Page 60 of Summer Affair
She laughed and some of her nerves disappeared into her Girl on Fire steel-clad bravery. “I love Italian. It’s my favorite.” She took both of his hands in hers. “And I really am okay. I want to do this.”
“Your skin tone disagrees.”
“Look, we’re already halfway there, we can’t give up now.”
“I’m beginning to realize that you never give up.”
She was beginning to realize a lot about him. She already knew he was caring and thoughtful and great with kids, but he was so much more. The kind of more that drew her to him like a moth to a flame. The kind of more that if she wasn’t careful, she’d get burned. And her heart was still a little charbroiled from the disillusionment of her marriage.
It wasn’t that she missed Dirk. In fact, the only warm feelings she felt for him was that he’d given her the most precious thing in her world. What she longed for was that connection, a partnership so that she had someone to share the good times and difficult times, the milestones, and the love that came with being a family.
She mourned the dream of her happily ever after.
Growing up without a mom or a dad who didn’t care only solidified that she’d do whatever it took to be better. A better mom for her son—a better listener, caretaker, a better all-around person. While she tried every day—god, she tried so hard—she was often afraid that she wasn’t enough. That Sammy was somehow missing out on the things Kylie or his other friends received in spades.
A big, loud, loving family to embrace and nurture him.
“When I was younger, I thought I was invincible. Then I became a mom and learned that I wasn’t. Now I’m a single mom and I can’t give up. Sammy deserves better,” she said. “Do you let a little nerves stand in your way?”
“If I did, I’d never get out on the field.”
“If I did, I’d never get out of bed,” she whispered. “When Dirk left it became pretty clear that raising Sammy, keeping him safe and happy and cared for, would fall to me. I was terrified of not being able to do it all on my own, so I made myself a promise that I’d give whatever was in front of me a try, but if when I got there I needed help, I’d ask.” She moved closer and looked up at him through her lashes. “Will you help me?”
He leaned down and feathered a kiss across her lips and goosies shot down to her toes. He pulled back and she looked at their clasped hands and back to him. He winked. “In case I get scared.”
“Well then, to keep your mind off things, such as the urge to scream like a banshee on our first date and embarrass yourself, let’s play a game of Distract Me.”
“I’m dying to know what you have beneath that skirt,” he said, and she laughed. “I’m serious. Between the way it rides up your thighs when you sit and to what’s hiding underneath, I’ve been obsessing about it the entire way here.”
“And what conclusion have you come to?”
“No panty line so that rules out cheeky cut and boy cut.”
“Wow, you have put some thought into this.”
“It’s already established how I feel about your ass. It was a twenty-minute ride here, so that’s one thousand, two hundred seconds to fantasize about what you’ve got under that snug denim skirt, which I’m a big fan of, by the way.”
“And what about the seconds we were conversing?”
“I’m an excellent multi-tasker,” he informed her. “So, we talking thong or a G-string. Nah, you don’t strike me as the G-string type.”
“What exactly is a G-string type? And why can’t I be one?” She pretended to be offended when in reality she’d never owned a G-string in her life.
“You’re too decisive. A G-string covers practically nothing so you might as well go commando. So if you were going to go with either of those choices, my best guess would be commando.” He looked down at her. “You commando, Cupcake?”
She bit back a smile. “I am not.”
“Then my money’s on a thong. Something lacy and feminine. Maybe a light yellow to match your bra.”
She glanced down at her top, which showed a little cleavage but not enough that he could see down her shirt. “How do you know what color bra I have on?”
“Every time you’d lean over to change the station, I’d get a peek. More like a quick flash, which isn’t quite a peek, so it fell on the side of an acceptable sneak peek.”
“How can a sneak peek not be peeking?”
“Because if I were peeking, I’d also know the color of your thong.” He stopped. “And look at that, here we are.”
Jillian looked up to find the enormous wind tunnel right at her feet. It wasn’t as big around as she’d expected, but it was tall—as tall as her house.
