Chapter 7
Seven
Reggie
“This is going to be the best dance ever,” Annalise announces, practically bouncing in her chair. “I’m going to wear a purple dress with sparkles, and Blayne’s going to wear a fancy suit, and we’re going to dance to all the pretty songs.”
“Sounds perfect,” Blayne replies, and I can see him trying to process what he just agreed to.
I’m trying to process it too. This man, this gorgeous, intimidating man who’s been carefully avoiding me for years, just volunteered to take my daughter to her school dance.
My relief is overwhelming, but under it there’s something else.
Something that has nothing to do with Annalise and everything to do with the way he looked at me when he said yes.
“When do you want to do the measuring?” I ask, proud that my voice sounds steady.
“Whenever works for you.”
“How about tomorrow after school?” I suggest. “Maybe four-thirty?” At least the kids will be home. We won’t be alone…
“Four-thirty works.”
We’re being so polite, so careful, but there’s an electricity between us that has nothing to do with the dance and everything to do with the fact that we’ll be in a room together, with me putting my hands on him.
“I should probably get your number,” I blurt out, then immediately feel my cheeks warm. “You know, in case something comes up. With the fitting.”
“Right. The fitting.”
He pulls out his phone, and I do the same. His fingers brush mine when he hands it back after entering his number, and the brief contact sends heat up my arm.
“I saved it under ‘Blayne,’” he says, and there’s the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “And I know where you live.”
The way he says it makes my stomach flutter. Like he’s been thinking about where I live, maybe thinking about coming over for late-night visits.
“Right. Well. Four-thirty tomorrow, then.”
“Four-thirty.”
We’re both just standing there now, the rest of the family continuing their conversation around us while we stare like we’re trying to memorize each other’s faces.
“I should go,” he says finally. “Early morning tomorrow.”
“Of course.”
“Thanks for dinner, Sarah,” he calls out. “Mel.”
“Anytime, son,” Daddy says. “You know you’re always welcome.”
“Bye, Blayne!” Annalise waves from her chair. “Don’t forget about our dance!”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies with a smile, and the gentleness in his voice when he talks to her does something dangerous to my heart.
I walk him to the door, very aware of Mama’s interested gaze following us.
“Thank you,” I say quietly when we reach the porch. “For saying yes. You didn’t have to do that.”
“She’s a good kid,” he says. “Deserves to go to her dance.”
“Still. It means a lot. To both of us.”
We’re standing close now, close enough that I can smell his scent, close enough to see the flecks of darker blue in his pale eyes. Close enough that if I just leaned forward a little…
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, his voice rougher than usual.
“Tomorrow.”
He heads down the porch steps to his truck, and I watch him go, admiring the way his jeans hug his magnificent ass, the confidence in his stride. When he reaches the truck, Blayne turns back, and I realize I’ve been standing there staring at him like a teenager with a crush.
“Four-thirty,” he calls out.
“Four-thirty,” I confirm, and he nods one last time before climbing in his car.
I stay on the porch until his taillights disappear down the road.
An hour later, we’re packed into my SUV heading home.
“So, Blayne’s really going to take you to the dance?” Nia asks from the backseat.
“Yes!” Annalise practically shouts. “And we’re going to dance to all the songs, and I’m going to wear sparkles!”
“It’s weird,” Nia says bluntly. “Like, why would he want to do that?”
“Because he’s nice,” Annalise says with the confidence of a six-year-old.
“Nobody’s that nice,” Nia mutters.
“Maybe he likes Mom,” Jaylen mumbles from the passenger seat, and I nearly swerve off the road.
“What?”
“I’m just saying. Dude was looking at you all night like you were dessert or something.”
“Jaylen!”
“What? I’m fifteen, not blind.”
“That’s disgusting,” Nia says. “Don’t talk about Mom like that.”
“I wasn’t being gross about it. I’m just saying maybe he likes her. And maybe that’s why he said yes to the dance thing.”
My cheeks are burning, but I try to keep my voice casual. “Blayne was just being kind. That’s the kind of man he is.”
“If you say so,” Jaylen replies, but there’s doubt in his voice.
The rest of the drive home is thankfully quiet, but I can’t stop thinking about what Jaylen said. About the way Blayne looked at me tonight. About tomorrow afternoon and getting my hands on his body…
Getting the kids ready for bed takes forever. Annalise is too excited about the dance to settle down, Nia wants to discuss every detail of starting at a new school tomorrow, and Jaylen keeps asking if we have the right kind of notebooks for his classes.
