27 Lindsey
Lindsey
DANE’S MESSAGE FROM LAST night replays in my head in the comical voice Kas uses when she’s sassing back.
In the future, please do not hang up on me.
Remember my boundaries? This is not how we handle our emotions or feelings.
While the boundaries part sucker punches me every time—because I was a jerk for crossing those and do feel bad about it—the rest of his words remind me that being an adult blows.
I don’t want to be one. Especially since I feel rejected.
“Mom, can I get these for the car ride later?”
I look down at Kas, who has a packet of something in her hands. We’re at the General Store, grabbing a few things that she can take on her mini road trip with Nathan, Fox, and Morgan to see her dad after the obstacle course.
“What is it?” I ask. She holds up the packet, and I see it’s wasabi dried edamame. “That’s spicy; I don’t know if you’ll like it.”
“I’ll like it,” she insists.
“Have you had it before?”
“Tyler eats it.”
I click my tongue against my teeth. “Does he now?” Kas stares at me, and I wiggle my eyebrows. Her response is to roll her eyes, but I don’t miss how her cheeks flush—oh yeah, the girl’s got a crush. I knew it already, but this is confirmation.
“Don’t be cringe, Mom.”
I laugh. “Is there a reason you want to buy something Tyler likes without knowing if you like it or not?”
“I just want to try it,” she huffs, throwing it in the basket without waiting for an answer from me. “He eats it all the time.”
“Is that the only reason?”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “What other reason is there?”
I lower my voice even though there isn’t anyone around. I think we’re the only ones in the store besides Hollyn, who’s working the front. Her wife might be in the back.
“I don’t know, maybe because you like him?” I ask.
Kas turns red, her eyes darting around the store. “Mom!”
“I’m just asking.”
“You’re being so cringe.”
“I’m not trying to be. I’m just asking a question.”
“It’s just a snack, okay?!” she snaps.
“Kas, don’t raise your voice at me.”
“Then stop, Mom!”
My eyes dart up and down the aisle. There’s still no one around, which I’m grateful for. Nothing like being scolded by your eight-year-old in the grocery store. I didn’t think my question would upset her so much, but I was wrong.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I was only trying to talk to you.”
Kas rolls her eyes again, and the sadness and frustration I’ve been carrying since my conversation with Dane last night—even if he didn’t outright reject me—only deepens.
Kas used to tell me everything, but since Mom moved, I started working more, and things got harder with Jeremy, it’s been difficult to get her to tell me about her life.
I didn’t think my question would upset her this badly, let alone make me feel more rejected.
“Can we go now?” Kas says.
I swallow back tears, not wanting to cry in front of her or in public. “Do you want anything else for the trip?”
Kas shakes her head, so we make our way to the front. Hollyn spots us and waves. “Well, look who it is! My favorite eight-year-old!”
Kas smiles and returns the greeting, her frown disappearing. I immediately feel jealous that Hollyn can get my kid to smile that easily but apparently, I just embarrass her. Mom of the Year right here. Tears prick my eyes as I set my basket on the counter.
“Hey, Hollyn,” I manage to choke out.
“Hello, hello. Good to see you, Lindsey.”
I avoid her eyes and look down at Kas. “Can you check us out, honey?” I ask, handing her my credit card. “I need to use the restroom before we go.” Kas’s eyes brighten, taking the card from me. “That okay?” I look up at the older woman.
She studies me, and I wonder if she can tell I’m on the verge of a breakdown. She dips her chin. “Of course, I’ll make sure Kas doesn’t buy the store while you’re gone.”
I mouth a thank-you before I turn and head toward the bathroom at the back. The bridge of my nose stings, and I keep my head down in case someone else actually is in here. I don’t want to make eye contact with someone I know and have them ask me if I’m okay.
When I’m almost to the door by the premade food and drinks section, my eyes fill with tears at the knowledge that I’m close to safety.
“Lindsey.”
My skin prickles at the sound of his deep voice, and I stop in my tracks. Had any other person said my name, I would have been able to pretend I didn’t hear it. But not him. I lift my head from the ground as Dane comes to stand in front of me, blocking my path to the bathroom.
I stare into his hazel gaze, and despite him being the source of part of my frustration and sadness, my body relaxes, and the first tear slips from my eyes.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, wiping my cheek. It’s a dumb question. He’s here to buy groceries; why else would he be at a grocery store?
Dane frowns and holds up a pack of twenty individual trail mix packs. “Thought the kids might want a snack when we take a break.”
I look at the treats and back to Dane. Him getting a snack for the kids shouldn’t be the thing that completely does me in, but it is. Not only is he hot and kind, but he cares enough to come buy the kids a snack, too?
“Excuse me,” I say in an attempt to get around him, but he doesn’t move. “Dane.” My voice is weak and thick with tears.
Instead of moving out of my way, he puts the package of trail mix down next to one of the displays of premade food and takes my hand.
I’m so blinded by the warmth and safety of it that I don’t realize until the door is closed and locked that he’s pulled me into the bathroom and I’m now against the door, the heat of his body pressing into mine.
“What happened, baby?” His face is angry, and if I didn’t know him, I’d be frightened by it. But all I can focus on is the sweet way he called me baby and how his eyes are filled with concern.
When I don’t answer, he squeezes my hand still in his.
I look down and see our fingers are laced together.
I don’t remember doing that, but I become mesmerized by the way it looks—his large hand, tan from being outside, slotted together with mine.
The contrast between our skin tones stupidly reminds me I should get some sun.
I don’t know why, but that makes me sad, too, because it’s hard to find time for myself, and the person I give all my free time to doesn’t even want to talk to me.
