Our food arrived.
I had three plates of food . . . to his one.
“You sure you’ll be able to eat all of that?” he asked.
“Watch me. I’ll even mop up every bit of syrup with my bacon.”
Jax teased me for using half a container of apricot syrup on one side of my waffle, and half a container of twinberry syrup on the other side.
I made a gagging noise when he dumped a pile of ketchup on his scrambled eggs.
He returned the sentiment when I covered my hash browns in Heinz 57.
Just normal date behavior for us.
With the exception that I’d never had a man look at me the way Jax did, with longing, lust, amusement and exasperation. Lately, though, the look of lust had gotten way more intense.
And I also really liked his affection, his need to be touching me in some manner, which further cemented this connection strengthening between us.
He finished his meal first and sipped his coffee, wearing that bemused smile as he watched me finish every bite.
The waitress cleared our plates.
“I am stuffed. That was so good. Great date idea.”
“You weren’t lying when you promised to eat it all.”
“Why would I lie about that when I don’t lie about anything else?”
Jax gave me a considering look. “You don’t? Not even a little white lie here and there?”
“Nope. Lying was my father’s specialty—a trait I’m very proud that he didn’t pass on.” As soon as the words tumbled out in a bitter rush, I wished them back.
“That’s the first time I’ve heard you say anything about your dad.”
“That’s because the man isn’t part of my life.”
“Now? Or when you were growing up?”
“Both. I told you my parents divorced when I was ten. That event didn’t change anything about my day-to-day life, because Mom got the house and us. He moved out. As far as I know he paid child support, but we never saw him. He never called. Never came to any of our milestone events. When he ditched Mom, he ditched us too.”
Jax curled his hand around the side of my face. “I don’t know what to say to that, Luce. Sorry . . . Doesn’t seem like you’re sorry he moved on.”
“I’m honestly not. He was a salesman for a pharmaceutical company, with a big territory across the Midwest, so he came home every other weekend. If he wasn’t golfing on that Saturday, then he was at the club with his cronies. My mom half joked that he was too busy dipping into his pharmacy samples to make it home. It didn’t hit me until I was older that Mom had been referencing ‘male enhancement’ drugs, since Daddy-dearest was a proud philanderer.”
“He bragged about fucking around on your mom?”
“He didn’t hide it. I guess he didn’t apologize either. He maintained the ‘what are you going to do about it?’ attitude because he was the breadwinner and she was the homemaker. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now.” I reached for my water to try and break Jax’s hold on me. “So fill me in on our postdinner plans, Mr. Rich and Fancy.”
Jax kept a gently commanding hand against my face. “Don’t try and change the conversation.”
I tried to avoid those cool blue eyes but he wouldn’t allow it. “I hate talking about this.”
“Because it’s a painful part of your past?”
“No. Because I have an unpopular opinion on relationships. Which is why most men don’t make it past the first date with me.”
“You’re talking in riddles, babe. Since I’m the rare mystical male creature in your world that’s made it to the fourth date with you, that means you talk to me, not at me, not around me, not in generalizations. I’ve got nowhere else to be. We can stay here all night if that’s how long it takes for you to believe that I can handle the truth.”
God. He was so pushy. So determined to dive beyond the surface layer with me. So freaking sexy because of all of that.
I locked my gaze to his. “The truth is all men cheat.”
That caught him off guard. “Some, yeah, but not all men.”
“Says you. A man,” I scoffed. “All men cheat is my truth, not my opinion. I’ve never been proven wrong.”
“Never?”
“Never. Needless to say, I have trust issues. I’ve considered that they might also be ‘daddy issues’ because my first male influence was a cheater, but none of the males since, whether they’ve been friends, acquaintances or lovers, have changed my truth.”
“You’ve been cheated on?”
“Every woman I know has been cheated on because men are incapable of monogamy.”
I watched his reaction closely. A narrowing of his eyes. The tightening of his jaw. The need to defend or explain the male species.
So what Jax actually said next shocked the crap out of me.
“You’re sure this is your truth, Lucy? And not a warning passed down from your mother that you’ve taken to believe is the gospel truth about love?”
“This has nothing to do with love. I believe in love. But I don’t believe love is a magical talisman that alters a man’s desire to cheat. A guy can proclaim his love for his woman to his family, friends and even god, and still be banging his assistant in the break room. But because he doesn’t ‘love her’”—I made air quotes—“then it doesn’t count. Men have all sorts of reasons and excuses that justify their cheating ways.”
“Like what?” he demanded.
“Like the example I just gave you. Like what happened to my sister. Her boyfriend of two years got caught cheating after my sister moved back in with me and Mom during her cancer treatment. Notice I didn’t say he ‘started cheating,’ because I fully believe that asswipe had been cheating on my sister all along. But he had an excuse that he truly believed: It could only be considered cheating if they were married. It didn’t ‘count’ if they hadn’t officially exchanged rings in front of friends, family and a preacher.” I paused to take a drink. “Never mind the fact he’d pledged his love to her and that should’ve been enough to keep his dick in his pants.”
