Chapter 25 Dax
dax
Clementine leaves the room as if her ass is on fire. Sure, the boys need her, but the way she bolted leads me to believe she needed off the runaway train the conversation was taking.
And I can’t blame her.
What am I even saying? Telling her I want “impossible things” with her. I can’t be certain of what other words spilled out of my mouth after that. My head’s a mess, and I’ve probably made things a thousand times worse.
She’s hinted I should leave, but I don’t want to fucking leave. As much as we can’t do anything besides have a friendly conversation, I want to be around her. A personal form of torture, if only to prove to myself I can be friends with her without stripping her naked.
I shouldn’t even be thinking of her naked, yet I can’t help myself. She brings out a side of me I’ve never met. I can’t say I hate him completely, but when he shows up at inopportune times, like right now, he needs to take a hike. Straight off a cliff.
Slumping against the corner of the couch, I run a hand through my hair.
I should go. Not to sneak out, but once I say goodbye to her and the kids, I should leave. Let her deal with bedtime and whatever she does after they’re asleep.
I should not stay, even under the guise of seeing the progress of my sweater. It’s a flimsy excuse, but the only one I have.
Clementine’s magnetic, and being in her orbit is something I can’t seem to get enough of. Much to her chagrin, no doubt.
Yet, she’s the one who invited me for dinner. This time, it wasn’t me intruding on their schedule and routine. She asked me to come over. I can’t read into it too much. It was probably a friendly invite, nothing to get all deep and introspective about.
If only Beck could hear my inner dialogue. He’d have a field day.
“Dax, you’re still here.” Jace’s comment pulls me out of my head. I sit up. He’s wearing red and white striped pajamas. “Mama’s gonna read a book. Come read with us.” His hand hovers in the air, waiting for my response. And fuck it, but I can’t deny him this thing.
Because I barely say no to anything these two ask. Holding up my end of the whole “surrogate uncle” thing, if I’m keeping myself accountable.
I fit my hand into his and let him lead me into their bedroom. The room isn’t huge, but the space is maximized well. I wonder if there are any other visual and spatial talents Clementine has I’m not yet aware of. I’d like to find out.
The twin-over-full bunk beds are pushed against the wall without a window.
Dark curtains cover the two windows on each of the exterior walls.
The wall color is sage green with white trim.
Colorful paintings hang on the walls, a hodgepodge of various items—animals, Marvel characters, a map of Vermont, Legos, and various sports balls.
“Did Mama paint all those?” I point to a frame.
“Yep.”
“Which one’s your favorite?” My eyes try to take in the details of all of them, but there are quite a few.
“Captain ‘Merica.”
Dropping Jace’s hand, I step closer to it, absorbing the colors, the brushstrokes, the likeness of the character. It’s amazing.
“Oh. Didn’t realize you were in here.”
I turn on my heel at Clementine’s voice, surprise etched on her face. “Jace invited me for story time.” If she asked me to leave, I would, but I won’t be the one to suggest it. I’ll leave it in her court.
“Um, great. We’re reading Frindle. Atlas can fill you in on what’s happening.”
For five minutes, Atlas explains the plot of the story with intricate details, and when everyone settles on Jace’s bed, I don’t feel lost when Clementine starts reading.
Mostly because I’m not listening to the specific words but the cadence of her voice.
How it pitches higher for different characters and the varying speeds and intonations at different parts.
When she’s done, I’m lost about the plot but deeper under her spell.
Jace is already asleep, so I slip out to the living room while she says goodnight to Atlas. The closing of their door alerts me to her presence. I’m standing in the kitchen, and when she spots me, I blurt, “I should go.”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
Life comes to a screeching halt.
“I shouldn’t?” I utter. “Did I misread the hints from earlier?”
“As if you ‘misread’ them.” She puts air quotes around misread. “More like ignored.”
Her words cause something inside me to snap. I stalk over to her, thankfully quiet in my socks, stopping when she’s forced to lean back and peer up at me. What I wish I could do with her sassy mouth.
With other parts of her.
Instead, I take her hair out of the messy bun she put in before cooking, running my fingers through the strands. She melts at my touch, prompting me to continue. To see how far I can push her.
