Page 54 of The Art of Being Merry
He’s quiet for several minutes, his gaze darting around the kitchen, a few sighs escaping in the process. When his orbs clash with mine, there’s a new emotion in them, one I can’t quite decipher. “Because someone should.”
I’m not sure how to take his statement. He’s doing this because no one else is? Because why? He thinks we need the help? Because we’re charity? Because . . . I can’t do it on my own? Is that what he thinks?
Anger palpitates through me, the meat taking the brunt of it. “It’s not a perfect life, but I think we’re doing okay. Even with just me.”
I squeeze the meat between my fingers, letting it cover my entire hand. I’ve always loved playing with different textures, and mixing and combining ingredients with my hands is one of my favorite parts of cooking.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?” I goad. I’m not exactly sure where all this irritation is coming from, why I can’t accept his help for what it is.
“You’re a great mom. The boys are loved and well cared for, no question. And you’re fucking brave. Starting your life over in an unfamiliar town, uprooting what they’ve known for a better life. I admire you. But who takes care of you?”
I steel my shoulders, preparing for a battle if he’s angling for one. “Me.”
“Aren’t you tired of doing it all?” His question is earnest, and it’s such a contradiction to the man I thought he was. The one who’s a permanent bachelor living in his parents’ basement.
It’s like he reached into my soul and yanked out one of my weaknesses.
Because I am. I’m so tired. Exhausted. In fact, what’s the next level? ‘Cause that’s where I’m at.
“What choice do I have?” Afraid to voice them, my words are barely audible.
“Let me help.”
I laugh without humor. As if it’s that easy. His saying “let me help” and things will be better.
When I don’t respond to his suggestion, he continues. “I’m not perfect and have little experience with kids, but I’m a trustworthy adult. I probably won’t let them get into too much trouble, and I have a thriving business.”
“What’s that got to do with taking care of my kids?”
He shrugs, the action so jarring, I’m startled. “Figured a list of my good qualities might sway you easier.”
“What exactly are you offering?”
“Well, I’m not entirely sure. Help however you see fit. Staying with them so you can go out and do stuff on your own. Taking them to my house so you can have time alone here.”
As much as it sounds like heaven, I don’t let go of the control easily, especially as it relates to my boys, and when the man is someone other than family.
“I can also fix things around here.” He points to the crooked cabinet door. “Remind me to get a new hinge for that. I’m good with my hands.”
I doubt he means anything sexual by it, but my mind goes there. Starved of sex and male physical contact hasn’t helped my mood.
Before I can address his comment about fixing the hinge, he continues, “I can run errands for you.”
I quirk a brow. “You’d be my errand boy?”
“Sure.” His offer seems serious. It wouldn’t take much more for me to say yes.
“What I’m really in need of is an orgasm provided by someone else.” The words tumble from my mouth, and only when I play them back in my head, and at Dax’s stilted laugh, does their meaning sink in.
Tell me I didn’t ask him for an orgasm.
Cue the mortification. My cheeks flame hot like they’re burned by the sun.
I can’t take it back. It’s out there. I said it. Much as I want to rewind and undo what I said, I can’t.
With a smirk on his lips, Dax settles against the back of the chair, his arms crossing over his chest. “Not a service I had in mind, but if that’s what you need, I can make it happen.”
