6. Dex

dex

. . .

“Oh!” Startled, Winnie spilled water over the side of the flowerpot and touched a hand to her chest. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Sorry,” I said, rising from the cement. I’d been sitting there for the last half an hour, leaning back against the brick, nursing a beer and enjoying the silence. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I don’t have any furniture out here yet. Or candles.”

“Then you’re probably being eaten alive,” she said. “The mosquitoes are awful out here at night.”

I shrugged. “I have all the lights off, so they haven’t bothered me much.”

“How’s Luna?”

“She’s fine. It was a very mild reaction—she just needed an antihistamine.”

“Oh, good,” she said, sounding relieved. “I was worried when you didn’t come back.”

“The antihistamine makes her sleepy, so we ended up just ordering pizza and watching a movie. They both fell asleep on the couch without brushing their teeth—don’t tell their mother—and I had to carry them both to bed.”

She mimed zipping her lips.

“But they were sad about missing the party. I had to promise them we’d go swimming right after church tomorrow.”

“Sounds like fun. Would you like to sit over here?” she asked, gesturing toward the chairs on her patio.

My first instinct was to say no—as much as I wanted to deny it, I was attracted to her, and spending time together out here in the dark seemed like a bad idea.

But then I reconsidered—maybe by getting to know her better, I could defuse the tension, stomp out the spark. Every word out of her mouth would remind me of how young she was, right? For fuck’s sake, she was out here drinking a chocolate milkshake. And I didn’t want her to think I was an asshole, especially after she’d heard me yelling at Naomi on the phone. We’d have to live next door to each other for a while. Better to be friendly.

I glanced behind me—I’d be able to hear the girls through the screen if they called out. Their bedroom window was also open above us. “Sure. I’m going to grab another beer. Can I bring you one?”

She hesitated, and for a second I panicked.

“Wait—you’re old enough to drink, right?”

She laughed. “Yes.”

“I saw the milkshake and I wasn’t sure.”

“Nope—that’s just my chocolate Frosty from yesterday. Those things are my favorite, but this one is definitely past its prime. I’ll take you up on the beer, thanks. And no worries, I’m twenty-two.”

Fuck. Twenty-two.

“Be right back.” Feeling like I was contributing to the delinquency of a minor anyway, I went through the sliding door into my house, set my empty bottle on the counter, and swiped two cold ones from the fridge. My sister had brought a six-pack over for Justin and me earlier, but we hadn’t touched it.

Before going back outside, I set the bottles down and crept up the stairs to peek into the girls’ bedroom—both of them were sound asleep. After a quick check to make sure they were both still breathing, I snuck back down the stairs as silently as I could.

But before I went back to the patio, I ducked into the downstairs bathroom, switched on the light, and checked my reflection. Immediately I sort of wished I hadn’t, because my hair looked grayer and my forehead more wrinkled than I remembered. I tried to relax my facial muscles. I fussed with my hair. I tucked in my plain white T-shirt.

Then I frowned at the glass. What the fuck was I doing?

I reminded myself again that she was way too young for me , even if I was the kind of guy who’d mess around with a woman he’d have to see coming and going all the time—which I wasn’t. And the last thing I needed was an awkward situation when I’d moved here for a fresh start. That meant keeping my hands to myself.

Even if she was the prettiest woman I’d seen in a long, long time.

Even if the memory of her bare skin would taunt me every time I closed my eyes.

Even if I’d frantically jerked off while thinking about her in the shower earlier—which would not happen again.

I untucked my shirt again, turned off the light, grabbed the two beers, and went back outside. Over on her patio, the milkshake was gone and she was setting a plate on the little table with a maple bacon cupcake on it.

“I only had one of these, but it’s yours if you want it,” she said, dropping into one of the chairs.

“I had one earlier.” I sat in the other chair and popped the caps off both bottles.

“Verdict, please. Do you agree with your girls that bacon does not belong on a cupcake?”

“No. It was fucking delicious.” I handed her a beer. “Here you go. It’s no chocolate Frosty, but it’s cold and wet.”

She laughed. “Thanks.” Clinking her bottle against mine, she said, “To new neighbors.”

I drank when she did, trying not to stare at her lips on the bottle.

