Even in voice work, Jax, and other actors he’d seen, moved their bodies, made facial expressions, gestured with their hands.
Theo pulled Jax close and kissed his cheek. “I really hope you find someone who helps you get it.”
Jax hugged him. “Do you ever regret that we didn’t work out?”
“No.” Theo bumped his shoulder as they moved toward the table Dane and Gideon had claimed. “First, then I wouldn’t have Kieran. Second, that would be way too much artistic temperament in one household. Third….” Theo reached up, grabbed Jax’s head, and kissed him full on the lips. It was all Jax could do to not jerk away. Theo’s eyes were full of laughter as he released him. “Third, we aren’t attracted to each other.”
Jax tucked his fingers in his pocket rather than rub his lips. Hugs and affection from Theo were fine. But anytime Theo had kissed him like that, it had felt off.
Theo stretched his arm around Jax’s shoulders. “So let’s do this bachelor-party thing right. I have a fiancé to get back to.”
Chapter 21
JAX WASN’T completely sure he knew how to, as Oz had put it, “See what happens.”
When Jax got back from Hawaii, he set up in a furnished apartment in a building that housed mostly corporate, short-term leases. Lots of frowning businessmen coming and going, but it had a parking space in a garage and was only fifteen minutes from Oz’s house.
So far, Jax had spent two nights at Oz’s house. The first time, he’d been too conscious of the fact that the kids were in the house to take advantage of Oz in a bed all night, no matter how many times Oz assured him the kids wouldn’t wake up. The second time, Jax had choked on a pillow to keep quiet. Oz had to yank it away from his face to make sure he was breathing. Jax could still taste the fibers.
The whole thing felt like an in-depth audition, lots of meetings, screen tests, and readings with the rest of the cast. If it were only up to Oz and Regan, Jax was pretty sure he’d have gotten the part—only he wasn’t certain about what part he was auditioning for. Ayla, though. Ayla was a tougher sell. Jax’s charm failed to make a dent, and Oz had made it clear bribery was out.
Today was Regan’s birthday. Her family birthday party, as it had been explained to him, would be today, and on Saturday she’d have a party with her friends. Jax had pulled out all the stops to find advice on what would delight a turning-five-year-old who liked musical cartoon fairy tales, while staying in the budget limit Oz had instituted the minute he’d seen the look on Jax’s face at the birthday announcement.
He put his professionally wrapped gifts and overnight bag—they were trying another sleepover—in Oz’s room and made his way back downstairs in time to overhear further dissent from the minority.
“But if he’s a friend, he should be at the friend party.”
“Ayla Diana Parsons, Jax is going to be at the family party. You may find yourself uninvited from cake and ice cream if this whining continues.”
Ayla shot Jax a narrow-eyed glare from the doorway and turned to the worksheet in front of her, circling and crossing out with murderous intent. Oz had assured Jax that she wasn’t so much opposed to him as venting her frustrations at Joaquín’s absence. Jax found he could handle hostility better than tears. Making her acknowledge him—with the ultimate goal of earning a smile—was the kind of challenge the performer in him enjoyed.
Oz’s smile was far warmer—extremely warming to Jax’s southern regions—when Oz stuck a finger in the bright green frosting he’d just pulled the mixer blades from and then licked it clean.
He beckoned with that finger. “Want a taste?”
Jax stepped forward, mesmerized. Oz’s finger was stained green around the nail bed, lips a horror-shade color from the vivid green dye he’d used. Sugar or flour covered his forearm, clinging to the hair, and the man was wearing an apron.
Jax’s pulse jumped, a sudden quick breath in his throat, that earlier warmth spreading through his belly and chest. What had Theo said about the lust high hitting at weird times?
Regan barreled into the kitchen. “Daddy, we don’t have any downstairs either.”
Regan had been rummaging through one of the lower cabinets when Jax arrived, pausing only to hug him before going back to her search.