“Annalise, go brush your teeth,” I repeat for the third time. “Nia, pick out your clothes for tomorrow. Jaylen, yes, you have the right notebooks.”
“But what if…”
“Honey, you have the right notebooks,” I repeat firmly. “And if you don’t, we’ll figure it out.”
By the time I finally get Annalise tucked in, after reading three stories and promising that yes, she can tell her new teacher about the father-daughter dance, it’s after nine o’clock.
Nia’s already in bed with a book, and Jaylen’s in his room with his headphones on, probably texting with his friends back in San Francisco.
Finally, finally, I have the house to myself.
I make myself a cup of tea and sink into the couch, trying to process everything that happened tonight. Blayne agreed to take Annalise to the dance. Blayne, who’s been avoiding me for years, voluntarily signed up to spend an evening with my daughter. And tomorrow, I get to measure him for a suit.
The thought sends heat spiraling through me. His broad shoulders, his strong arms, the way he looked at me when I mentioned the fitting. Like he was thinking about my hands on him just as much as I was.
I take a long sip of tea and let myself imagine it. Standing close enough to feel his body heat, running the tape around his chest, his waist. Maybe letting my fingers linger a little longer than necessary. Maybe looking up to find him watching me with those pale blue eyes…
By the time I head to bed, I’m wound tight with anticipation and something that feels dangerously close to horniness.
I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, but I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me earlier. How his presence seemed to fill the entire room. How his voice got rough when he agreed to let me take his measurements.
My skin feels too tight, too warm. I kick off the covers and try to focus on something else, anything else, but my mind keeps drifting back to him.
Those big, callused hands that were so gentle with my sewing machine.
I wonder what they’d feel like on my body, wonder if they’d be gentle with me too, or if all that restraint I see in him would finally snap.
I close my eyes and let myself imagine it. His hands skimming over my shoulders, down my arms. His mouth on my neck, my collarbone. The weight of him pressing me down into the mattress.
Before I realize what I’m doing, my hand is sliding down my stomach, slipping under the waistband of my sleep shorts. I’m already wet, already aching, and when I touch myself, I bite my lip to keep from making any sound that might wake the kids.
I think about tomorrow, about running my hands over his chest, feeling the solid muscle under the fabric. About standing close enough to count his eyelashes, close enough that if he wanted to…
The thought of kissing him, of finding out if his mouth is as delicious as it looks, sends a wave of pleasure shooting through me. I imagine his hands pulling me against him until there’s no space left between us. Making me feel how hard he is for me.
My breathing grows faster as I work myself, running my middle finger through my slit, gathering my wetness from my pussy entrance, all the way up to my clit, and rolling, pressing.
Pinching my nipples alternately. Chasing the release that’s been building all evening.
I picture Blayne’s face, the way he looked at me across the dinner table, the way his voice went rough when he said my name.
When I come, it’s with his name on my lips, whispered so quietly I can barely hear it myself. My fingers stuffed deep inside my wet, swollen heat.
Afterward, I lie there feeling wrecked and more than a little embarrassed. It’s been years since I’ve made myself come thinking about anyone, and the fact that it was Blayne should probably worry me more than it does.
But as I drift off to sleep, all I can think about is tomorrow afternoon and the excuse I’ll have to be all over his sexy body.
* * *
“Mom! I can’t find my backpack!” Nia’s voice carries from her bedroom at exactly seven AM, officially ending any hope I had of a peaceful morning.
“Did you check the living room?” I call back, pulling on my robe and padding to the kitchen to start coffee. First day of school. How did I forget it was the first day of school? Oh yeah, I was too busy masturbating to my fantasies about a certain cowboy. Mother of the year…
“Found it!” she calls back, then immediately: “But I can’t find my schedule!”
“Kitchen table,” I say, because I printed out all three schedules last night and organized them in a neat little pile like the responsible mother I’m pretending to be.
Annalise appears in the kitchen doorway in her new school uniform, plaid skirt, white blouse, navy cardigan, looking like a tiny professional.
“Do I look okay, Mama?”
“You look perfect, baby girl.” And she does. Her hair is in neat braids courtesy of last night’s preparation, and her backpack is almost as big as she is. I smile, smoothing her hair.