Chapter 25
SHAY
Jackson skips ahead of us, the domesticity of the scene not lost on me.
As fun as the last hour has been—aside from having to flee the library—it’s also solidified what a big deal dating Kolton is.
Jackson will be affected by people coming in and out of his life, even if our dating is casual. That kind of pressure is daunting.
Kolton rubs his thumb along my hand as we near the park. “Thanks,” he says.
“For what?”
“For taking Jackson’s quirks in stride. Not everyone gets him.”
“You mean they don’t like when he shouts about their G-spot?”
He chuckles. “That’s one for the history books.”
No book I’d like to revisit, but, where Jackson is concerned, I know what Kolton’s getting at. My heart squeezes for the little guy. He’s sweet and hilarious in his candid way, but kids can be cruel. His two different socks and eccentricities must be magnets for bullies.
With my stutter, I lived through the taunting and ridicule only nine-year-olds can inflict. One minute cornered in the schoolyard with Sue Anne Hinkley’s insults, and my confidence bled onto the ground. I’d choose torture by fire ants over reliving that time in my life.
Jackson can’t have it easy.
“I get him,” I say. “At least what it’s like to be different. And I love that you and Stella teach him to own who he is. That’s invaluable.”
Jackson runs toward a swing set, but Kolton pulls me to a stop. “From you, it means a lot.”
His tone—so sincere and heartfelt—has me listing toward him. I’m still unsure getting involved with him is smart. I don’t want Jackson to get hurt. I don’t want to get hurt. I’m also tired of always worrying about the future, just like Kolton is.
“I’m glad I came,” I tell him. The truth under my worry. “Glad you didn’t give up on me.”
“I knew you’d cave,” he says, back to cocky. “The sex was too good.”
And damn it all to hell if he isn’t right.
“Will you push me, Shay?” Jackson tugs at a swing as two kids sprint past him and race up the red-and-blue jungle gym.
The park is small but clean, with a large geometric dome anchoring the center. Parents and nannies chat on the far side, occasionally yelling at kids to slow down or lower their voices.
Jackson is yelling for me.
“Is it okay?” I ask Kolton, unaccustomed to the sense of well-being swelling against my ribs.
He nods. “Looks like I’ve been replaced.”
As if. But Jackson tosses his backpack to Kolton and wiggles into the swing, smacking his shoes together while I move behind him.
I pull him back and say, “I’ll push on the count of three.”
“Actually,” Kolton calls, “I count to four.”
Pausing, I squint at him. “Four?”
“Four.”
“Who counts to four? In the history of jungle gyms, no one has ever counted to four.”
“I’m pretty sure there isn’t a swing-set rulebook stating the precise number a person must reach before the big push.”
He’s getting feisty with me. Or maybe we’re getting feisty with each other. “But that’s like singing ‘Happy Birthday’ after the candles have been blown out. It’s just not done.”
He widens his stance in a familiar show of authority. Like he’s right. Like I won’t argue this until I’m blue in the face. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe we’ll always be this way with each other: challenging and fiery.
Kolton’s usual exasperation is hidden by the gleam in his chocolate eyes. “In this family, we count to four, and we sing ‘Happy Birthday’ after the wish and the candles.”
I almost let the swing slip through my fingers. “You can’t be serious. How am I supposed to date you now? I mean, it was one thing—”
“Shay?” Jackson kicks his legs, jostling the chains in my hands. “Can you push me now?”
Right. Jackson. The adorable boy who asked me to play with him.
I peel my eyes away from the sexy man pushing my buttons and focus on his son. “There’s nothing I’d love more. What number should I count to?”
“Four,” he says, and Kolton smirks like he just won the World Series of Poker.
Ignoring him, I grip the swing. “One,” I sing, pulling Jackson farther back. “Two.” He leans into me and tenses. “Three.” I force myself to wait. “Four!”
Jackson squeals as I launch him forward, the sound spiraling through the air, followed by a string of giggles. With each shove, he laughs harder and Kolton grins wider and I’m no longer sure it matters what number we reached.