“What are you looking for?” Jax asked, seeing Oz’s stop sign too late.
“Rainbow sprinkles.” Regan’s voice screeched with desperation. “We have to have them for the birthday cupcakes or they aren’t birthday cupcakes.”
“Let me look, honey.” Oz made a quick run through all the kitchen cabinets, and then headed into the basement.
As his feet thudded on the stairs, Ayla looked up from her worksheet. “Daddy lets us lick the beaters.”
“Can we, Jax?” Regan said.
That sounded like a setup straight out of Family Daze. “I was born at night but not last night.” Jax held up his hands. “You can ask your dad when he gets back upstairs.”
“I was born today. Five years ago,” Regan announced, while Ayla seemed to be trying to work through what Jax had meant.
Oz came back through the cellar door. “Baby, I’m sorry. I don’t think we have any.”
“But we have to. It’s not the same. We need rainbow sprinkles.” Regan’s eyes filled with tears, and she wrapped her arms around Oz’s knees.
Jax caught Oz’s eyes and mouthed, I could go buy them.
After a minute Oz gave a tiny shake of his head, then tapped his chest, a question in his eyes.
Me stay with them? Jax mouthed.
Oz smiled and nodded. Why not? he mouthed.
Why not? Didn’t Oz remember Jax’s disastrous efforts with the doll? How could he be considering leaving his daughters alone with a man who couldn’t even take care of a plastic plant?
“If I went to go get some rainbow sprinkles, would you be good girls and stay with Jax?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Regan agreed immediately, but Jax knew she wouldn’t be the problem.
“Ayla?”
After a put-upon sigh, Ayla answered, “I suppose. But please tell him that we are allowed to lick the beaters when you make frosting.”
Oz nodded. “That’s true. They do get them.”
He wiped off most of the frosting with a spatula and detached the beaters, handing one off to each.
“It won’t take long. The store’s only ten minutes away.” Oz untied his apron. “If my mother or sister shows up, tell them I’ll be right back.”
“Your mother?” Jax felt his eyes widen.
“Family birthday.” Oz smiled.
Jax’s chest got that warm feeling again. Okay. They could do this. It was like an audition. A tryout. He wasn’t signing a contract.
“Okay.” Jax took a deep breath.
Oz grabbed a coat and keys and was out the side door before Jax could really think it through.
Through the window over the sink, Jax watched the Explorer back down the driveway and turn onto the street, leaving him alone.
“Here, Regan. You can finish mine.”
Jax turned to find Ayla handing off a green-coated beater to her sister.
Jax thought he should probably remind Regan to say thank you, but she was too busy smearing green frosting all over her face. There was a lot still on the beater. Maybe Ayla was too annoyed at being stuck with him to eat.
Jax studied the cooled cupcakes and the bowl of frosting. He hadn’t gotten a taste yet.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked.
“I get to pick because it’s my birthday. So we’re having tacos.” Regan pointed at the store kit on the counter.
Jax was ready to say what he would have said to an adult, Come out to California with me some time and we’ll get some real tacos. While it was perfectly G-rated, he didn’t think it was the kind of thing you said to a five-year-old about her favorite meal.
“What do you have on your birthday, Ayla?”
Regan answered that too. “Fish sticks.” She made a disgusted face.
“Can we? I can help!” Regan said.
They were big on volunteering. Ayla had even volunteered to sweep the kitchen every night Jax had been there for dinner. They helped set the table and carried their dishes into the kitchen. And it would definitely be better than standing there waiting for one of them to burst into tears. Jax eyed the counter space and their stools.
“Okay. We can do this.”
They didn’t have aprons, but he found plastic grocery bags in a holder on one of the cabinet doors, and he tied them—loosely—around their necks to protect their clothes. Then he found table knives and tested them on his thumb to make sure they couldn’t cut themselves.
“No putting the knives in your mouths, you could cut your tongue and… have to eat the blood.” He thought that sounded discouraging enough.
