Page 45 of A Little Crush (The Little Things #6)

And honestly, it’s refreshing. Being able to joke with someone who understands my sense of humor. Hell, it’s freeing. And addictive. So much so I can’t help but add, “Unless you’re a fan of filling other men’s holes. And hey, I’m not one to judge. Guess I just figured that since you’re a…”

My mouth snaps closed as I realize exactly what I was about to let slip before searching for a way to backpedal. The last thing I would ever want is for someone to feel stupid about their experience, or lack thereof.

The unease I was hoping to prevent swallows her amusement as she stares at me, her drink forgotten. “Since I’m a… what , Jax?”

“Nothing.” I clear my throat. “We should probably order.”

“No deal.” Reaching for my hand, she keeps me from opening the menu. Her hand looks so small compared to mine. I could pull away with ease. But I won’t. Because I like the way she touches me. The way I feel it everywhere. Hell, it’s like she knows how to reach right into my chest and squeeze.

“Tell me,” she says.

Tearing my attention from her hand, I hold her gaze. “You said you’re a virgin, Rore. And there’s nothing wrong with it. Honestly, I feel bad for even insinuating that being innocent is something to be ashamed of, okay? I was teasing, but it still came out wrong, and that’s on me. I screwed up. ”

She tilts her head, watching me but not saying anything. And her silence? It only feeds my regret.

“Rore—”

“I feel like I should make something clear.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“Just because I’m innocent doesn’t mean I want to stay that way.”

Then how the hell does a girl like her still have her v-card if she hasn’t been determined to keep it?

The question sits on the tip of my tongue, but I stop myself from voicing it aloud. Why fuck up twice in less than five minutes? I’m an idiot, but I’m not that dense.

Even so, it’s like she can read my mind because she explains, “I never found a guy who made me want to be…curious enough to be…scandalous or whatever.” The tip of her tongue plays peekaboo as she wets her lips. “They weren’t you.”

Her words, her expression, the brightening tinge of pink as it spreads along her neck.

It all mingles together, making my dick harden and my mind run wild with fantasies.

Of me and her and this table. All of it.

Add in her lack of experience, and I’m pretty sure I could blow a load in my pants right here. Right now.

“Did I just make things awkward?” she whispers. Her attention drifts around the crowded restaurant as if each and every other customer knows exactly what we’re talking about. “I’m sorry?—”

“Never apologize for telling a guy you’re interested in that they make you curious about your sexuality. Never.”

She licks her lips again but forces herself to nod.

“That’s my girl. Now, let’s order some dinner, because after?” I smirk. “We have a game to play.”

She wasn’t kidding. Clearly, the woman hasn’t played a game of miniature golf in years. Her stance is all wrong, she’s hit the ball completely off the green at least three times, and she insisted we stop keeping score after one too many triple bogeys. Honestly? I’ve never felt happier.

The ease of not keeping score. The lackadaisical response to every screw up. The banter and flirty looks and easy conversation. It’s both familiar and new in a way I can’t even explain. All I know is I like it. I like it a lot.

When we head toward the last hole, a bathroom comes into view and Rory announces, “I need to use the restroom. Give me two seconds.”

“Take your time,” I return.

Waving on two more couples to play through, I pull out my phone to see if Iris felt like sending any photos of our daughter—she didn’t—when a pair of panties drops on my screen.

Jerking back, I look up and find Rory grinning at me.

The same familiar twitch in my jeans manages to catch me off guard as I grab the underwear, shoving them into my pocket before anyone notices.

It doesn’t matter how quickly I try to make the evidence of Rory’s lack of clothing beneath her sundress disappear.

I still feel the dampness of her curiosity on my palm.

She was wet. She’s still wet.

I tilt my head. “What are you doing?”

“Being curious.” Clutching her fingers behind her back, she rises onto her tiptoes and waits. The combination somehow manages to make her look even more tempting and innocent than before as her breasts strain against the thin cotton of her dress. “Is that a problem, Mr. Thorne?”

“Rory…” I look around the crowded course, then back to the woman in front of me.

She’s seriously testing my self-control, and if I’m not careful, I just might out our…

whatever this is to everyone in the vicinity before we’ve even had a ch ance to thoroughly test the waters.

The question is, how do I play this? How does she want me to play this?

As if she can read my questioning gaze, she adds, “Just to be clear. There’s only one right answer. If you give me the wrong one, I'll run out of this place, call a cab, and never talk to you again.”

Yeah, like my restraint has anything to do with me not wanting her. The idea alone is laughable. She’s gorgeous. Sweet. And ripe for the picking.

Shifting closer, I murmur, “The path on the other side of this hole leads to an abandoned ice cream stand where we might be able find some?—”

“Jaxon?” someone calls.

Rory’s eyes bulge as the blood drains from her face. Hell, it probably matches my own expression, all things considered. I glance over my shoulder, confirming my suspicion.