“Lindsey.” Dane’s free hand gently grasps my chin and pulls my gaze up to meet his. “Tell me what I can do to fix it.”
I blink, and more tears fall. My heart flutters in my chest as he moves his hand from my chin to wipe away a tear. There are a million things I could say right now—that he can’t fix me, that he can’t undo my mistakes or soothe the guilt I feel or take back what I said to Kas that embarrassed her.
My lips part, and I take in a small breath. The action draws his eyes to my mouth, and it reminds me of what triggered this feeling in the first place: his response to my offer.
“You rejected me.”
I expect him to step back, to pull his hands off my body, but he doesn’t. Instead, the hand wiping away my tears cups my cheek, and his features harden.
“When did I reject you?”
“You know when.”
“I don’t remember saying those words.”
Frustration stacks in my throat. I’ve played our conversation from last night a million times over in my mind. While he didn’t reject me, it was the way he responded, the words he said and the silence.
“You didn’t say it directly, but it was clear to me you didn’t want what I offered,” I say.
“How so?”
I want to roll my eyes at him. Men really are blind sometimes. “Your silence told me.”
Dane leans closer and tilts my head up so the space between our lips is minimal. “Unlike my bratty sub, I will use my words if I don’t want something.”
My breath catches in my throat, and damn my body, but I feel it heat at not only his closeness but also the implication of his words. His grip on my cheek tightens, and the smell of him invades my senses. Our closeness reminds me of that day we first met, when my chest was pressed against his.
My tears have stopped, and as I stare into his dilated pupils, I take air into my lungs, pulling some of the bravery I’ve felt around him as of late into my chest. “Then use them,” I demand.
One of Dane’s dark eyebrows lifts. “Are you giving me an order, baby?”
Damn him calling me baby again. It makes me want to melt and get on my knees for him right here. Which is not what is going to happen right now.
“Yes,” I say. “Or do you have another bratty sub you want to use your words on?”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I know he has other clients, and his relationships with others is not my business.
“I shouldn’t have said that; I’m sor—”
“Lindsey,” Dane cuts me off. His hand on my cheek slips to my throat, and his palm grips it gently while his thumb presses into my fluttering pulse point. His eyes penetrate mine. They’re full of heat, a little sadness, and what I can only call lust. A lust I feel, too.
“You’re the only bratty little sub I use my words on,” he says.
For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me, but his lips remain over mine, the heat of his breath ghosting over my mouth.
If possible, my heart beats faster as what he says sinks in.
The only one. I want to clarify what that means—I think I know—but my words are lost as we stare into each other’s eyes.
“I want to be clear, Lindsey. You’ve been a very”—he traces the tip of his perfect nose over the side of mine—“very”—he continues, his lips now at my ear—“bratty girl.”
My breath escapes me, and his hand gently squeezes my throat. “You hung up on me last night, you didn’t respond to my message, and you didn’t send me your check-ins, did you?”
I shake my head, and his thumb presses into my pulse a bit harder.
“You want me to use my words, so use yours,” he orders.
“I didn’t send you my check-ins, Sir. I was upset.”
“Then you talk to me. We figure it out. But what I won’t accept is you acting out every time you don’t get what you want.”
I swallow against his hand and nod, knowing he’s right. “I felt rejected, and I acted out,” I explain.
“I wasn’t rejecting you, I was thinking.” His thumb strokes my throat, and my hips automatically press into his. I feel it then, his erection against the zipper of his jeans. My mouth goes dry, and Dane’s grip on me tightens.
“What were you thinking about?” I ask quietly.
“That this is new territory for me.”
Surprise lights in my chest, and the desire to ask him more questions about his life and work sparks in my mind, but now isn’t the time for that. “It is for me, too,” I reply instead.
His smile is soft, but there’s a mischievous look in his eye as he asks, “Do you want to know what else I was thinking?”
“Yes,” I whisper as his lips get closer to mine again.
“That there’s nothing I want more than to put that smart mouth of yours to good use.”
Arousal lights in my lower belly, and all I can feel and think about is the heat of Dane’s body, the spark of his words in my veins, and images I know we’re both seeing in our minds’ eyes.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
The surprise of the knock makes me jump, and Dane and I nearly bonk heads.
“Mom! Are you pooping or something? We’re going to be late to the course!”
Heat flushes my cheeks, and Dane bites his lips to keep from laughing. I guess Kas and I are even on embarrassing each other now, even if she doesn’t know that she’s embarrassed me.
“Mom? Are you in there?” she calls again.
“Yeah, honey. I’ll be right out.”
Dane’s still smirking, and I gesture for him to get behind the door. He does as I ask, and it hits me that if Kas were to see him here, she’d have a lot of questions, questions I can’t answer.
I put my lips to his to tell him to be quiet, and before I can open the door, he pulls me to him until his body is against mine, the heat of him pressing into my back. “Answer my messages.”
I turn my head, look him in the eye, and nod, mouthing Yes, Sir with a small smile. He releases me and hides behind the door. I turn off the light for good measure before opening it just enough so I can get out.
Kas is standing there with our reusable grocery bag on her arm, looking annoyed. “If Logger Dane gets mad that we’re late, I’m blaming you and your IBS.”
“Kas!” Knowing Dane is in the bathroom just made that comment so much worse. “I don’t have IBS, and how do you even know what that is?”
“Moira said her dad has it, and sometimes he—”
“Okay,” I stop her. “We’re not going to talk about the sheriff’s bathroom habits or make light of his health. That’s rude. Now let’s go.” I point to the exit and pretend I can’t feel Dane’s presence still behind me and that my kid didn’t just reveal that our sheriff has IBS.
What a weird day.