“Eww,” Regan said.
“I hate it when I bite my tongue,” Ayla agreed.
Jax was impressed with himself. She’d actually agreed with him.
He put a cupcake in front of each of them.
They dipped their knives in the frosting bowl and started to work. Jax looked up from his own cupcake and saw his first big mistake. The counter was getting a bit green as the frosting went awry. He could fix that. “Hang on.” After detaching the paper towel roll from the dispenser, he pulled off a long strip. “Lift up the cupcakes.”
As they complied, he covered their work area.
Neither of them was going to be snatched up by a catering company for designer cakes, but it looked like more frosting was going on the cupcakes than on the paper towel, and no knives went near mouths. He kept a close eye on the location of the stainless steel.
Jax had managed six cupcakes with the spatula to Regan’s two and Ayla’s three when he noticed that the bowl was less than half full. According to his subtraction efforts, they still had twenty-five out of thirty-six cupcakes left to frost.
Regan was on his left, where he could keep the closest eye on her knife work. With her fist around the handle, she scooped up a big dollop of frosting and covered the top of her third cupcake. Half went on the cupcake, half went on top of her left hand holding the cupcake. As Jax watched, she licked her hand clean and smeared more frosting on it. Well, that solved some of the mystery.
“Regan?”
She looked up at him. Her lips and chin were coated in sticky green. As he watched, she cleaned her lips with a stained tongue.
“I’m not putting the knife in my mouth, Jax.”
“I see that. I think I should hold the cupcake for you while you put the frosting on.”
If she resented that he had caught on to her system of frosting ingestion, she didn’t complain. “Okay.”
As he held the cupcake for Regan, he noticed less went on his hand. It could also be that he was able to steady it with a light grip at the base.
He watched Ayla. She had a system. Drop the big smear on the top, then push it around with the knife. The rest of the Mystery of the Disappearing Frosting was solved. Way too much topping per cupcake.
“My aunt says this is how you do nail polish the right way,” Ayla announced when she saw Jax watching.
Maybe he should text Oz to buy more frosting. They were having fun, and he didn’t want to get all critical with them. Regan used her free hand to swipe up some frosting from the paper towel and stuff it in her mouth.
They were definitely going to need more frosting. Jax had kept the paper towel roll in easy reach. He paused their work to wipe their hands and his and then pulled out his phone and tapped out a text.
“Jax.” Regan grabbed his arm hard. “I don’t feel good.”
Panic filled his throat, thicker, heavier than the taste of sugar in the air.
“What’s wrong?” He dropped the phone on the counter and turned her on her stool.
That smeared face didn’t have any cues.
“She gets sick easy,” Ayla said calmly. “If she eats too much stuff like candy, she throws up.”
“Throws up?” That was a reason to be calm?
“Jax.” Regan yanked at his sleeve. “I think—”
He scooped her off the stool and ran down the hall to the bathroom under the stairs. Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t.
In the bathroom he put her on her feet. Sink, toilet, a bin?
“Jax.” There was a whine of desperation her voice, and she pointed at the toilet basin.
Shit. Jax lifted the seat for her and clenched his teeth. Her little body spasmed, and she spewed a fountain of green into the toilet. The retching sound, the splash, and the smell were a lethal combination that had Jax hanging on to his gag reflex for all he was worth. He forced himself not to retreat any farther than the door.
“Jax.” It was a pitiful whisper. “Rub my ba—” She puked again, shaking.
He stepped forward and stroked her spine. When the next round hit, he went with her.
OZ HUSTLED through the errand as fast as a black man could without ending up on the wrong side of police interest and was back at the side door within thirty-five minutes. It wasn’t as if he expected a disaster, but he didn’t want to leave Jax alone too long for his first try.
Ayla met him, face streaked with tears. “It’s my fault.” After that only a few words came through the sobs. “I… beater… frosting… extra… sick…. Jax.”
