Chapter 20 Presley
PRESLEY
Things I don’t have time for today—pretty much everything.
Yes, everything.
My morning was jam-packed with meetings, my inbox is overflowing, I have a to-do list longer than I am tall, and the clock is ticking.
Oh, and my ass needs to be out the door absolutely no later than three fifteen this afternoon to pick up Otis and get him to his doctor’s appointment.
It’s his first one with Doc Galindo—Hickory Hills’ town GP—and I want to make sure we’re there in enough time.
Oh, shit…the paperwork…
Doc Galindo’s office manager emailed me the new patient paperwork to fill out ahead of time, so that we can get started faster once we arrive.
I was so grateful, knowing that it was going to be tricky to fill it all out while making sure my little guy behaved himself in the waiting room.
The last thing I need is for him to do a runner and end up crashing someone else’s appointment or worse, making a mess with medical supplies, all because he was bored while I took care of paperwork.
I need to get that done before I leave today. I can’t believe I almost forgot that.
Wait, yes I can. Because my mind has been one place, and one place only all week.
Reliving my sleepover with Jace.
Relaxing back in my chair, I let myself indulge for just a second. A romantic purple haze clouds my mind, tinting my memories and making me smile involuntarily. It’s impossible not to when I think about how insanely perfect it all was.
His words. His actions. His reverence.
All for me.
Saturday night easily blended into Sunday morning, Jace navigating my house as if it was his own and this was any other night that we had all to ourselves. Waking up in his arms—to his kisses—was a daydream come to life. One that I want to experience all the time.
One that I know is too good to be true.
Because that’s how things started with Cody too. Then quickly changed.
Well, maybe not quickly. But over time. Not that Cody was ever much of a cuddler. Long, lazy Sunday mornings in bed kissing and giggling weren’t his style. They are very clearly Jace’s though.
Jace also isn’t as serious as Cody. He’s a lot more willing to let things slide.
Cody would lose his shit if he caught sight of that living room Saturday night.
He would have had all sorts of choice things to say about it.
Jace, on the other hand, didn’t think twice—simply picked me up and navigated his way around the land mines.
Then again, there was never a toddler living in our house while I was with Cody. Jace doesn’t know me without my shadow. Errr…well, adult me.
Stop. I need to stop comparing them. It’s not fair…
Fair…ha. Life’s not fair. I know this all too well. That was the line I fed Jace in high school when he complained that the administration accepted my weighted grades. But all my preconceived notions about Jace were wrong and—
STOP!
I need to think about something else.
They’ll change with Jace too. I know they will. Because that’s how it works.
Like my to-do list. And its panic-inducing length.
My living room is still a disaster zone—climbing the ranks toward requiring actual OSHA intervention—three days later.
We’re not even going to talk about how the dishwasher still needs to be emptied, the state of the bathrooms, or Mount St. Laundry that is about to erupt at any moment.
Or that it’s Old Mother Hubbard’s Cupboard in my kitchen, forcing me to have to buy my lunch in the cafeteria today. And that’s just the house.
Never mind my inbox or all the items I have promised to the various departments at Hayes. At the rate I’m going, I’m never going to sleep again. I’ll be the one making social media videos round the clock until she morphs into a zombie.
I’m really excelling at all levels right now.
I haven’t felt this overwhelmed and useless in a long time.
Not since…not since that night. Not since I saw a mess of brown curls that looked a lot like the ones that belonged to the sales girl from Ferg’s Furniture handcuffed to my headboard.
The very same headboard she’d helped Cody and me pick out not six months prior.
Not since Cody looked at me and told me he never asked me to get pregnant. Since he callously threw out that he couldn’t even be sure the baby was his.
But that’s the past. It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s not a part of our lives. We’ve started over here in Hickory Hills.
Except that hurt still lingers. Still makes me worry. Because I’ve invited someone new into my life. Our life. Otis’s life. And Otis thinks Jace walks on water.
Which, he kind of does. He’s cute, and funny, and thoughtful.
The two of them laugh and carry on like the best of friends.
Jace even pointed out Silver Lake to Otis on the way home from my parents’ on Sunday, telling him that they’d have a “man date” and go fishing there this spring.
Otis has been “practicing” with Socks ever since.