I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t be touching her, but the rules went out the window hours ago, and with them, staying within the lines of a casual relationship.
“Would you let me paint you?”
Her question is so out of the blue, so not what I’m expecting, my hand drops from her face, and it forces me to take a step back.
“Huh?”
“I have this idea, but I need a willing participant.”
“And you want me to be that willing participant?”
“I do. But we’d have to do it when no one’s home but us. And it has to be here because of the studio space. If you agree, I’ll work out the details. Maybe Willa can take the boys for a few hours or something.”
“We can send them to my parents’ house.” I don’t phrase it correctly, as evidenced by her quick intake of breath.
“Wait. Not what I meant. I mean, my parents would love to have them spend a few hours at their house. In fact, they’d love it.
Mom’s always talking about how she wishes she had more grandkids.
I think it’s supposed to be a hint for me, especially because she only seems to say it when I’m the only one around.
She doesn’t want to put pressure on Beck and Willa, but she has no qualms about letting me know her opinions.
As if I’ve given her oodles of proof kids are on my radar.
” The more I speak, the more nonsense I spew until I don’t even know what I’m saying.
“I adore kids. I’m just not certain they’re for me,” I conclude the diatribe.
How did that explanation go so awry? From having her kids go to my parents to thoughts of me being a father. Though a fondness permeates Clementine’s expression, one not previously there.
“You’re fantastic with my boys. With Shania.
With Isla. Don’t sell yourself so short.
But I also get being good with kids and having your own are two very different things.
And not every person should be a parent.
The only reason I’m glad my ex procreated is because otherwise I wouldn’t have my boys. ”
“You want more someday?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Depends on where I end up. I’m not closing the door on being done, but if I end up with someone who doesn’t want more or end up on my own, at least I have Jace and Atlas.”
I nod, choosing not to unpack any of her statements and get back to the original task at hand.
“Seriously, though. My mom would love to keep them for us.” An idea percolates, and I snap my fingers, causing her to jump.
“We could tell them you’re helping me with the decorations for the holiday breakfast, which you are, and ask if they wouldn’t mind keeping them for a few hours.
” As good as the idea is, I hadn’t considered that maybe the boys wouldn’t be comfortable spending time with my parents alone.
“Unless the boys wouldn’t want to do that.
If that’s the case, I could take half a day off and make it work. ”
“My boys haven’t stopped talking about your parents’ tree or the mac and cheese or the swing set since we had dinner there. I doubt they’d mind spending a few hours there. If it’s not too cold to play outside, all the better.”
“Super. It’s settled. Find a few times in your calendar, and I’ll see what works better for Mom and Dad.”
“You haven’t yet agreed to let me paint you.”
“That’s a given, Clementine. Do I get to choose the pose or do you have something in mind?”
“I have something in mind, but I’m not opposed to listening to your opinions.” A small smirk slides onto her lips. “However, it’s time for you to leave now. If you don’t, I can’t be certain my clothes will stay on.”
I quirk a brow. Much as I want that, it’s for the best that I leave. I’ve already overstayed my welcome. “Damn, I kinda want to see that. But,” I pause, stepping into her space again because I can’t stay away from her. “I’ll respect your decision. When can I see you again?”
“Whenever your parents can watch the boys.”
I’m shaking my head before she finishes. “Nope, too long.”
She throws her hands in the air, exasperated. I’d like it a lot more if I made her exasperated in another way. “We don’t even know when it is.”
“Most likely this weekend. Saturday is three whole days away. I’ll wither away if I don’t see you before then.” I pout, laying it on thick. I said I’d respect her decision, but I never agreed to how.
“I think you’ll survive a few days. We’ve been together a lot this week.”
“But tonight I had to share you.” My comment surprises me just as much as her.
“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or kidding right now.”
If she’s not sure, I won’t tell her. “What do you want it to be?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. On the one hand, it’s flattering you want to spend time with me. On the other, it’s . . . ” Her fingers pick the skin around her nail. “We’re in this weird space. I’m not sure more than casual is in our best interest.”
The truth hurts, but I have to own it.
“Got it. Text me some times you’re free this weekend, and I’ll talk with my parents and figure it out.” As much as I shouldn’t, I can’t resist leaving a kiss on the corner of her mouth. Self-inflicted torture is my favorite kind.