As I’m getting into my groove, Kolton’s cell rings, and he steps away to answer the call. He ducks his head and rubs the side of his neck. He nods, then glances at us and waves the phone at Jackson. “Nana wants to say hi.”
Jackson reaches for his dad before he comes to a stop, and the swing dips forward.
Visions of a face-plant complete with bloody nose and missing teeth have me latching my arm around his waist. The second I loosen my hold, he’s off running, but my heart stays lodged in my throat.
Already, protectiveness for this boy surges through me.
As he chatters to his grandmother, my pulse slows, and Kolton nods to a nearby bench. I want to tell him how grateful and honored I am to get to know his son, but he’s gazing at me in that sexy way of his. The words turn to steam in my mouth.
I sit beside him, my knee brushing his. He slings his arm over the bench back. His thumb comes to rest on my shoulder. We’re barely touching, but I am aware. So freaking a-ware. Little kid shrieks and the occasional passing car punctuate the sexual tension.
“So you really count to four?” I ask.
Chuckling, he says, “Give it up.” But he moves his thumb closer to my neck. My very warm and tingly neck.
I tilt my head back to soak up the sun…and maybe to get closer to his hand. “Which grandmother called?”
“Marina’s mother. My stepmom’s three boys run her ragged, and my mother isn’t exactly involved. She loves Jackson. She’s just busy with her life and doesn’t like to meddle.”
“But Marina’s mother does? Likes to be involved, I mean.”
He shifts closer, the full expanse of his hand moving to my shoulder, covering it with warmth.
I keep my eyes closed. “Yeah,” he says. “She’s always offering to babysit and goes out of her way to pick him up from school, and she spends hours with him reading and doing puzzles and making the food he likes. She’s a godsend, really.”
It’s easy to forget what Kolton has been through—the hardship, losing Marina and raising their son on his own. Shading my eyes, I glance at Jackson. He’s sitting on the grass, pulling out stalks as he chatters on the phone, unaware of how much joy he brings to the people in his life.
“Does she call often?” I ask.
“Is every day often?”
I turn to find concern in his creased brow.
He scrubs his foot over the grass, back and forth, steady yet tense. “I knew being away would be hard on her. I just didn’t think it would be this hard. Marina was an only child, so Jackson’s the only grandchild she’ll ever have.”
My body shifts closer of its own volition, my hand skimming across his thigh. “It’s nice that she calls. That she cares. And it’s a good thing Jackson isn’t a typical seven-year-old who runs screaming when handed the phone.”
Kolton’s focus drags from his son down to my hand, to the curl of my fingers along his inner thigh. “It is.” He swallows. “It’s also really nice to have you here, Shay. Nice to finally spend time together.”
So nice, I can’t remember why I’ve put him off so long. “Am I still being wooed?”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” I say, done fighting this thing between us. “Please, don’t stop.”
And God, that look. We’re in a public space, his son in visual distance, but Kolton’s hooded gaze and parted lips read S-E-X.
Sex we haven’t had in months.
“If we were somewhere private,” he murmurs, “if Jackson weren’t with us, I’d kiss you right now.” His admission hits me low in my belly, a lightning bolt of desire. “Question is, Shay…would you let me?”
I’m pretty sure I’d let him throw me over his shoulder and have his caveman way with me in the middle of the tundra, but all I say is, “Yes.”
Our chests rise in unison, air expanding with lust. He wets his lips, and I taste mine, wishing like heck I was tasting something else.
Wishing his tongue were sliding against mine, desperate moans traded as we finally gave into this blazing attraction.
An attraction heightened by the day with his son and our silly arguments and the complete rightness of being with him.
An eternity later, Kolton shakes his head. “That was intense.”
I pull my hand back and rub it down my thigh, a lame attempt to tame my goose bumps. “As far as imagined kisses go, that one deserves an Oscar.” I glance at my watch and, reluctantly, push to my feet. “I need to head out.”
He rests his elbows on his knees and looks up at me. “I’m still picking you up tonight, right? From work?”
“If I’m still being wooed, then you better.”
He winks, then I say goodbye to Jackson, unsure how I’ll get through my shift.