Add in that he’s smart, successful, and can kiss like no one I’ve ever met…
And what do I bring to the table? Nothing. Stretch marks, a dirty house, and enough baggage to fill a U-Haul. Not someone that any man should want.
All aboard the hot mess express, y’all…
That is, until he wants off the ride.
No, we’re not going there either. I don’t think he’d hurt us on purpose, but that doesn’t mean it won’t still happen. Because things happen. That’s how it works. Otis is too young to understand that. He’d be devastated.
My phone buzzes against the lunch table, startling me and jolting me back into the moment. Reminding me that I need to stop thinking about Jace. Stop my one-woman pity party. Get to finishing this sandwich so I can try to make a dent in my emails before I leave.
Oh, and fill out Otis’s paperwork.
“It doesn't count toward your body count if you didn't finish,” Margeaux says, so definitively it sounds like she’s reading a statute out of one of her law books.
I look toward her, not sure I heard her correctly. But Sawyer’s on it.
“I don’t think that’s right.”
“Sure it is.” Margeaux shrugs one shoulder. “Why should it count if it was incomplete?”
“Well, when you put it like that.”
I shake my head, still trying to make heads or tails of this conversation, and the nonchalance with which these two are discussing such a topic. Then again, as a lawyer and a PhD, I suppose I shouldn’t be all that surprised.
“Right, Presley?” Margeaux looks to me for confirmation.
Errrr….ummmm….
I pause, my mind whirring like my mama’s salad spinner after a good day at the farmers’ market. Part of me doesn’t disagree—after all, she makes a strong argument. However, following her logic, my count is then…one.
Jace.
No, that can't be right. I was with Cody for eight years. We have a child together. I had to have finished at some point with him. At least once. Right? Right. Except, I can't remember any. Not once. But there is no way I went eight years without an orgasm.
Nope, no way. I know I didn’t. It’s just that none of them are particularly memorable.
Not bad—I mean, is there even such a thing as a bad orgasm?
So what if I couldn’t feel them all the way into my extremities leaving me as useful as a limp noodle, or still experiencing aftershocks days later simply by thinking about them like Jace delivered on Saturday.
Fuck, I’m a goner…
There I go comparing them again. I need to stop. This isn’t a competition. If it were, Jace would be winning, but that means nothing. Nothing.
My phone buzzes again, derailing the train of thought. Something that is probably for the best. The last thing I need to be thinking about is Jace. Even if he did give me multiple, mind-wiping orgasms. Ones that are only more proof that I need to put space between us.
I’m in too deep as it is. And this time, it’s not only my heart on the line when he decides he’s done playing house. It’s Otis’s as well. And that’s where I draw the line. I need to protect him.
I need to bow out now.
I need to guard my own heart too. But that’s been broken before.
I’ve pieced it back together more than once in this life; I can do it again.
My little boy doesn’t need to know that pain quite yet.
It’s going to hit sooner than I would like as it is.
As soon as he starts to ask about his dad, and I have to choose between lying to him or hurting him with the truth.
Panic fills my chest, my lungs tightening at the thought. It’s all too much to handle. Doesn’t matter how badly I want it—want him. I can’t go down that road. Can’t open us up to that hurt.
Can’t spend my days waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’d rather spend my nights fantasizing about the man rather than worrying about when he’s going to change his mind.
“Sure?” I answer the girls, choking out the word and turning my attention to my phone. I’m sure it’s nothing—just another email notification—but if it saves me not only my own thoughts, but from having to contribute to this conversation, then I’ll take it.
Jace
Hey Mama, dinner tonight? ;)
My heart squeezes, hearing his deep and sultry voice whisper Mama in my ear as my eyes scan over the four little letters. Fuck me…why is that so sexy? Anyone else says it and it’s borderline creepy. But Jace? Ooooof.
Forget a Klondike bar—what would I do to hear him call me that?
Anything. The answer is pretty much anything.
Add that to the reason to distance myself column.
Can’t. O has a Dr. appt this afternoon, then I need to hit the grocery, and then it’s straight home to clean and work
Three dancing dots appear almost instantly, making the butterflies in my tummy come alive. Butterflies in my tummy—goodness, you’d think I was back in high school waiting for him to walk by in hopes he says hi. I am in so deep.
That can wait. Other than Little Man’s Dr. appt