I turn my back to her, heading for the door, stopped when she grabs my wrist. “Don’t leave like this, Dax. Tell me we could ever be more than friends with benefits.” So much hope lives in her words, but she’s right. I can’t lie to her and pretend I could give her more.
Without turning to look at her, I state, “You know I can’t.” It isn’t the words I want to say, but I voice them anyway.
Dax Nicholas isn’t built for more than casual.
Mom said noon tomorrow works great. “Send them hungry” were her exact words
Things feel a little strained between Clementine and me, and I’m hoping tomorrow will set things right between us.
I haven’t seen her since I left her house in a tizzy, and as dumb as it sounds, I miss her.
I wanted to send her a delivery from the cafe, but I wasn’t sure how she’d react.
I don’t want her mad at me, even though it feels like she already is.
“Uh, Dax, did you order something from the cafe?” Meredith calls out from the lobby.
“Not me.”
“Well, it’s got your name on it.” I meet Meredith at the door of my office, a cup with the cafe’s logo on it in her hand. She points to my name and Frostline Auto Garage. “Seems like it’s yours.”
I take it from her and sniff the top, a hint of mint leaking through. A peace offering.
“Thanks. I’ll take it from here.” I leave Meredith stunned, especially when I shut the door to the office. Beck’s off on a tow truck run, and we rarely shut the office door unless we’re in a meeting.
Clementine hasn’t responded to my text, but I hit her contact info anyway, hoping she’ll answer.
“You got the coffee” is her greeting. It brings an immediate smile to my face. Despite the place we’re at presently, I’m gone for this woman.
“I got the coffee. Thanks. But why?”
“Things are weird between us. I don’t like it.” Glad it’s not only me feeling it.
“So you figured having my favorite coffee delivered would make things less weird?”
“I hoped. Is it stupid?”
“Hardly. It’s a sweet gesture. I don’t like it either, though I’m not sure how we fix it. Do we go back to simply being friends?” How much would that suck? It’s not like I can avoid her completely. She’s my brother’s sister-in-law. She’ll be at family functions.
“That’s not what I want, but is there an alternative? Limbo isn’t a fun place to be, and this extra limboness since Wednesday has been awful.”
I chuckle, the action loosening up the stress plaguing my body. Or maybe it’s hearing Clementine’s voice or the sweet treat. “Are you going to petition for limboness to be added to the dictionary?”
“Not a chance. It’s a dumb place to be and a dumb word.”
“Wow, don’t sugarcoat it,” I snark.
“I’m not in a place in my life that I can let someone in all the way, but I hate sneaking around. And you’re—”
I suck in a breath, anticipating what she’s going to say about me. When she stays silent, I provide, “Not the settling-down type.”
“Well, yeah.” Hearing her confirm it sucks balls.
Is it too crazy to think for the right woman, I could change?
“I don’t want to think I’m using you for hot sex. Maybe if you’re free to see other people, I could be okay with being your booty call.”
I hop out of my seat and pace. “Don’t do that, Clementine.”
“Do what?”
“Diminish who you are. Expect that having sex with you wouldn’t be enough for me. That I’d need to get it somewhere else when you’re not available.” The words leave a bitter aftertaste. Why would she think I’d be okay with sleeping with someone else while I was also sleeping with her?
Maybe because that’s what you do.
The truth slams into me. That was my past behavior. Before her.
“What if I could offer you more than hot sex?” My heart rate accelerates as I voice the words, speaking from a place with no forethought. I’m not sure if it’s because I believe them or because I don’t.
“I can’t take the chance of you failing. It’s not just me. They already have a shitty dad. I can’t let them down a second time.”
Again, her honest words cut deep. Everything she’s saying is exactly why we can’t get more involved than we already are. It blows big time. I shouldn’t be affected at all, yet now I’m frustrated and pissed at myself.
“Limbo it is. Thanks again for the coffee. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I wait for her to end the call, and when she does, I toss my phone on the desk. Swiping the coffee cup—surprised when it doesn’t spill—I storm out of the office. “I’ll be in the garage. If you need me, no you don’t.”
These are the kinds of days I’m glad I can fix things after I break them.