Page 26 of Biggest Player (Not Yours #2)

Margot

“I still can’t decide if that was fun for me or not.”

I’m huffing and puffing when my feet touch the ground again, harness firmly planted up my backside—a.k.a. butt—squeezing and squishing all my bits.

All my nerves are short-circuiting from the sensation.

“Mom, you should see your face.” Wyatt laughs, high-fiving Dex in the most aggravating way. The pair have done a special handshake no fewer than a dozen times.

“I don’t want to see my face,” I tell my child. Honestly, I don’t need to see my face to know how red it is. I can feel it burning, not just from exhaustion but from the embarrassment. The last thing I would choose for a date is to have my pants up my ass crack, yet here we are.

“You did great.” Dex, for his part, puts one hand around my waist and pulls me in, planting a loud, chaste kiss on top of my head. “And you look adorable.”

“I don’t feel adorable,” I mumble, trying to discreetly adjust the harness and pull fabric out of my rear. Dex laughs, the sound deep and warm, and I can’t help but smile despite myself.

“Seriously, Mom, you were awesome!” Wyatt chimes in, her eyes shining with pride. But she’s my number one sidekick, so she has to tell me I’m awesome. It’s, like, her job. “You climbed that wall like a pro.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” I say, glancing up at the towering wall I just scaled. “But thanks, Wyatt.”

Her encouragement feels like a balm, soothing my frazzled nerves.

Most days, she’s the sweetest sweetheart.

Other days, she’s a total monster, but I won’t dwell on that.

Right now I’m focusing on bringing my breathing back to normal and on Dex’s massive hand on my hip as if it belongs there.

Feels like it does.

I feel small next to him, tiny.

Safe.

Wyatt giggles, breaking my thoughts. “Dude, I was like a spider monkey up there!”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “A spider monkey? You definitely looked like one, hanging on to those handholds. Are you sure this was your first time rock climbing?”

Wyatt nods. “I totally want to do it again.”

Dex laughs. “Well, little spider monkey, how about we cool down with some ice cream? My treat.” He glances at me. “If it’s okay with your mom.”

“You mention ice cream in front of her and expect me to say no? As if there’s a choice?”

Rule 1: Never mention sweets in front of a child and expect to get out of it. Kids never forget anything.

Rule 2: I’m the one who looks like an asshole if I say no to ice cream, damn him.

Wyatt, bless her adorable heart, is already celebrating, bouncing on her toes. “Yes, yes, yes to ice cream.”

They high-five.

“Isn’t he just the best?” I ask playfully. “He’s trying to bribe us into hanging out with him longer than I would normally allow us to be out on a Sunday night.”

“Don’t be a party pooper.” He says it with a grin, holding up his hands in mock surrender to make himself look innocent. “So, what do you say? Want to follow me in your car? There’s a place not too far from here.”

There always is.

“I have no choice, do I?”

He shakes his head.

Settled in the car, my child grins. “I like him.”

I give my daughter side-eye as we pull out of the sporting complex.

“Of course you do, he’s your sidekick now, siding with you on everything.” I am the odd man out! She finally has someone to hang out with who acts her age. “Plus he bought you those LEGOs.”

It would be remiss of me not to remind her.

“That’s not the only reason I like him,” she says. “He’s fun. And LEGOs are not toys—they’re fuel for my imagination.”

Ha. True.

It’s also true that Dex is fun. But fun isn’t what I consider a building block of a good relationship, although it helps.

Baby steps.

When we pull up to the small brightly colored ice cream slash tourist shop, Wyatt is practically vibrating with excitement and frothing at the mouth for something sweet. The sign above the entrance reads Scoops Ahoy! and the smell of freshly made waffle cones wafts through the air.

My mouth waters, and we’re not even inside yet.

It’s a whimsical wonderland of colors, twinkling fairy lights, and a dizzying array of ice cream flavors—not to mention T-shirts, mini cacti, hoodies, postcards, and other Arizona-themed treasures.

Wyatt beelines for the counter, licking her lips as she takes in her options, and I can tell by the look in her eyes she is wishing for and wanting each one of them.

“Can I get ... um ... chocolate chip cookie dough? No, wait! Mint chocolate chip! Or maybe both?” my child babbles, her indecision making Dex laugh— and me cringe .

I can handle it when my daughter gets hyper, but he’s not used to it.

I wonder what he’s thinking right now.

“Why not both?” Dex suggests, winking at me over the top of her head. “YOLO, am I right?”

I forget that he’s a man who makes a ton of money.

