily become attached to. Dax not getting attached to me would be devastating. It took years for me to get over him the first time. What if I can’t get over him a second time?

  I pull a lever on the opener, and nothing happens. The part of me having a pity party would see that as a metaphor for my life.

  “I dunno, Jo. My gut says I should tread carefully.”

  She clears her throat. “The chemistry is still there between you two. We all saw and felt it. And I think you’re letting fear dictate everything.”

  I turn on the ladder, sit on one of the steps, and look down at her. “I think this entire conversation is moot. The way he said goodbye this morning makes me think I won’t see him again. And if I’m right, then I did make the right decision. But for giggles, let’s play this out. What if he did hang around a lot? And our relationship is classified as ‘just friends’. Great. No biggie. But what if it develops into more? I did an internet search on him this morning, and Bleacher Report says he’s the top candidate to fill the offensive line coach position for the Tampa team. His dad’s the head coach there. If that was what the call was about, why wouldn’t he just say that? It’s not like he could jinx getting hired by his dad.”

  She shrugs. “Tampa’s not a terrible commute. It’s not like being across the country.”

  I shake my head. “Football season is hectic. Even if we were in the same town, I’d only see him early in the morning or late at night. He’ll basically live at the training facility. He’d be gone a lot. I just don’t see it working out.”

  She meets my gaze. “All sound arguments. I can see why you think you’ve made the right decision where he’s concerned. I remember feeling like that after the hurric
ane destroyed Brinn’s flight school and my apartment.”

  “So, you understand.”

  She nods. “Which is why I think you’re a fool.”

  I chuckle. “Annnddd we’ve come full circle.”

  She grins back. “And the garage door is…”

  I jerk my thumb behind to gesture to the garage door opener. “Still broken. And I have no idea how to fix this thing.”

  “I didn’t think you did. But I love you for trying.” She smiles.

  The rumble of a motorcycle has Josie stepping out of the garage to look down the road.

  “Um, how you gonna handle it if he comes back? Because here he comes, and maybe it’s the concussions, but he looks ready for round two.”

  “If he’s in a leather jacket, jeans, and biker boots, that’s what he always wears when he rides.”

  “I’m talking about the determined expression on his face.”

  We watch in silence as Dax cruises into my driveway. I’m not going to lie. Seeing him approach makes my stomach flutter with nervous excitement. My body betrays me every time Dax is around.

  He moves slowly as he kicks his long leg over the motorcycle to stand. I’m not one who generally gets all hot and bothered around bikers, but Dax on a bike in tight jeans works for me. Works for me on all levels. Darn him.

  He slides his helmet off and rests it on the seat, then runs a hand through his hair. He smiles at Josie, but his smile falls when he looks at me.

  He says, “All right, I’ve been thinking. I don’t want a repeat of what happened in college. I don’t want to walk away from here thinking things could be different if we’d communicated better. Also, I came prepared to fix things around here.” From his jacket pocket, he pulls out a small pack of light bulbs.

  Josie points to it. “Microwave. Nice.”

  I say, “I don’t need you to fix things around my house.” I’m holding a screwdriver, and I tap it against my palm.

  He points to the garage door opener. “So that works now?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “No,” Josie says. “But darn it if she didn’t try.”