Setting her beer on the table, she stretched out her legs, pointing and flexing her bare feet. “High heels,” she said with a sigh. “They look good, but they hurt like a bitch.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but she had looked good in those heels and those jeans and that tiny little top. From the moment I’d seen her walk into the party, I’d been unable to think straight, and not just because I was scared she could read my mind about the whole getting off to her in the shower thing.

I cleared my throat. “I’m, uh, sorry again about earlier.”

She flipped a wrist. “It’s okay. Someday I will forget how hideously embarrassing that was.”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” I said quickly.

“Just the fact that my new neighbors saw my bum,” she joked, reaching for her beer.

I frowned. “The girls have no fucking filter.”

She smiled at me sideways. “That’s what they said about you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. They told me all sorts of interesting things about you when they came over today.”

Groaning, I tipped up my beer. “Like what?”

“Ohhh, how grumpy you are, how much you snore...”

“Assholes,” I muttered.

“They also mentioned how hairy you are and that you swear too much.”

“ That is a fucking lie.”

She laughed—an adorably girlish little giggle—and said, “I told them about the swear jar my sisters and I used to make my dad put money into whenever he cursed.”

“I heard about it,” I grumbled. “Thanks a lot.”

“You might have met my dad tonight—his name is Declan MacAllister, but everyone calls him Mack.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, sort of glad I hadn’t had to look her father in the eye tonight. “So how are you related to Chip again?”

“We’re actually not blood-related, but I consider him my cousin. His biological mom is April Sawyer, and my stepmom—who’s been married to my dad since I was four—is Frannie Sawyer. They’re sisters.”

“Oh.” I stared out into the dark for a moment, remembering events from the year I’d met Chip. He’d moved up to Traverse City just before our senior year of high school and we’d hit it off right away. We were both on the baseball team, which had been really exciting that year, not only because our record was so good but because Tyler Shaw—the recently retired MLB pitcher and most famous graduate of our high school—had come back to town and was helping out the coaching staff.

“That was pretty fucking wild, discovering that our coach was actually Chip’s biological dad,” I said, “not to mention that it was Tyler Shaw .”

Winnie nodded. “Yeah. I was too young to know what was going on at the time, but I’ve heard the story.”

I braced myself. “Were you even in school when we graduated?”

“Barely,” she said, giggling again. “I was in kindergarten.”

Jesus.

I took another swallow. “Luna’s age. She starts kindergarten this year.”

“Is she excited?”

“I think so. It helps that Hallie is already there, although she can get anxious about things.”

“How so?”

“She’s a little bit of a germaphobe, doesn’t love eating in the cafeteria, also likes to have things just so in her desk, and if a kid borrows a colored pencil and doesn’t put it back exactly the right way, she loses her shit.”

Winnie nodded. “That must be tough on her.”

“It can be, because her behavior comes off as weird to the other kids. She hates being barefoot, so she’s always wearing something on her feet. Even in the pool, she wears swim socks.”

“What about in the shower at home?”

“Naomi, the girls’ mom, sometimes allows it to avoid a fight, but I don’t. That probably makes me the mean parent, but I believe in consistency, and the doctor said it’s better for her if we don’t allow the compulsive behavior.”

“Does the doctor think she’ll grow out of it?”

“Too hard to say right now, but it’s possible.” I hesitated, then went on. “Naomi thinks Hallie’s anxiety stems from worrying about me when I was gone.”

“I heard you were a SEAL. But not the kind at Sea World.”

“Not the kind at Sea World. They would have liked that much better.” I studied the label on my beer bottle, picking at the edge of it with my thumb. “I was gone a lot when they were tiny. Back-to-back tours.”

“But it’s not like you had a choice about that.”

“No, but the fact remains—I wasn’t there when either of them were born, and I missed a ton of milestones after that. I had to watch both of them take their first steps on video.” I paused. “I don’t regret my choices, but I feel bad about the things I missed.”

“And your ex blames Hallie’s anxiety on your absences?”

“She doesn’t exactly put it like that, but it’s pretty clear that’s the case.” I paused and added, “I think she blames a lot of things on my absences.”

She was silent at that, and I was embarrassed.

