Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JACE
Babe, nice lingerie is for seducing a man. I’m already fucking seduced.
Samantha Young, On Dublin Street
“Y ou about done there, little miss?” Ryla shook her head without looking at me, happily swinging her feet and watching her tablet at the table. Ryla had the habit of eating her Cheerios one at a time, the slowest I’d ever seen anyone eat cereal before. It was Wednesday and the kids had summer school, which meant we had to leave around nine. But I couldn’t find Max anywhere.
“Max?” I called out as I walked upstairs, not getting an answer. I checked the kids’ bedrooms and the playroom, but nothing. Maybe he’d gone to the basement. I knew he liked the quiet and comfort of the theater room; I’d found him there yesterday, midafternoon, curled up on a chair, until Ryla and I enticed him to build a fort with us.
I paused, seeing Polly’s open bedroom door.
“Max?” I called in the direction of her room.
There was no reply. I hesitated. I shouldn’t go into Polly’s room.
From our conversation last night, to seeing ‘ Have Fun ’ added to Barry this morning, Polly continued to surprise me. Talking to her felt effortless. I’d never had this much natural, instant chemistry with a woman. I’d found myself waking up before my alarm this morning, just like the previous two days this week, excited to see Polly before she left for work.
Was her room tidy, her bed made with crisp, hospital corners each morning? Or perhaps her room was the only place she could take a free breath, letting piles of chaos rule. My curiosity battled my integrity as I took a step toward the threshold of her door when a noise from downstairs halted my progress.
I jogged down the stairs, seeing that Ryla was still at the table, eating her Cheerios one by one. Then I heard that noise again, this time from the front entry area.
Max snapped his head up as I opened the study doors, holding what looked to be a Harry Potter wand.
“Are you doing magic?”
“Oh, yeah. I um, kind of,” Max started to say. I pumped my fist, walking into the study.
“Yes! My man! That’s what I’m talking about!”
Max’s face did an impression of a deer in headlights, so I pulled back my excitement. Studying the magic kit in front of him, it looked to be a deck of cards, crayons, and some tape. Very makeshift.
“What are you working on?” I sat down in a chair opposite him.
I only received a shrugged response.
“I started to do magic when I was about your age. I could show you a few tricks if you want.”
“Really?” Max shifted his eyes to me.
I leaned forward, smiling. “Yeah. I have my old magic kit at my parents’ house. I could pick it up and show you some tricks later today if you’d like.”
Max nodded and I stood, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll get it after dropping you and your sister off. We can check it out this afternoon. What do you say, sound like a deal?
* * *
After dropping the kids off at summer school, I picked up my magic gear from my parents’ house, needing to check on their place anyway as they’d left for Florida that week. The lawn needed a mow, but it was too wet on account of the rain we’d had all week. I texted them both an update, letting them know I’d mow it this weekend if it dried out.
Back at the Alberton house, the quiet sounds of the house felt strange. In the few short days I’d been here, I’d become accustomed to the noises of the house: Ryla’s determined steps anywhere , Max’s quieter movements, and Polly’s quick pace. After working out and showering, I put my laundry in the washer. Seeing a basket of folded towels on top of the dryer, I made a split-second decision and grabbed it. I didn’t know which bath towels went in each bathroom, but it’s not like there were an infinite number of bathrooms in this house. I could figure it out.
The towels in the basement and first floor bathrooms were dark gray. When I opened the linen closet in the kids’ Jack and Jill bathroom, I only saw white towels.
Which, put me in a pickle. The towels in the basket were purple.
And that’s how I found myself at the threshold of Polly’s bedroom door, again.
On the one hand, it was a major invasion of privacy. On the other hand, I could see the door to her ensuite bathroom from here. And I was hired to help her out. It’d be silly to leave the basket at her door; it’d only give her another thing to do.
Decision made, I entered her room.
A hint of her sweet perfume laced the air. A queen bed with rumpled, light purple sheets and a white duvet sat in the middle of the room. A few unfolded clothes lay across a chair in the corner and there was a long line of shoe boxes—at least three high and five across—under the far window. Otherwise, her room was neat and clean. Her floral perfume hung in the air. I took a masochistic inhale, and then, on her bedside table, I saw it.
A tablet.
It looked about the size of an e-reader. My hand twitched toward it, followed by one step. I’d finished all the books Polly had been listening to, and I was jonesing for another fix.
You’re an adult—pick out your own romance novels. Like a man.
Decision made, I ignored the e-reader and marched into her bathroom.
Immediately, I knew it was a mistake.
There, hanging over the rail of her glass shower doors, were two lace bras. My mouth went dry, seeing the silky material, the delicate, lacy cups that looked like flower petals. I was instantly jealous of them, knowing what skin they touched, what secrets they held. I turned quickly toward the cabinet in the corner, coming face-to-face with a towel bar mounted to the wall.
Was there a purple towel hanging there?
Of course not, not with how this day was going. On that towel bar hung my wet dream come to life.
Lace fucking panties.
I stared at them, wondering how soft they were. My dick throbbed as I imagined Polly in them, laying out on her bed for me, gasping as I’d lean over her and bring my nose to that silky center, then inhale.
