Chapter 19
dax
I’ve never gotten so wrapped up in sex, I had to stop and rein in my feelings.
As much as Clementine seemed upset at first, once we got back to it, I more than made up for it.
Getting to experience her falling apart at my undoing was euphoric.
Magical. Miraculous. And, nothing “casual” about it.
Which presents a problem moving forward, a notion I’m shoving to the deepest parts of me.
I can’t dwell on it now, not when we’re on borrowed time.
She offers to cook eggs, and because I’m so enthralled with her and still a selfish bastard, I let her. Especially because she looks feral with her wild hair and an oversized T-shirt.
After we’ve eaten, I give her another orgasm with my tongue. As much as my cock protested it wanted in on the action, if I gave in an inch, I’m certain I wouldn’t have left her house.
Another problem to sort out at a later time.
Once I’m dressed, she meets me at the door as I’m putting my boots on.
“This was a wonderful surprise, Dax,” Clementine starts, her expression lit up like the Main Street holiday display.
“You’re welcome, Clementine.” Now that I know how she feels about her full name, I’m more tuned in to using it. “Same time tomorrow?” The words barrel out of my mouth like a bull out of the gate, and nothing can stop them.
Her expression snaps into confusion. “What?” she squeals.
With it out there, I can’t take it back. Nor do I want to. Nor do I want to overwhelm her. Her free time is limited, and I won’t be a time thief. Besides, if I’m here during work, it puts a damper on getting things done.
“Think about it and let me know. Maybe a quickie. What time do the boys leave for school?”
“Bus comes at eight-thirty.” It pleases me she answered my question, alerting me she’s not against my proposition.
“Okay, text me either way tonight. If it works out, great. If not, another time.” My cock weeps at the notion of not being inside her again. Even twenty-four hours will be too long.
“Your definition of casual is way different from mine,” she mutters.
“Allow me to rewrite yours so it matches mine.” I’m not sure the words make sense, but I don’t correct them.
She can define it however she wants as long as the result is more sex.
“Bye, Clementine. Have a great rest of your day.” I peck her cheek, forcing myself not to let my lips linger nor move two inches to the left to her mouth.
Against my wishes, I leave her standing in the doorway, making my way toward my truck. Once inside, I wave, but she stands there in shock, almost identical to how she answered the door earlier except for being thoroughly fucked.
What a way to start a Monday.
Beck and I have co-owned Frostline Auto Garage for nine years, a dream we’ve shared since we were kids.
Though Granddad died when we were little, he ignited our love of cars and trucks.
We’ve been working on restoring his old original “1964 1/2” Mustang for several years, but it’s slow going.
Mostly because we’ve run into snags trying to find original parts not costing an arm and a leg or aren’t on the other side of the country.
Also, Beck is mostly insistent on rebuilding the engine.
The man’s good with the exterior of cars, but under the hood, not so much.
I suppose I’m the same but opposite. I’d rather fix things under the hood than bang out dents and cracks on the exterior.
As the only auto repair and body shop in Winterberry Junction, cars are constantly coming and going, even without set appointments. The winter months are especially rough between the weather and the tourists.
I roll up to the garage about four hours “late” for work. Without giving away my whereabouts, I have to get creative with my excuse. Even though it made me later, I stopped at the bakery and grabbed a dozen donuts.
I enter through the repair garage bays, the familiar scent of grease and motor oil welcoming me home. Ever since I was little, I’ve felt most alive in a garage.
Assessing if anything’s different from Friday, I check out the progress of the day so far. Various cars occupy all four lifts, and I make my presence known to the other mechanics with a wave. Soon as I get settled, I’ll be back to help.
I go straight to Meredith’s desk. “Morning.” Our office manager and the one person who keeps the garage up and running, despite Beck thinking differently, peers up at me. I hold up the bag. “Donuts?”
“I hope you had the decency to bring a cranberry one.”
“Don’t take me for a fool, Mere.” I roll my eyes and place the bag on her desk.
“How was your morning?” She digs into the bag, pulling out a cranberry one and laying it down on a napkin on the side of her desk.
Fan-fucking-tastic, I don’t voice. “Good.”
Meredith quirks a brow. “I’m gonna need more than ‘good’ after covering your ass for being late this morning.”
“You ain’t getting it. But thanks for covering for me. I’ll stay later to get stuff done.” It’s not like there’s anything on my agenda after work.
Clementine’s face pops into my head, but before it can take hold, I shoo it away. I’m distracted enough by her. I can’t let her infiltrate the workplace.
“Also, don’t forget who pays your salary.” It’s a low blow, since if she quit, we’d be lost without her, and she freaking knows it, though a reminder every once in a while is good. Plus, Beck would never let me live it down if she quit. He’d take that grudge to his grave.
“Oh, look. The prodigal son has entered the chat.” My brother walks out of our office, which connects the two sides of the building, and leans up against the doorjamb. He’s got his coveralls hanging open at his waist. “Where’ve you been?”
“Busy.”
His eyes narrow in my direction. “Busy? On a Monday morning during working hours? Doing what?”
I should have been more prepared for his inquisition. Why did I think I’d get away with coming up with a flimsy excuse?
“When it concerns you, I’ll let you know where I was.” Which will never be his concern.
“Right. It doesn’t concern me. It’s not like we work together or anything.”