Wyatt’s eyes light up. “Really? Thanks, Dex! You’re officially my favorite person.” She hugs him tight around the waist, squeezing her eyes shut in the process.

“Hey!” I protest, feigning hurt. “What about me?”

She turns to me with a mischievous grin. “You’re my favorite too.” Pauses. “Obviously.”

I raise a brow. “How many favorites do you have?”

Wyatt starts counting out loud. “You, Dad, Mrs. Fletcher, my art teacher. Conrad, the lizard. The guy at the botanical garden who always lets me pick the daisies. Dex.”

“Dude, that’s a lot of favorites,” Dex points out.

My daughter shrugs. “I like a lot of things.”

We place our orders. Wyatt does order the double-scoop monstrosity that is her heart’s desire, while Dex and I opt for a hot fudge sundae we intend to share.

Wyatt scores us a booth by the window and immediately starts chattering, lacing her fingers together and setting her hands on the table.

“So,” she begins. “When are we getting together again?” Her gaze bounces between Dex and me.

“We’ll see.” We haven’t even had dessert yet, and she’s already ten steps ahead.

“Don’t you think it went well?” my daughter asks, putting me on the spot. “I know I had fun.”

Fun.

There’s that word again . . .

“Of course I think it went well,” I say, face flushing when Dex turns to watch me, curious, I’m sure, as to what I’m going to say next.

“Then why wouldn’t we get together again?” Wyatt urges. “We can go to San Diego or something.”

If I were drinking water, I would choke. “San Diego?”

Fortunately for me, Dex decides to chime in, splaying his hands on the tabletop, mirroring my daughter’s pose.

“Easy there, little spider monkey. Let’s have ice cream first before we take a road trip— then we can hijack all your mom’s plans to keep me in the friend zone.”

I relax, sighing back into the leather of the booth. “Dex and I will talk privately about whether or not we’re going to see each other again—and if you’ll be invited. Young lady.”

I stress the word privately , and we all grin when the server brings over our ice cream. He sets the bowls in the center of the table and stands at the foot of it, staring down at Dex.

“You’re Dex Lansing.”

Dex’s grin is wide and friendly. “Sure am.”

He looks humble, which surprises me. I kind of expected that the first time I’d see someone approaching him in public—the signing did not count, IMO—he would say something cocky like “The one and only!” But he doesn’t. He seems modest and chill and at ease.

Which is great, because when the teenager opens his mouth, all that comes out is an awkward “Um.”

He is speechless—a total fan.

“What’s your name?” he asks the teen, making him stammer even more.

“Dude.”

“Your parents named you Dude?” Wyatt pulls a face. “That is so weird.”

“Wyatt.” My tone is a warning.

“Gavin,” the teen finally says, eking out an “I’m Gavin.”

Dex holds out his palm to give the kid’s hand a shake. “Good to meet you, my man.”

Eventually the server goes back to the serving counter, and we’re able to dig into our treats, Wyatt waving her spoon around. “Anyway, all I’m saying is, I think the two of you have great chemistry—and this date was fun.”

“When did you say that?” Because she did in fact say nothing of the sort.

Dex tilts his head, amused, stealing the cherry from the top of our sundae and popping it in his mouth. “How old are you again?”

“Ten. I thought you knew that.”

“Well, you sound forty.”

My daughter giggles, loving the compliment.

“I feel forty,” Wyatt announces, spoon buried in her ice cream.

“Being a grown-up can be pretty dull sometimes. Enjoy your youth while it lasts.” I pause, thinking about my stance on rock climbing. “Tonight was actually a lot of fun.”

Dex takes a bite of our sundae and nods thoughtfully. He swallows. “Except those harnesses. I could have done without those pinching my nads.”

“Facts.” My daughter nods sagely, as if it were the kind of statement she’s used to.

Trying my best not to correct him—he’s a grown man, I do not need to scold him for using the word nads in front of my kid—I create the perfect bite: ice cream, chocolate, whipped cream, nuts.

Taste it and moan. “Yum. So good.”

As we finish our treats, the sun sets outside, casting a warm glow through the parlor’s windows. Wyatt’s energy starts to wane, and she leans against me, letting out a big yawn.

“Tired, kiddo?” I ask softly.

She nods. “Yeah, kind of. But I had tons of fun.”

I smile, then press a kiss to the top of her head. “I did too.”

Dex stands, stretching, and gathers up our empty containers. “We should get you home, Wyatt. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

He sounds so responsible.

“Yeah. And I have to take a shower before bed.” She holds up her hands. “My palms are still covered in chalk.”