Chapter 16 Clem
clem
Just another shared meal with Dax Nicholas.
No biggie.
“Dax likes burgers.” Of course, Atlas wormed the information out of Dax. It’s what he does best lately, especially with the man I shouldn’t be thinking about.
The man who invades my dreams, and my waking hours, too.
A man who could destroy me if I let him.
Which I can’t. Because it’s not about me anymore. It’s about being there for my boys, meeting their basic needs, providing a life they deserve.
I can’t let thoughts of Dax derail this new life I’m forging here in Winterberry Junction. I have to stand on my own two feet.
I’m thinking these thoughts as if Dax would even be into me. Like he’d give me the time of day. As if he’d be a man I could count on.
Sure, he’s been so good to us the past few weeks, but bringing some meals, babysitting for a few hours, helping with a few chores around the house doesn’t make—
I cut the thinking off. As far as the experiences I’ve had with men—okay, Keith might be one of only two—he’s gone above and beyond.
He’s spent more time interacting with my kids than their father has in all of Jace’s life.
Sure, that’s a gross exaggeration, but he’s been there for them.
He’s made them smile, made sure they were fed with foods they like, heck, even bought them ornaments for our tree.
And now he’s back at our house again, curled up on the couch, one kid on each side of him, and the image is wreaking havoc on every part of me.
This is what a Sunday afternoon should be like. This is what the boys are missing out on.
Nope. I can’t beat myself up. They’re healthy, they’re loved, they’re thriving. What more can I ask for?
In the middle of my mental freak-out, Dax enters the kitchen, taking a seat at the table where I’m finishing prepping the burgers.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yep,” I answer quickly. Too quickly, with the way his brow raises. “Yes.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
His question has my gaze leveling him.
Do I want him to leave? No, and therein lies the problem.
“What makes you ask that?” I try to keep my tone steady, but I’m not sure how successful I am.
“You seem upset. Trying to puzzle out in my mind what’s causing it, and all I can come up with is me intruding on your lunch.” His voice is so candid, his words so heartfelt, my fingers pause in the meat mixture. His caramel gaze is watchful, assessing my every action.
“It’s not you.” Again with the brow raise. “It’s not.” I’m not sure how to explain this to him when I can’t put it into words myself. “It’s just, what’s your endgame here? Why are you doing all these nice things for the boys? For us? For me?”
His fingers tousle his hair, and I have to tamp down the urge to add mine to the mix. Instead, I continue combining the ingredients for the burgers.
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.”
“I bet you could,” I mutter, finishing mixing the meat. I scrape the pieces from my fingers, though I still have to make patties.
I get up from the table—away from his heady stare and smug grin—and finish making the patties standing at the counter in a tense silence. I make six, though Jace won’t eat an entire burger, so there will be leftovers.
“Clementine.”
At my name, I spin my head toward him, my eyes colliding with his chest. Why is he standing so close and in my personal space? “What? It’s not like I meant it,” I backpedal.
“You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t.”
“Maybe I wanted to get a rise out of you, see how you’d react.” I don’t let my eyes train down to his area where a “rise” would be.
“And did I pass the test?” he provokes.
My brain’s already foggy, and now he’s too close to think clearly. I can’t come up with a comeback.
“Maybe think about it and get back to me if you want to take me up on the offer. I’m game.” He ignores the fact I didn’t answer his question, instead telling me he’s game. For giving me an orgasm. Like I asked him to pour me a glass of wine and not get me off.
“Sure. I’ll do that.”
He steps closer, crowding me in my space. As if I need him nearer to me. “I can’t wait to find out if your pussy blushes like your cheeks. Maybe don’t make me wait too long, Picassa.”
Heat infuses every ounce of me at what he insinuates and the sexy way he delivers it. I only have myself to blame. I started this. He was an innocent bystander, offering to help with the boys. I’m the one who made it sexual.
“I’m not sure it would be a good idea.” My words rush out in a lie. While it might be a good idea on one hand, it would be the worst idea on the other. Another colossal mistake to add to my list.
“I think you’re wrong, but there’s only one way to find out.”