“Jesus.”
“Not to mention the dozen or so examples I could share when guys’ significant others ‘don’t understand their needs’ so they troll ‘just for sex’ elsewhere—giving them the best of both worlds, a variety of sexual partners when they want to get kinky, and a companion to come home to who washes his fucking socks. Or they’re working away from home so they invoke the ‘what happens on the road, stays on the road’ cheaters clause. Or it’s not ‘cheating’ if it’s a one-night stand—even if the dude has a different woman / one-night stand every damn week. Or the ‘you don’t pay attention to me so I found someone else who did’ excuse, which conveniently puts the blame on the woman for his cheating behavior. Or there’s the—”
He pressed his thumb over my lips. “Enough. I get it. It’s depressing as hell because you’re not wrong.”
I waited, my heart racing, for what would come next.
Jax focused on my mouth, feathering his thumb across the swell of my lower lip. “I can’t explain away your fears or the idiocy of the male species. I can’t change how you’ve been treated in the past. I won’t discount your truth. But I can ask you to give me a chance to be the exception.”
“For how long? One night proves nothing.”
“Sweetheart, one night would never be enough with you.”
Desire unspooled in my core so fast I felt dizzy.
Which pissed me off, because we were having a conversation about cheating—sex should be the last thing on my mind.
“Whoa there, lady. Your fiery glare is starting to melt my manflesh.”
His use of manflesh made me snicker and provided some levity.
“That’s my clue to whisk you away to the second half of our date, where you can release some of that aggression in a productive way.”
He dropped a fifty on the table and slid out of the booth, waiting while I did the same.
Jax didn’t give me space as we walked out. In fact, he draped his arm over my shoulder and tucked me close to his body.
When we reached his car, I finally said, “Where are we going?”
His dangerously sexy grin set off tiny warning bells. “Someplace where it’s all fun and games.”
* * *
• • •
Everyone started yelling, “Go, go, go!” bringing me back to the present.
I hopped up and squinted at the field, watching as Jensen Lund reached the end zone.
It was easy to get caught up in the Lund family’s excitement.
Confetti actually rained down from the ceiling inside the suite.
Had all members of the Lund family acted this excited during Jax’s hockey games when he played well? Archer and Edie had taken Mimi to several of Jax’s games the last two years he played, but they’d never invited me. Not that I would’ve gone if they had. Mimi was part of this family, not me.
The servers cracked open bottles of champagne. I watched as Jax shook his head at the waiter. Then Edie appeared with another waiter who poured glasses of sparkling cider for Jax and Mimi as well as Lennox.
Yes, the Lund family definitely took care of their own, and I couldn’t be unhappy that my daughter would always have whatever she needed from them without question.
Six
JAX
Normally when I had Mimi I was fully invested in whatever she was saying. I’d worked at becoming an “active listener”—a term my counselor used. That had been something I’d needed to grasp was a constant problem with me. No clue how long I’d been a narcissist, being in my own head, more concerned with creating my response to the conversation without paying attention to what others said. I’d been a piece of work before my issues with alcohol had overtaken my life.
You’re doing it now . . . thinking about your issues instead of listening to your daughter.
Right. But Mimi had been babbling, her thoughts wandering all over the place, and it’d been easy to tune her out. I glanced in the rearview mirror and caught her watching me.
“You weren’t listening, were you?” she accused.
“I’m sorry, Meems, my mind did wander. Sorry. You were telling me about . . . ?”
“Jocelyn’s party tomorrow, geez, Daddy.”
“You have a gift for her, right?”
She sighed dramatically. “Yes, but that’s not what we were talking about. I said it’s an ice skating party and I don’t have any of the clothes and stuff to wear. And then I asked how come you never take me ice skating anymore? We used to go all the time.”
Only because it suited my purpose. I could get Mimi suited up and ditch her with one of the ice rink attendants—usually they were starry eyed when I gave them my name. They were thrilled to work with Mimi while they watched me skate.
In the off-season, which was damn short anyway, I skated five days a week. And since I’d been spending part of my off-season in Minneapolis, I’d intentionally moved from rink to rink for the variances in the ice conditions. And I did spend time skating with Mimi, but after I’d done my own workout.
I’d been such a self-centered dick. I really hoped that Mimi wouldn’t remember that about me.
“So how come you stopped taking me? Because you quit hockey? Because you don’t like it anymore?”
“I love hockey. That’ll never change. And I didn’t quit; I just got too old to play with all of these young guys. But as far as why I don’t take you skating anymore? I wasn’t sure if skating was something you liked, or something you felt you had to like because I spent so much time skating.”
“I like skating, Daddy. A lot. You’re the only one who ever let me skate as fast as I wanted. Last Christmas I went with Mommy and Aunt Lindsey, but they made me hold their hands, the entire time, like I was some kind of baby on double training blades.”
I bit back a smile at her indignation. I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that Miss I-Can-Do-It-Myself had staged a breakaway.
“Okay, sweets. Since you like it for yourself, and not me, next week I’ll look for a rink with open skate times.”
