Page 97 of The Art of Being Merry
“I’ll chat with Dax and text you.” The call ends without giving Willa a chance to respond. “Well, that’s kinda eerie. What are your thoughts?”
“Selfishly, I want the rest of my six hours with you. But if we say no and go to the same restaurant, it’ll be odd.”
“And if we go with them, I’m not sure if I can keep whatever this is between us a secret. She can suss out my lies like a dog trained to sniff for drugs.”
I can’t help laughing at her analogy. Since she gave me an opening, I ask, “Are we keeping this a secret?” A part of me is nervous for her answer. I’ll follow her lead, but I don’t want to sneak around if we don’t have to. Maybe it’s my pride and wanting the world to know she belongs to me.
“I don’t want people to think you’re my rebound.” She gasps, turning to face me. I got so distracted by the phone call, we haven’t left for the restaurant yet. “Have I given you the impression you’re a rebound?”
“Hadn’t crossed my mind.” Mostly because when I first offered to give her an orgasm, I hadn’t planned on getting here. I hadn’t thought much past one time or casual, since that’s all I knew. When she was open to giving me a chance to be something more, my mind didn’t venture into “rebound” territory. It was too focused on figuring out exactly what this was. “Are you looking for a rebound?”
“Hardly. I wasn’t looking for any kind of relationship or even sex until you showed up at my door on Monday morning. Which, for the record, I’m not upset about at all. I needed that first orgasm like a painter needs paint. And the ones after it, too. And any future ones you want to give me.”
She’s spiraling, so I lay a gentle hand on her knee, kneading with my thumb. “I don’t think we have to worry about people thinking I’m your rebound.” They’ll be too busy lecturing me about not messing it up, I don’t voice aloud.
I hope they don’t judge her for giving me a chance. Because in their minds, I’m not relationship material, and they won’t be able to figure out what she sees in me. What makes me think I’d be a suitable partner for her? Why would I want to settle down with someone who has kids when I’ve made it clear my entire adult life I’m allergic to relationships?
What kind of position am I putting her in by being with her?
A shitty one, that’s what.
And now I’m spiraling. My pulse quickens.
What the fuck am I doing? Who the fuck do I think I am believing I can be the man she needs? To give her a life she and her kids deserve?
My skin crawls at the thought of not pursuing more with her. The thought of walking away right now, going back to being friends, or less than even, is harrowing.
But can I man up?
“Dax?” My name from her mouth breaks the trance I’m in.
“Yeah?”
“Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.”
“Fine,” I lie, wishing this weighty feeling sitting on my chest would pass quickly.
“We don’t have to go out for dinner. By ourselves or with Willa and Beckett. We can order in or you could go . . .”
My head twists to take her in. “Is that what you want?”
“Not even a little.”
“They’re going to think I’m not good enough for you.” The words blast from my mouth like a cannon. I couldn’t hold them back if I tried.
“Who’s they?”
“My family. I don’t, uh, have the best track record with women or relationships. Hell, I may have used the words ‘allergic to commitment’ more than a few times.” Probably a hundred times at a minimum. Or some variation of it. “I don’t know if I can riskthem thinking poorly of you for thinking you could be the one to change me.”
“I don’t think that. I’m also an adult who can make her own decisions for her life. What’s it to them if I want to try and make it work with you?” She sounds somewhat offended, and my ego puffs.
“They’ll be looking out for your best interest. Becks, mostly. I’d imagine Willa, too. It’s not only you you need to think about.” How many times has she pointed this out to me?
“Be good to me and to my boys, that’s all I can ask. I don’t even know what I’m looking for, and yet you’re willing to put aside the fact I’m still married and see where this can go. Relationships don’t always work out, but that doesn’t mean if it comes to that, the end has to be horrible. Long as my sister is married to your brother, you’re always going to be a part of my life. If we, as two consenting adults, decide to pursue something more than friendship, I don’t see how it’s anyone’s business but ours.”
Fuck, she’s a force to be reckoned with. As much as I want to shut off the engine and make her scream my name, that’s not what we need.
With infused courage, I say, “Text Willa we’re in. And be prepared to walk into the restaurant holding my hand.” I don’t give her a chance to respond or refute my direction.