I glanced down at the basket of towels. Polly couldn’t know I’d been in here, good intentions or not. I left quickly, making the decision to put the basket back in the laundry room. When I walked past her bed again, my eyes trailed to her e-reader on the bedside table. The devil on my shoulder, who had speedily recovered from a small stroke at seeing Polly’s underwear, spoke up.
Whispering to me.
Taunting me.
Open it, Jace, open it. No one will know!
Technically, I’m only looking for a book recommendation. What's the harm in a book recommendation? She’d given me free reign of her library downstairs. And what was an e-reader if not a library of sorts?
I dropped the laundry basket at her bedroom door.
I walked to her bedside table and picked up her e-reader.
It turned on. No password needed.
After hitting a few buttons, there it was: her library.
My Roman Empire.
The devil on my shoulder was cheering while the angel was shaking his head.
Polly had been reading the American Tail series—but I saw she now had a total of four books in that collection. Polly’s taste in books ranged from books that featured everything from vampires to drag queens, to ones whose covers would make my Gran, God rest her soul, do the sign of the cross. I’d never remember all these titles. Taking a few quick pictures of her library screen with my phone, I hightailed it out of there, racing down the stairs with my contraband.
I had some books to order.
* * *
It was raining all afternoon, so after picking up the kids from summer school, we spent the afternoon practicing magic. After all, having fun was now officially on the schedule, much to the kids’ amazement, and what’s more fun than magic?
My life had turned upside down in a week. Last week, I was driving strangers to and from the airport, contemplating where I was headed in life. Today, I was teaching a ten-year-old how to pull things out of a hat and giving a six-year-old a piggyback ride around a stone mansion, pretending I was a horse.
When Polly got home, it was impossible not to wonder what she wore under her work clothes. It got significantly worse when she went upstairs to change and came downstairs five minutes later, wearing a fitted dry fit T-shirt and compression leggings. Was this woman trying to murder me? I distracted myself by helping her make supper. Like it had the night before, our conversation flowed naturally, loving it when she’d throw her back in laughter. And yes, it was hard not to get distracted when she’d arch her back—hard being the operative word.
I couldn’t remember a time I’d laughed as hard as I had with Polly and her kids these last few days. During dinner, Ryla put a jumbo meatball on a fork, turning it into a character that walked around her plate. When Mr. Beefcake got a little frisky and did a little kick for flare, the meatball flew right off the fork and hit the light fixture above the island. We were all silent as the meatball initially stuck to the glass, then slowly slid down and dropped to the island, where it began a roll and then eventually tumbled to the floor.
Both Ryla and Max looked at Polly with worry when to my delight, Polly snorted. The snort turned into a chuckle, which made Ryla and Max giggle, and before I knew it, we were all laughing our butts off. Our laughter echoed throughout the house until our stomachs ached.
It might have been the most fun day I’d had all year.
Later that night, I heard a soft knock at my door. It was earlier than I expected Polly to come to my door, she’d just gone up to bed with Ryla ten minutes ago after I spent no less than thirty minutes teaching both kids the song, “On Top of Spaghetti”.
My heart rate picked up just the same. But when I opened the door, it was Max who stood there.
“Hiya, Max. You alright?” He nodded, leaning around me to peer into my room.
“Do you want to come in?” When he nodded again, I stepped back. He took a few timid steps into the room and looked around.
“Have you been in here before?”
Max’s shoulders inched up his neck. “Only once. It was dark and sort of scary.”
I couldn’t argue with him there. This room was straight out of some sort of Victorian museum. After Polly told me about her momma, it made more sense why the room felt more like a mausoleum than a bedroom.
“Aww, well. New places can be like that. Feel free to look around.”
“Is that a fireplace?” Max walked toward the far side of the room, then recoiled. Max whispered, “What’s that doing in here?”
I knew what he was staring at. Leaning against the fireplace grate, was the painting of Polly and her parents that I’d moved from the library.
“Uh, it needed to be cleaned. So, I told your momma I’d store it in here for now.”
Max still looked creeped as hell, wide eyes staring at the painting.
“You know what, I can fix this.” I picked up a large blanket and put it over the painting. Then, I moved some clothes off one of the leather chairs next to the fireplace and gestured for Max to sit. I took the seat across from him.
Both of our gazes naturally fell back to the painting, which was now covered with the blanket.
I still felt watched. I glanced at Max and raised my eyebrows. “It’s not any better, is it?”
“It’s like I can still feel his eyes on me.” Max’s voice was full of quiet revulsion.
I jumped to my feet. “Agreed. I’ve got just the place. Be right back.”
I stashed the painting in the study for now, then came back to my room a minute later. Max already looked twenty pounds lighter.
“That’s better, huh?” I asked, sitting in the chair opposite him. “What’d you think of the magic tricks we practiced today?”
He shrugged. “They were good.” The chair was so deep, his feet dangled a few inches off the floor.
“I started doing magic when I was a little older than you are now. I must have practiced every day in seventh grade.”
“How’d you get so good?”
“With practice.” I tried not to show how excited I was that he was finally starting to ask me questions. All week it’d been me gently asking him questions, but this was the first time he’d sought me out. “And I started with the easy stuff. Once I mastered one trick, I moved on to the next. They all added up over time.”
“How’d you do that quarter one? Behind the ear?”
“That one? Easy. Let me just find a coin or two. . .”