“But Daddy, I don’t have stuff to wear for tomorrow. Mommy donated my old skates, and she said that I could just use the rink’s rental skates at the party.”
I nearly hit the brakes.
Oh fuck no. My kid was not wearing goddamned rental skates.
“I don’t have gloves or a coat or anything either.”
If she really wanted to do this, I’d make sure we did it right from the start.
“Well, squirt, looks like me and you are going shopping.”
* * *
• • •
The next afternoon, Nolan tagged along when I took Mimi to the birthday party.
I wasn’t a drop-and-go dad; I walked my daughter into the rink and made sure there was adult supervision before Nolan and I hit the workout space at Brady’s place, which housed a world-class gym and was only ten minutes from the ice rink.
My little brother tried to beat the fuck out of me . . . and he got in a couple of good shots. But ultimately I won our sparring contest.
For the tenth time.
Yeah, I probably rubbed that in his face.
We grabbed a quick bite to eat and then returned to the rink for the last half hour of the birthday bash. After snagging us each a piece of cake, we sat in the stands and watched.
Nolan bumped me with his knee. “You are such a sucker, bro.”
“What?”
“Mimi. She manipulated you. She looks like a damn professional outfitted like that.”
“Lucy donated her old stuff. She needed new gear, which I provided.”
A moment or two passed and Nolan hissed, “Sweet Jesus, Jax. Is she wearing . . . hockey skates?”
“She wanted them,” I offered as a half-assed protest. “All she could talk about was skating fast.”
“Where’d you take her to buy this stuff?” Nolan asked without any casualness whatsoever.
“The Hockey Grail.”
Another pause. “That store is for professional athletes! She’s eight.”
“I’m a professional athlete. She’s my kid and she doesn’t need to be out in public wearing borrowed sports gear that would catch the interest of the media more than if she’s dressed in top-of-the-line equipment.”
He laughed. “You trying to convince me that girl blends in?”
“Nope.”
“Good. Because you’re not an idiot, dumbass. She’s skating circles around the rest of the girls. Someone is bound to notice that.”
“Let them.”
“I cannot believe you took her to the Hockey Grail.”
I couldn’t believe he was ragging on me about it. “She needed to test skates, and they’re the only sporting goods store that also has a skating rink right in the store.”
“Did she even try figure skates?”
“She wasn’t interested. And now when she and I skate together, she’ll be able to keep up better.”
Nolan faced me. “You plan on taking her to the rink on a regular basis?”
“She said she missed it. And frankly I miss it too.”
“Mama Luce ain’t gonna be happy about this, bro.”
“How will she know? I’ll keep Mimi’s gear at my place.”
“Lying to her? Dude. That’s never gone well for you.”
“True. But I suspect chatterbox won’t be able to keep a secret for long anyway, so I’ll deal with it as it comes up.”
Just then Mimi skated up. “The party is over. Uncle Nolan, can you help me get ready to go?”
“Sure. But why me?”
“Because I heard Dallas say you could get girls out of their cl
othes fast.”
He choked on his last bite of cake.
Way to go, Dallas, saying that stuff to a kid who takes everything literally. “Sweets, that’s not something that should be repeated, okay?” To Nolan I said, “I’ll talk to Dallas about those type of slipups this week.”
“You do that. And I’ll do this.” Nolan stood. “Lead the way, short stuff.”
I’d started picking up the trash around us, when I heard, “Sir? Could I have a word with you?”
I offered the woman a quick smile. Getting recognized had always been part of the gig. “Sure.”
“Does your daughter play hockey?”
Say what? “No. She doesn’t play. Why?”
“I noticed she had on hockey skates, not figure skates.” Upon seeing my frown, she clarified, “It can be an oversight for parents, especially if they’re pink. Anyway, I’m the ice manager and it’s my job to keep an eye on things. And your daughter certainly caught my eye. She’s got a good, fast, solid gait on ice. Does she take lessons?”
“Uh. No.”
“Well, she’s got one helluva natural talent then. Have you ever considered putting her in a hockey program?”
My eyes widened.
And the lady mistook my reaction. She rolled her eyes. “It’ll teach her team-building skills and make her a stronger girl. Hockey is great exercise; it strengthens hand-eye coordination—”
“You don’t have to sell me on it. My daughter’s mother would hate it, constantly worrying about head injuries, broken bones and missing teeth.”
The woman opened her mouth. Shut it. Then she sighed. “Hockey is a contact sport. So those types of injuries are a possibility, but there’s officially a ‘no checking’ rule in girls’ and women’s hockey.”
A familiar quick whistle sounded, followed by, “Jaxson. I’m taking Mimi out to the car.”
“Be right there.” Then I faced the woman again. “I appreciate your input.”
Her mouth hung open. “Holy crap. You’re Jaxson Lund.”
I grinned. “Guilty as charged.”
Then she smacked her own head. “You just let me babble about the benefits of hockey and you’ve won the Stanley Cup three times. Three times! Good lord, man, I’ve been a Wild fan for years, but even I cheered on the ’hawks in the finals in 2015.”
I Want You Back Page 10