Oz did a quick damage assessment. No fire, no blood. Ayla looked fine, except for a tinge of green frosting around her lips and the tears. Even the kitchen was okay. She did have a plastic garbage bag tied around her neck, though. Oz knelt and untied it.
“What happened? Where are Regan and Jax?”
“Bathroom. Regan got sick and Jax—”
Jax wouldn’t have left. He’d been a little jumpy, but he wouldn’t leave because Regan got sick on frosting. Which Ayla had apparently been feeding her. Oz strode down the hall and opened the bathroom door.
His eyes watered from the smell. It could have been a scene from a frat party. Two people curled up next to the toilet, vomit coating the sink and splashed over the commode, much of it with a green tinge, some of it splattered on the people.
Jax was wedged between the toilet and the wall, a sniffling Regan held in his lap. God, the green vomit was in his hair. On his shirt. Jax looked up at him, one eye hidden behind a crusty hank of hair. His pale lips made an effort at a smile.
“Daddy, we got sick.”
“I can see that.”
“Me being sick made Jax sick.”
Jax nodded.
“Grams is here,” Ayla called.
“I feel better, but I don’t think Jax does.” Regan turned to look at Jax, who had shut his eyes.
Oz was too light and then too heavy for his own body. He went down on his knees, and Regan crawled over to him. Her clothes had been spared a little by the plastic bag around her neck. He untied it. Her face wasn’t too bad. A greenish washcloth was next to Jax’s legs.
Oz knew this feeling. It was nothing like when they’d put Regan in his arms, and at the same time it was absolutely the same. The helplessness. The bone-deep certainty.
“Baby, can you go tell Grams what happened while I see if Jax is okay?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Oz nudged the door shut behind her. “Are you okay?”
Jax’s eyes opened again, and he waved a hand back and forth.
“Sympathetic puker?”
Jax slapped a hand over his mouth.
“Sorry. I should have told you about Regan’s sensitivity. I think Ayla snuck her some extra frosting on a beater.”
Jax shook his head. “Nah.” His voice was raspy. “My fault. She got it while we were frosting cupcakes.” He straightened a little against the wall. “So. Do we certify our efforts a disaster and call in the Red Cross? I can evacuate the area.”
“No
pe. As a structural engineer, I can certify that we have a completely sound foundation and are building on it.”
“You must not be looking at the same site I am.” Jax let his head fall back against the wall. “After a few minutes in my care, your daughter got violently ill. On her birthday. That’s one for the scrapbook.”
“What my inspection showed was that someone was here for her, stayed with her even though it made him sick.”
Jax shrugged.
Maybe he should wait. And maybe if he did, he wouldn’t get the chance. Oz sat on the floor. “Something else I noticed.”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
AT NO time in his life had Jax ever wished harder that he’d had a script to help him through a scene. “You—ah—you—noticed that?”
“There’s that stutter. Don’t sweat it. It’s an observation.” Oz patted Jax’s thigh, then stood.
Jax had been trying to do his own observations, using Theo’s description as a guide. The giddy lust sensation not fading and hitting at odd times. Check. Thinking about him, plans including him. Check. Who was supposed to be doing the little things Theo had mentioned?
Why wasn’t it easy for him to say I love you like it was for Dane and Theo? Jax knew he had feelings for Oz, for Regan, for Ayla. Maybe Oz only meant it the way Dane did when he threw it around. Not with that in-love connotation attached.
The patient expression on Oz’s face was no help. Jax had seen that a bunch of times, and not just with the kids. He went to push his hair out of his face and ended up with the strong urge to bend back over the toilet.
“How about you go shower and I take care of stuff down here. You can even crash in bed if you want.”
“Thank you.” Jax pushed to his feet. He wanted to hug Oz, but spared them both. “God, thank you.” The gratitude was sincere. Reverent. This reprieve was definitely one of “the little things.” So maybe it was love? He’d have to think about it when he didn’t feel like puking.
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