Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

JACE

Aidan is explaining the rules to Race to the Treasure, but I’m only half listening. It’s not that I’m disinterested. I just can’t stop thinking about Mary holding that vibrator. Or imagining her using it.

I squirm in my seat on the sofa as I tug at the front waistband of my jeans, trying to relieve some of the pressure against my dick. To cover my hard-on, I grab a throw pillow. The last thing I need is Aidan asking me about the long lump in my jeans.

Still, I mustn’t be doing a good job of hiding my discomfort, because he narrows his eyes at me from his spot on the floor next to the coffee table. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

My brow shoots up. “What? No.”

“I move around like that when I have to pee.”

“I don’t have to pee.”

“Then why are you moving around like that?”

Because thinking about the things your mother could do with her adult toy is making me rock hard doesn’t seem like an appropriate response, and it’s sure to get me tossed back out of Mary’s good graces. For good. Not that I’d tell him that anyway. I’m not a pervert, contrary to what Mary thought of me yesterday. So what can I tell him? Because I can tell he’s not going to let this go until I give him an acceptable answer. I almost say I do have to go to the bathroom, but then he might accuse me of lying, and the truth is very important to Aidan.

“I got new underwear, and they’re a size too small,” I say. “They’re making me uncomfortable.”

His face scrunches as he evaluates my answer. “I have dinosaur underwear,” he says as he places some cardboard tiles face down on the board. “Only they don’t have ankylosauruses on them. Mom says they don’t make underwear with them on it. She’s looked. She says you can find anything on Amazon, and if they don’t have it, it probably doesn’t exist.”

“Your mom is a very wise woman,” I say as he picks up the two wooden dice, one with letters and the other with numbers, and rolls them onto the board. Based on what little I picked up from his explanation, we’re still in the setting-up phase of the game. This part is cooperative, apparently, but it’s clearly his turn. Which means I can let my mind wander.

Mary ordered a vibrator right around the time she met me. Coincidence? My ego would like to think not. Part of me wants to go into the kitchen, take Mary into my arms, and tell her she doesn’t need a vibrator. That I’d be happy to take care of her needs. There’s no way I can do that, of course, but the idea won’t leave me, and it’s only making me harder. I readjust the pillow, trying hard not to look like I’m squirming.

“But she’s a liar,” he says matter-of-factly as he picks up a card with a skeleton key picture and places it atop a square on the board. “Your turn.” He pushes the dice toward me.

My chest tightens at his casual indictment of his mom. I’m not sure I have any words of wisdom to help him get over the Santa betrayal, but I hate that he keeps calling Mary a liar. It has to hurt her.

I roll the dice and get a letter and a number. I set a skeleton key card in the corresponding square. “Your mom loves you very much.”

“She’s still a liar.” He scoops up the dice and rolls them in his hands carefully, like he has to get it just right or he’ll mess up the game.

I want to help him understand that some lies aren’t meant to hurt people, but I’m not sure it’s my place.

We continue with the setup until we’ve set out four keys and a tile for something called an ogre snack, all in spaces determined by the dice.

“I’ll go first,” Aidan says as he picks up a tile and turns it over. A straight line runs through it, and I remember enough from his instructions to figure out it’s a path.

Ah. We’re building a path to the place marked “end.” He sets his card on the square next to “start.”

I pick up a tile and start to build on the path. Race to the Treasure is a cooperative game—we both win, or the ogre wins by blocking us from reaching the end.

“I like your house,” I say, glancing around the living room. The furniture has a modern, contemporary vibe, but throw pillows and curtains make it feel softer, as well as a neatly folded stack of small, knitted throws on the floor next to the sofa. There are photos displayed of Aidan and Mary, Maisie, and another woman who must be their third sister.

There’s a bare-looking pine tree in the corner, totally undecorated, and I realize it must be the tree that Mary bought after the tree lot salesman broke the ugly truth about Santa.

I have an uncharacteristic urge to find the guy and punch him in the jaw.

Aidan picks up a tile—a picture of an ogre—and sets it on the side of the board. Four more, and we’re toast. “It’s smaller than our house in Charlotte. Mom says it can be smaller since it’s just the two of us, but I told her we need room for Dad for when he comes back from his business trip. Even if they’re not going to be married anymore, he’ll want to see me.”

Another stab to my heart, this time for him. It’s definitely not my place to tell him his father isn’t coming back, but it’s hard to hear him talk about it.

His face scrunches as he stares at the board with a faraway look. “Maybe Mom should get Dad an adult present. Like her magic wand.”

Midway through turning over an ogre tile, I sputter out laughter and then cover it up with a cough. I don’t want him to misunderstand and think I’m laughing at him. Besides, the thought of Mary buying that asshole Glenn a vibrator isn’t all that funny on second thought. I don’t want to imagine her using a vibrator with, or while thinking about, another man. Especially him.

I have no right to such thoughts, but the way she looks at me when she lets her guard down…

I want her, more than I’ve wanted a woman in I don’t know how long, but I can’t act on it.

Can I?

I’m not sure how to respond to Aidan’s idea, but he seems oblivious to my internal strife. He looks up at me with an earnestness that trips my heart, until he asks, “What kind of magic do you think it does?”

All sorts of answers come to mind—none appropriate—so I say, “I think it’s one of the mysteries you get the answers to when you’re an adult. Like tax law.”

He considers my answer for a moment before nodding, then promptly changes the topic to his displeasure that his art class was cancelled for the assembly.

“Change is hard,” I say, “but life is full of change.”

“Like moving here,” he says, staring down at the game board.

“Exactly. Some changes are good. You got to move closer to your aunts.”

“And Uncle Cal and Uncle Jack,” he says. “And Baby Mabel, but she cries a lot.”

“Babies do that,” I say as we continue playing. “They don’t have words, so that’s how they tell us they’re hungry or thirsty or don’t feel good.” I give him a grin. “Or that they have poopy diapers.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Poop is not funny. It stinks and has germs that can make you sick. You have to sing the alphabet song while you wash your hands after you poop.”

I nod. “Yeah. You’re right.”

We keep playing until we win. Aidan is pleased and wants to play again, but Mary walks out from the kitchen just then, still looking sheepish, and says, “Your hot chocolate is ready.”

Aidan hops up and announces he has to go to the bathroom. “Not poopy,” he says matter-of-factly, “but I still need to sing the song while I wash my hands.”

“Then you’ll be ready for hot chocolate,” I say.

He heads down the hall, and I hear a door close.

My attention is completely focused on Mary—on her burning cheeks, and the short hair that refuses to stay perfectly tucked behind her ears no matter how many times she tries, and her hazel eyes gleaming with embarrassment but also lust. I take a step closer. I keep seeing that vibrator in her hand and imagining all the things I would like to do to her with it.

“Uh…” she stammers.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty or embarrassed,” I say in a low voice. “You’re a beautiful woman, Mary O’Shea, and you have needs.”

Her cheeks instantly turn redder, and her gaze averts to the bare tree as if she can’t bring herself to look at me anymore. God help me, but I can’t stop thinking about helping her with those needs.

“Thank you again for coming,” she says, then sucks in a horrified breath. “For coming over . To my house.”

I nearly respond with as opposed to coming in your house , but I bite my tongue, because while I love to see Mary flustered and breathless, I’d prefer to see her breathless beneath me.