Page 61 of Crossed By the Stars
Written by Imelda Mary Higham
The talk of children and marriagetuggedat some secret part of me that I wasn’t sure I’d ever known existed, just as seeing Dax building a sandcastle with childlike joy had. What would it be like to spend time on a beach with him as little ones ran around us, telling him he was doing it wrong or begging to put the flag on the highest turret?
I’d always known Dax had a soft, tender side. I’d seen it the first time he’d handed me a stargazer lily in Hyde Park. I’d seen it in the way he cared for the people in his life. The way he looked out for them. Dawson. His father. Me. But seeing it so prevalently in the last couple of days made it almost impossible to keep up my walls. I had to resort to snark and taunts of our past in order to do so. Reminding him that Benita or any of her gal pals would love to marry him was just another way of shoring up my defenses.
“I’m pretty sure none of those women would do the trick,” he responded.
“You never know. Maybe they’ve outgrown their child stage as well.”
“It has nothing to do with them. It’s because I found what I wanted a long time ago.” His voice was deep as his eyes burned into me.
I threw another grape in his direction, but he easily deflected it.
When I didn’t respond, he continued to torment me instead. “It’s the same reason none of the men in your life have stuck. Because your heart knew what it wanted.” His voice lowered a notch, as if he’d just unburdened his soul and admitted he loved me. Which he never would. “How many people have you been with,mon bijou?”
The question irked me for so many reasons. Because he thought he had the right to ask. Because the honest answer was that I didn’t know.
“I have no idea. I’ve never kept score. I don’t care. I’ve gotten pleasure when and where I wanted it. Why? Do you suddenly need a list? How many have you been with?” I growled back at him.
“Fifteen,” he said so fast it stunned me.
“You knew that pretty quick.”
“I remember them all.”
I tried not to let it stab at me, because I knew Dax didn’t mean it as a judgment, even though I felt that way. Sex was sex. It was like drinking or eating. I didn’t remember every single meal, but I did remember the ones that stood out.
“You sound freakishly serial killer-ish right now. Do you have a memento from each time or something?” I said to hide my own mixed feelings over the conversation.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to remember the people you’ve been with. I don’t fuck to forget. I make love to have another unforgettable experience burned into my memories. The slope of a hip. The curve of a waist. The swell of a breast, the tip pebbled and hard, ready to be devoured. Those moments can’t ever be taken away.”
His words lit up a flame inside me. I wanted those tender moments. The memories being built as if they were photographs, like the one he’d taken of me earlier. Something that could last.
“Those things are waiting for you every time you find a woman ready and willing,” I said with a careless shrug.
“Yes, and each curve and valley is different. It’s like driving through the mountains. It’s all hills and trees, but each formation is unique. The trees aren’t in the same place. The rocks jut into the sky at slightly different angles. Each one is special. Irreplaceable.”
I stared at him, my heart beating furiously, unsure of how to respond to the beauty of his words. He was Mr. Suave. Mr. Charming. Mr. Sweet Nothings. He definitely didn’t deserve someone like me. Someone who screwed to forget just like he said. Someone determined to live only for pleasure.
But then I remembered, that was the old Jada.
The new Jada had left behind so many of the things of her past, like drinking into oblivion and using tranquilizers to forget. Maybe sleeping with men who could send me into forgetfulness with a momentary orgasm was something else to put behind me.
But it meant taking a leap of faith, trusting that someone could and would be there for longer. A leap that Dax seemed to be asking me to take in his direction. I wanted that so much it hurt more than my bruised ribs, but I didn’t know if I could trust him. Would he stick around when his father reminded him of the obligations he had and the dangers of being with a Mori? Dangers that were justified. I would want to die like the notes requested if something happened to him because of me.
I got up, putting space between us, trying to clear away the cobwebs of desire and longing that he was filling my brain with. But Dax didn’t leave me be. He pushed instead of retreating. He rose as well, tugging my hand and pulling me into his body, bending so our faces were close together, so close I could smell the hint of grape on his breath mixed with the salt of the seawater and sand.
My eyes settled on his lips, reliving the glorious kiss we’d shared the night before. A kiss that had been more than just hasty foreplay leading to naked skin and orgasms. As if the kiss itself had meant something. Tender and reverent.
With one hand on my waist and the other still holding mine, Dax moved us so that we were twirling in the sand as if we were dancing, feet dragging along the shore, wind blowing around us, the real world far, far away.
“Do you remember the first time we danced in silence?” he asked.
“I remember dancing with you at Violet and Dawson’s wedding,” I deflected.
“I remember you were wearing a black dress when you normally favored colors. I remember the way it clung to your curves and how your breasts swelled above the neckline when I held you like this. I remember the smell of the stargazer lily corsage I’d given you,” he said. “And I remember that you tasted like the sweetest thing I’d ever had.”
Our first kiss. Dancing in a silent room in the museum.