“Mama,” Jace calls out, causing Dax to step away, giving me the space to catch my breath and slow the pounding of my heart. I’ve all but abandoned the task of making burgers, too caught up in this hunky man who wants to take care of me.
In and out of the bedroom.
“What’s up, Jacey?” My voice still sounds affected, but Jace won’t pick up on it. He’s leaned over the edge of the couch, watching me.
“I love you.” His words melt my heart, how he took a break from his show to tell me.
“Love you, Jace.” The words roll off my tongue like they always do—full of care and affection.
Jace smiles widely, as if I told him a secret instead of returning his sentiment. “Are the burgers ready?”
“Nope, gotta cook ‘em first.”
“Can we have fries, too?”
“If we have some in the freezer.”
“I’ll check.” Dax walks over to the refrigerator and opens the freezer, digging through the food in there, producing a bag of frozen fries. “Will these do?” His question is commonplace, as if this is something we do regularly. For the nth time, I’m hit with the contradiction between him and my ex.
“Ye-yep,” I stammer.
His smile matches Jace’s. “You got a cookie sheet? Pretty sure I can handle cooking frozen fries.”
I stare at him, incredulous. Not so much because it’s a hard task but because of how nonchalantly he suggests it. I don’t trust my voice, so I gesture to where he can find a sheet. As if I weren’t out of sorts already, now I’m completely befuddled.
Why do I get the sense I’m in no way prepared for Dax Nicholas in any capacity?
Somehow I make it through the cooking and eating of lunch pretty unscathed. With the boys in the room, Dax backs off. I’m—mostly—thankful for the reprieve. The only reason I’m not is because a part of me wants to take him up on his offer.
If only to remind myself what it’s like to get off by someone else. Ironically, the one thing Keith was good at was bringing me to climax. But it’s been a few years. Maybe even soon after Jace was born, and I won’t lie and say I miss sex.
It was easy to stay focused on the boys as infants and toddlers rather than my sexual pleasure, but now that they don’t need me twenty-four/seven, this mama could use a little loving. Self-pleasure only goes so far.
I catch myself from going deeper down this rabbit hole with my children at the table. Instead, I tune in to the conversation.
“When can we go sledding?” Atlas wonders, though I’m uncertain whether he’s asking me or Dax.
“First, we need more snow, but as soon as it does, we’ll make it happen. There’s a fun sledding hill in town if you want to go with your friends, but if you want the best place to go, stick with me.”
“Can’t we do both?” Atlas shrugs, angling for it and working his magic on Dax. After what he proposed earlier about helping with the boys, I’ll permit it.
Dax leans across the table, crooking a finger for the boys to join him. “Of course. It’s the best of both worlds.” He makes a big show of keeping his voice quiet for the boys, but they’re so invested, they don’t realize I overhear. “You’ve got snow pants, right?”
Both of my children’s gazes swing my way. “Nope, but I can order them, and they’ll be here in a few days.”
“You should do it now, so you don’t forget,” Atlas advises, ever the helpful son.
“No phones at the table. As soon as we’re done with lunch, I’ll do it.”
The boys have an inaudible conversation with each other, and the next thing I know, they’re pushing from the table and clearing the plates and other dishes. They’re getting better about loading the dishwasher carefully and will leave anything that can’t go in for me to wash.
While they’re busy with the task, I lean in to Dax. “What are the odds it won’t snow before Christmas? I have it on good authority Santa is bringing them.”
“If ‘Santa’ doesn’t need credit for them, I’d say you want to bust them out before the holiday. In case. You don’t want sad kids on your conscience, do you?”
“Please. Like it’s stopped me before.”
Except this is different. I take his words to heart. I don’t need to wait until Christmas for them to be a gift, and at least I won’t have to figure out another gift since they’re both getting them. As long as I can get them to pick out the ones I already have in the closet.
“Should I supervise over there?” Dax motions to the boys in the kitchen.
“They’re pretty good. They know their limitations.”
“You’re a great mom, Clementine.”
His compliment is sincere. And even though he’s referring to how I get them to do chores, it lights me up. “Thanks. Despite everything, I’d like to think it’s the one thing I’m best at.”