Shit.

I knew I recognized that voice.

Pressing my hand to my pocket and what I know is tucked inside, I face my dad and give him a smile. “Hey, Dad. What are you doing here?”

“Thought we’d give Griffin and Finley a date night,” my mom answers for him while rocking side to side with a baby strapped to her chest. If the plume of dark hair is anything to go by, I’d say it’s a sleeping Callie.

A few feet away stands my nephew who’s wielding his putter like it’s a lightsaber.

“Charge!” he yells.

My dad blocks a potential blow to his shin. “What are you guys doing here?”

Macky swings the putter again. “Gonna get you!”

“Why don’t you go get your uncle instead?” my dad suggests.

Macky’s eyes light up, and he rushes toward me, his putter held high above his head. “Expelliarmust!” he yells .

I manage to dart out of his path at the last second before grabbing his little wrist and lifting him into the air, swinging him around.

“Wrong franchise, young Padawan,” my dad jokes, rolling his eyes at Rory. “Dylan’s boys have been rubbing off on him. Can you tell?”

With a light laugh, Rory smooths down the edge of her white dress, probably trying to make sure her bare ass stays covered, and replies, “Yeah, if it’s a Harry Potter reference, then it’s definitely Reeves’ family’s fault.”

“Don’t I know it,” my mom quips. “So? What are you guys doing here? You don’t have Poppy, do you?”

“Not this week,” I answer, praying there are no follow-up questions because I have no idea what to say if either of my parents point out that I’m here with a certain someone who’s wanted nothing to do with me for around a decade.

Yeah, most people in this town would buy the whole family friend excuse. But our families? Not so much.

“Oh.” My mom’s attention darts from me to Rory and back again. “Okay?”

All right, maybe a follow-up question or two would’ve been more appropriate.

Because the awkward silence enveloping us?

Yeah, it’s something else. Why would I be here with Rory?

Why would I be here alone with Rory? What the fuck are we supposed to say?

I knew it was a risk to take her on a date, but I didn’t think?—

“Actually.” Rory clears her throat. “We were interviewing a few potential nannies and wanted to see if they knew how to have fun, so we brought them to play miniature golf, but then they bailed, and we figured, why not play a round ourselves for old time’s sake, right?”

My teeth dig into the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing or admitting defeat right here and now.

Is she serious? She really went with interviewing nannies as our reason for being here?

At a miniature golf place? Before they bailed ?

She might as well tattoo her forehead with, Liar, liar, pants on fire , at this point.

Then again, she is missing her panties. No wonder she’s spooked.

Even so, the woman can’t think my parents are this delusional. Can she?

“Interviewing here ?” my dad asks. He looks about as confused as Tatum is whenever hockey is a topic of conversation. “Why would you?—”

“She’s kidding,” I interrupt.

Rory squeaks beside me, and it takes everything inside of me to keep from shooting her a warning look to stop being so damn obvious.

“Crowther has a thing for miniature golf,” I continue, “and Rory asked if I could coach her on a few holes so she doesn’t get her ass handed to her.”

“Ass is a bad word,” my nephew chimes in, still resting on my hip while eavesdropping like a pro.

Shit, despite holding him, I’d almost forgotten he’s here.

I set the little tyke back on the ground, and he rushes off to his grandpa with his putter pointed directly at the man’s crotch. It seems the light saber slash wizard wand is now a lance, and my dad’s junk is about to be impaled by the damn thing in an impromptu jousting session.

My dad blocks the attempt before Macky does any real damage and shakes his head. “Aaaand, no more knight books for you,” he announces. “Anyway, Crowther’s a good guy. I heard about his mom, though. It’s a shame.”

“His mom?” Rory interjects.

“Your dad was telling me they just found out her cancer’s back,” my dad explains. “I think he’s taking a leave of absence for a few games so he can be with her?”

Macky wiggles in my dad’s arms. “Potty now. Potty now.”

“And that’s our cue,” he tells me. “Come on, little man. Let’s use the restroom so we can finish the game, yeah?” Grasping Macky’s shoulders, my dad turns my nephew around and begins guiding him toward the bathroom. “Have fun, you two!”

“Wait! Let me hold the golf equipment while you go in,” my mom adds, trailing after them.

“It was good seeing you,” Rory calls.

My mom gives her a quick smile over shoulder while patting Callie’s bottom through the carrier. “Good seeing you, too, Rore. Love the dress. Nice and breezy in this warm weather.”

Rory’s cheeks redden even more as she crosses one ankle in front of the other. “Thanks. Bye!”

Once they’ve rounded the corner, she snatches my hand and drags me as far away from the course as possible.

And even though I don’t blame her for wanting to get the hell out of dodge, I can’t hide my rumble of amusement as she tugs at the hem of her dress, confirming the breeze isn’t getting out of hand.