I’m trying not to let the fact I skipped out on work cloud the memory of this morning and ruin the high I’m on.
“Better get to it, considering I’ve got extra to do now and all.
” I stride out the way I entered a few minutes ago, Beck hot on my heels.
“I’m not going to tell you where I was, so don’t bother pushing the issue.
” Except if roles were reversed, I’d ride his ass so hard.
The best of friends, the worst of enemies, we are.
“What was so important it couldn’t have waited until after working hours? Or hell, gotten done yesterday?”
“This morning was the only time I could take care of what I needed to do. It won’t happen again.” Probably a lie, considering I told Clementine I’d be back tomorrow for more. There’s a chance she won’t take me up on the offer, a fact that’s sobering and sad.
“Was it town-related?”
“Yep,” I lie, latching onto the idea so hard, I wonder why I didn’t think of it myself. One reason: Clementine Powell coming on my cock. “Had to run to the craft store to place an order for the breakfast.”
The fib will get Beck off my back for now, but guess I’ll be taking a trip to the craft store soon for holiday breakfast “supplies.” Wonder if Clementine ever picked up the materials for my sweater. I make a mental note to text her when I’m alone.
“Oh, okay. It’s probably better to go when it’s not super busy. I would have taken the ride with you.”
I hate lying to him, especially because he sounds so sincere.
I turn toward him. “Not sure it’s wise for both of us to be gone from the garage at the same time, though I appreciate the offer."
“True. Maybe when you go pick up the stuff, I’ll go with you. We can schedule it after work or something.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll let you know when the order needs to be picked up.” Once I actually place it.
Beck doesn’t leave, and I have to tamp down the anxiety creeping in about being dishonest.
“Did you get your hair cut? There’s something different about it today.”
Clementine’s fingers styled it.
“No cut. Different shampoo. Guess it makes a difference.” I shrug, the untruths rolling off my tongue at record speed. I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “I’d better get to work. The oil won’t change itself.”
Beck chuckles. “Nope, it certainly won’t.” He runs a hand through his locks. “I have to take off early tonight. Like at three.”
I so want to ask why he needs to leave early, but I refrain. If he doesn’t want to tell me where he’s going, it’s his prerogative. I don’t need to know every detail of his whereabouts.
“Cool. I’ll be here late to finish a few things that didn’t get done this morning.”
“Sounds good. See you for lunch.” He exits to his side of the garage, and I exhale the stored breath.
We don’t tell each other everything, but I’ve never blatantly lied to him before about where I was.
Mostly because I’ve never been in a situation of having to cover up my whereabouts.
Before this morning, I never considered skipping out on work to have sex.
It’s probably for the best, especially because if every dalliance had been like this morning’s, I’d be out of a job, even if I am co-owner.
Before I change into my coveralls, I shoot Clementine a text.
Did you get to the craft store yet? If not, I need to go with you. I’ll explain when I see you next. Possibly tomorrow morning?
I don’t expect her to respond immediately, but my heart kicks up at seeing the bubbles, and I wait with bated breath for her response.
It’s on my agenda for tomorrow afternoon before the kids get home from school. Does that work with your schedule?
No, not even a little. There’s no way I can beg off work tomorrow afternoon after being late today.
It’s probably not since you have a job requiring you to be at work during certain hours, but I don’t want to drag the boys there
If I pay Shania to watch them, could we go after work?
I cringe when I reread the text after sending. I consider deleting it, but no doubt she’s already read it.
I shouldn’t do this. I can’t force my agenda on her and throw money at the situation. Maybe she wants to spend time with the boys after school, or maybe she doesn’t want them to be left with a babysitter when she can easily go when they’re in school.
Let me see if she’s available
I read the text three times to understand the meaning.
She’s going along with my crazy plan?
I can’t get ahead of myself, but damn if even the possibility of seeing her tomorrow night, driving to the craft store, shopping for what we need, and driving home doesn’t make me merry.
Shania says sure. What time should I have her come over?
My fingers trip over the letters trying to hastily type out a reply.
I’m done at five-thirty, so six? I’ll need time to take a shower, clean the grease from my hands
Any chance we can move the quickie to tomorrow evening, say around six at your place before our errand?
If I were drinking anything, I would have spit it out as her comment processes.
Absolutely. Check the hours for the craft store to ensure we have time to get there. It’s about a twenty minute drive. Or if we’ll have to go there first and canoodle after
“Canoodle” is unexpected but I’ll allow it since I know how good you are at canoodling
I’m not so good with words but I’m good with the sex
You are good with “the sex.” Better than I imagined. Not even going to let my mind drift why . . .
Same. Because we don’t need to get into my dating—or lack thereof—and sexual history. Not over texting and not in person either. Let that remain a mystery between us.
Much as I like where this conversation is going, I’ve put myself in a position of being hard at work and I’m already behind with the day’s tasks. We can pick it back up at a later time
Same about getting work done and being turned on. Though I’m in a position to take care of myself . . .
I type out the words “Don’t you dare,” but I delete them before my trigger finger can hit the “send” button. I’m not the guy to tell any woman what they can and can’t do for themselves. If she’s able to pleasure herself, it’s not my place to stop her.
Enjoy. Hope it’s as good as this morning
I may not discourage her, but I’m still a selfish bastard.
I silence my phone and put it in my pocket. I have work to do.