Why the hell was I telling Winnie about this? I never talked about this stuff with anyone, let alone a near-stranger. I was trying to think of a way to change the subject when Winnie gracefully moved the conversation in a different direction.

“Well, they seem like sweet, polite, adorable girls—when they’re not talking about my bum.” She brought her heels to the edge of her chair and wrapped her arms around her legs, setting her chin on her knees the way a kid would. “I hope they don’t give you too much grief about the swear jar.”

I harrumphed. “Too late for that. They already made one, although it’s more of a swear box .”

She laughed. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, they used the cupcake box. And they wrote on it. It says ‘Daddy’s swear box—money for future cat.’”

She burst out laughing, her head falling back, and I thought about putting my mouth on her throat. Did she wear perfume? What would her skin smell like? Quickly, I looked away and tipped up my beer again.

“So they want to get a cat?”

“Yeah, they’re always on me about getting a pet, and Hallie likes the idea of a cat because they’re supposedly clean animals. But my shifts at the fire station are twenty-four hours, so having a pet doesn’t really work.”

“I could help out,” she offered. “If you just let me know which days you work, I can come by and feed her or him. And I can tell you where to go to adopt one.”

“You’re not helping,” I told her in my best grumpy dad voice. “I don’t want a fucking cat.”

“Listen,” she said, dropping her feet to the ground and reaching for the cupcake. “I know what happens when little girls have their dad wrapped around their fingers. They get what they want.”

“Oh, really.” I watched her peel the wrapper from the cupcake, my eyes on her fingers. They were long and slender, and her nails were painted to match her toes in a bright, fiery red. The thought of that hand wrapped around my cock jumped into my head uninvited.

“Yes. My sisters and I always had our dad’s number.” She broke the cupcake in half, then sucked frosting off her thumb, which made my dick start to get hard.

“Maybe I’m not as nice as your dad.” I tried to sound menacing, but I was so fucking turned on it was difficult. “Maybe I’m better at saying no.”

She laughed like she knew better than I did. “Maybe. But even a Navy SEAL has some weaknesses.”

Blowjobs , I thought, watching her lick her fingers and imagining her tongue brushing across the tip of my cock.

“Here.” She pushed the plate with the cupcake on it toward me. “We can share.”

I wasn’t hungry, but I needed the distraction, so I picked up one of the halves and bit into it.

She picked up the other, and we ate in silence for a minute. I did my best to keep my eyes off her mouth, since I was struggling to keep my thoughts clean and felt like an asshole about it. When I was done, I wiped my hands on my pants.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, popping her last bite between her lips. “I should have brought us napkins. I’ll get some.”

“It’s okay. I should go.” We stood at the same time, putting us practically chest to chest.

She looked up at me and swallowed. Parted her lips.

Don’t do it, dickhead , I told myself.

But she was right—I did have weaknesses, and right now her mouth was at the top of the list.

Without another thought, I took her by the shoulders and crushed my lips to hers. She made a soft sound of surprise, and I felt her body lean into mine. She rose up on her toes, opening her mouth so I could taste her—a tantalizing combination of salty and sweet. She twined her arms around my neck, and I moved my hands down her back. Her tongue grazed mine.

Stop this right the fuck now , said a voice in my head.

But not only did I ignore it, I hitched her up by the back of her thighs, and she gasped against my lips as she wrapped her legs around me. Grabbing her ass, I pulled her tight to my lower body and moved her up and down my cock.

On the table, the candle crackled and spit, making both of us jump. I set her down hard and backed into my chair, putting distance between us. “Fuck.” I held up my hands, as if she’d asked me to put them where she could see them. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry.” She shook her head. “It just—it just happened.”

I stood there for one second longer, watching her chest rapidly rise and fall, feeling like I couldn’t catch my breath either—and I knew if I didn’t get out of there, I’d end up with my tongue in her mouth again.

Or maybe other places.

“Goodnight,” I said, and quickly retreated into my house.

Once I’d shut the sliding door behind me, I went into the kitchen and braced myself against the counter with two fists. Closing my eyes, I hung my head.

