Page 55 of Sawyer

“This is why I love playdates,” she continues. “It sounds terrible?—”

“No it doesn’t.” I hold out my arm. “Playdates equal minimal parental participation, which equals?—”

“Bliss.” Sitting, she sighs and stretches out her legs. “I mean, the girls also get some socialization and exercise in. We’re not beingtotalbums by sitting here.”

I try not to stare—I’m not a legs guy, but maybe I am?—and sit beside her, careful to keep an appropriate amount of distance between us.

Which is difficult. Ava gets it. She’s not judgmental. Her honesty about how hard this parenting shit is—it’s a breath of fresh air. Makes me wanna lean in. Know more.

Get closer, because this—our connection—feels easy. Safe.

She’s wearing sunglasses, so it’s impossible to tell. But behind the lenses I catch her eyelashes fluttering, like she’s giving me a long, hot look up and down.

Maybe that’s why I sense the charge in the air between us.

Ignoring it, I settle my ankle over my knee and clamp my hand over my jeans. Less chance of me reaching for her this way. Because sitting beside Ava makes me think of the time she satonme. The slow, breathless way she sank onto my dick as I cupped her tits and tried desperately not to come too fast.

Did that really happen? Because going fromthattothisis a mindfuck of the first degree.

“So. Number three of five.” Ava crosses her legs at the ankles. “I felt like I got lost in the shuffle a lot with three kids in the house. I can only imagine what it was like with five of y’all. Were you the peacekeeper? The troublemaker?”

I watch Ella zoom down one of the bigger slides, and let out a silent sigh of relief when she makes it down safely.

Am I also relieved that Ava is asking about my family? What does it mean that she wants to know more? I feel like I should proceed with caution.

Then again, I talk about my brothers with people all the time. How could I not? My family is my whole life.

“Wyatt was—is—the troublemaker.”

Ava nods. “I can see that. He and Sally are total opposites, but it works.”

“Never seen him happier. I guess I’d call Cash the peacekeeper, mostly because he had to be in control of everything. But me, I was the one who always showed up for my brothers.”

Ava clicks her tongue. “Aw. That’s sweet.”

“Yes and no.” I tip my head back and forth. “I always had this urge, or maybe this fantasy, of saving everyone. Keeping them safe.”

“From what?”

I scoff. “Themselves? Each other?”

“Example, please.”

Because of course she’d dig. Or, really, deepen the conversation. She’s not pushy. She’s just getting to know me. Which feels dangerous and thrilling and terrifying.

It’s just really freaking nice sitting down with a pretty girl on a sunny day. I’m relaxed, but also totally awake. Aware of the warmth in the breeze and the steady beat of my heart in a way I haven’t been for … weeks. Months.

Probably a sign I should get up. Stop this conversation from going any further, because the more I talk to Ava, the more I like her. Even if I knew what I wanted—which I don’t yet—what if Ava doesn’t want me? I’m not Wyatt. I’m not content to pine after someone until it makes me sick. I don’t have time for that shit.

Masochism must run in the family, however. Because next thing I know I’m saying, “I wasn’t always this way. My parents passed away in an accident when I was sixteen. I used to imagine that if I had just been there to shield them—catch them—warn them, maybe, I could’ve prevented the whole thing from happening. Magical thinking, yeah. But it helped me cope.”

Ava pushes her glasses into her hair and stares at me.

“Sorry.” I let out a thin chuckle. My entire being rings with shame. “If you suddenly have somewhere to be, I get it. A word vomit is almost worse than a real one.”

“Not if it’s projectile.” The woman grins.

She fuckinggrins, her eyes soft as she sits up. Angles herself so that she’s facing me, resting her elbow on the back of the bench.

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