Page 77 of The Art of Being Merry
Only when her eyes narrow do I realize I’ve given up my spot. A flurry of nerves floods my system as I work on a way to get out of this one. “When did you have time to get dinner there?”
Do not mention anything about Dax,my brain warns. She’ll be worse than when she searches for the perfect synonym.
“Stopped there on my way out of town,” I lie, hoping she can’t detect the dishonesty in the statement.
“Was it on the way to the mall? You know my sense of direction sucks.”
“The way I went, it was.” As much as I enjoy spending time with her, the longer we spend together, the more likely I’ll be to spill things she doesn’t get to be privy to. “Show me the art, kid.”
23
dax
HavingClementine in my space was a mistake.
A colossal one.
Hours later, her coconut aroma still lingers. Much as I want to be lying in bed, being surrounded by the memories of our time together isn’t conducive to sleep. Also, she hasn’t texted to make sure she’s safely home. I’m trying to have patience and not be the one who texts first, but I’m crawling out of my skin.
Finally, when I almost can’t stand it any longer, she messages.
Home safe. In bed. Almost gave away our sexcapades to Willa. Though even if I had told her I was having hot sex, I wouldn’t have given up with who
I think I could have kept your identity a mystery
Probably for the best no one knows
Admit it. You’re ashamed of me
I reread her message several times, scratching my head, wondering if she’s being sarcastic. Much as texting serves its purpose, in times like these, I hate how there aren’t any contextual clues or tone of voice to help me determine if she’s serious.
My phone rings in my hand, her name lit up like a neon sign. “I’m not serious,” is her greeting. “I don’t think people need to know either.”
I slump against the headboard in relief. “I’m not ashamed of you, Clementine.” Even though she was kidding, I need her to know how I feel.
“Okay, good. I wouldn’t blame you if you were. I’ve got baggage. I’m still technically married, I’ve got two kids, I’m not the most financially stable adult, and . . . yeah. For all those reasons, I wouldn’t blame you.”
“Hey, for none of those reasons. Well, except for the being married part. I don’t need anyone accusing us of having an affair or making you out to be a cheater.” Not that it’s anyone’s business but ours, but I’d set the record straight if people talked. “Are you ashamed ofme?” For different reasons, she’d have reason to be.
“I considered it, but no.”
Taken aback by her comment, I sit up straight. “What do you mean you’ve considered it?”
“Relax. I’m kidding. Honestly, as long as the boys and my ex don’t find out what I’m doing in my spare time, I don’t care who knows I’m having sex. I’m just happy to be having it.”
“Has it been that long?”
“Longer than I care to admit.”
“Is that why it was so good for you? Like an itch needing to be scratched?” As I say the words, I hate how they sound.
We agreed to casual, friends with benefits, but unless the definition of either of those has changed, it’s more than that. There’s a chemistry with Clementine I haven’t felt with other women. An electric connection, even if we’re not in the bedroom.
“Without inflating your ego, it was all because of you, Dax.”
“Ah, thank you. I can’t take all the credit. It was a combined effort.”
“That’s humble of you. Figured you’d take my comment to the bank.”