What the fuck? What had possessed me to do that? Was I really so weak? The girl was only twenty-two! She was twenty-fucking-two, and I was thirty-four with two young daughters, and I had no business putting my hands on her. For fuck’s sake, she was nearly closer to Hallie’s age than mine.

Furious with myself, I went to the fridge and took another beer out, popping the cap off with an angry twist. It reminded me that I’d left the two empty bottles on her table—now she probably thought I was one of those assholes who never cleaned up after himself and expected a woman to do it, just like my dad.

Leaning back against the counter, I took a long drink and vowed not to touch her again. If that meant I had to keep some distance between us, so be it. I’d just keep my head down if I saw her. Wave and keep on walking.

It wouldn’t be easy, but I was good at doing hard things. Wasn’t that why I’d become a SEAL in the first place? I could still hear my father laugh when I told him that’s what I wanted to do. A hard-drinking gambler and drifter, he’d served some time in the Navy long before I was born, and never held down one job for long. Tired of his cheating, my mother threw him out when I was ten, and he’d been in and out of our lives after that with no consistent pattern. He often disappeared for months at a time. Our mother, who was loving and kind, always worked two jobs to support us.

But she had a soft spot for him that refused to harden, and she always let him back into our house when he felt like coming around—and even into her bed sometimes. It used to make me sick to think about it, so I tried not to. I hated the days when I’d come home from school or practice and saw his truck in the driveway. I felt sorry for my mother because she said she couldn’t help loving him, but I was also angry with her for being so weak, so easily manipulated. By the time Bree and I were teenagers, we could see she was only going to end up hurt again when he left—because he always left. No matter what that lying asshole said, he always left again.

But he happened to be around the day during my senior year that a Navy recruiter had come to school. I’d come home excited to tell my mom what I’d decided to do with my life, since I’d never been sure before, and she was always on me to make a plan.

When I’d walked into the house, there he was, sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a beer and watching my mom cooking dinner. “Son,” he’d said as I came up short at the sight of him. He used the word like a weapon.

I refused to call him Dad. I refused to acknowledge him at all.

Instead, I turned to my mom and started telling her about my talk with the recruiter and how he thought I might be a good fit for the SEALs. Over at the table, my father had busted a gut. “You’ll never be a SEAL,” he said derisively. “You know how hard that is? I knew guys way tougher than you who couldn’t hack it.”

I glared at him, my hands curling into fists. “Watch me.”

I didn’t see him again for almost a decade—he had the nerve to show up at my mother’s funeral and claim he was sorry, and I nearly lost my mind and threw the punch I’d been dying to throw for twenty years. My sister and Naomi had to calm me down.

Bree kept in touch with him for a while, but I told her not to tell me anything. I didn’t care if I ever heard his name again.

But I supposed he had taught me some valuable lessons—how not to be a father. How important it was not to let anyone make you feel weak. How good it felt to prove someone wrong when they doubted you.

Turning around, I dumped the rest of the beer in the sink. The last thing I wanted was a hangover in the morning. My girls deserved better.

After turning out the lights, I went upstairs, checked on them one last time, and went into my bedroom.

Five minutes later, undressed and under the covers, I lay with my hands behind my head, wide awake and unable to stop thinking.

About the past. My mother and father. Naomi and me. Our marriage had failed for different reasons than my parents’—I hadn’t been unfaithful, and to my knowledge, she hadn’t either—but we just hadn’t loved each other enough to make up for lost time, for our differences, for failed expectations, for hurtful things that couldn’t be unsaid.

I thought about Chip and Mariah and hoped it would work out better for them. It certainly seemed like some people were able to figure it out. Maybe it was the luck of the draw. Or maybe it helped to grow up like Chip had, in a house with a mom and a dad in a good marriage. Seemed like Winnie had grown up that way too.

Not that she’d been a grownup very long.

Stifling a groan, I flopped onto my stomach and shoved my head under my pillow, trying not to think about her perfect round ass, her bare wet breasts, water dripping down her warm, smooth skin. I imagined licking droplets from the stiff peaks of her warm pink nipples. I remembered what it felt like to pull her toward me and press my hard cock against her. What would it be like to cover that body with mine, to move inside her, to make her moan beneath me?

She was probably in bed now, just a few feet from the other side of this wall.

It was too close.