Page 26 of Gross Misconduct (The Comebacks #1)

26

GRIFFIN

I don’t want my day with Jack to end. After pottery, we walked to My Flower of Need, each of us carrying a girl on our shoulders. When I thought we’d say our goodbyes, Jack asked to see the ice castle I was building, which immediately got the girls excited. He followed us back to our house, and I couldn’t help feel a swell of pride as he admired the work-in-progress.

After that, I thought he would finally get on with his day. But then he picked up a hammer and began nailing in the last remaining planks of wood. I wasn’t going to sit by and let him do all the work. The girls put on music and played in the backyard as we finished the castle, capping one of the most enjoyable days I’ve had in a while. Was it all because of Jack’s presence? I’d like to say no, but I don’t want to lie to myself.

“Whoa.” I step back and take in the finished product. The ice castle sits mightily on the tree branches.

“Nice job,” Jack says, nudging my elbow.

“It took the work of a lot of good friends.” I’ve never been so happy to have handy friends. No way could I have done this on my own.

“So what’s Frozen actually, like, about?” Jack asks, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his shirt, exposing his rippling abs. I feel a little guilty that he’s spent his lazy Saturday doing manual labor and answering a barrage of questions from my daughters.

June runs up, at the ready. “It’s about two sisters, and one has this scary special power, so their parents force her to stay in her bedroom and never come out. But then her parents die, and she leaves her room, and everyone gets mad at her, so she leaves and creates a new ice castle for herself in the woods…” By the end, she’s out of breath. My daughter can’t remember if she did her homework, but can recite the entire plot of a feature-length film in stunning detail.

“Daddy, can we watch Frozen tonight in our new ice castle?” Annabelle asks.

Rather than immediately say no, the spirit of the day convinces me to run with the idea. Fortunately, it’s a balmy early March evening. If we bring blankets and my space heater into the castle, we won’t freeze.

“Sure,” I say.

“Really?” Annabelle asks, just as shocked as I am that I easily said yes.

“Really,” I confirm.

“Can we make popcorn?” Annabelle asks.

“Sure.”

“Can Jack watch with us?” June loops her arm through Jack’s.

“Girls, it’s been a long day and Jack wants to get home.”

“I don’t know.” Jack scratches at his chin. “You ladies have been hyping up Frozen all day. I think I need to see it.”

The girls bounce with excitement as they sense the scales tipping their way. Another kind of excitement flutters through me. The terrifying kind of excitement, like what the guy who did a tightrope walk across the Twin Towers must’ve felt.

“Jack, you’ve spent so much time with the girls. You don’t need to wreck your Saturday night plans for this. Girls, Jack can watch Frozen on his own and tell us what he thinks.”

“Watching Frozen is better than what I had planned,” he says.

“You heard it, Daddy. He wants to watch it in our ice castle treehouse with popcorn.” June stands on her tippy toes and beams in victory.

I glance at Jack, giving him the signal that he can go. But Jack pays me no mind.

“Let’s make some popcorn!” He scoops up Annabelle in his arms and goes into the house.

The one guy I can’t let get into my head has moved in and thrown his stuff all around.

* * *

A little bit later, we’re all set and ready to go. We set up my tablet on an extra piece of wood with the movie all queued up. We brought sleeping bags, pillows, and blankets into the tree house. Jack and I hauled up two folding lawn chairs. The girls decorated with streamers and Frozen accoutrement as Jack strung twinkly lights around the walls.

The lawn chair creaks as I unfold it and makes louder groans when I plunk my big ass down. The girls lay on their stomachs in front of the TV. Jack unfolds his chair right next to mine.

“Is this too close?” Jack asks.

“No. No, not at all.” I cough down a flutter of excitement in my chest.

Jack collapses into his chair. “Comfy.”

In the twinkly lights, his lips glow against the darkness. His stubble comes into view on his cut jaw line. He is even more handsome than usual.

I turn on the movie. The girls keep looking back at Jack to tell him what’s going on in the movie. Jack, for his part, seems engaged in what’s going on in Arendelle.

Me? Not so much.

Because every time I glance toward Jack, something flips in my stomach that shouldn’t be flipping. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be this amazing with my girls. He shouldn’t be making me feel this kind of happiness that is new to me, opening me up into scary places. He smiles at me in between nodding at June’s commentary, and I have to look away because it causes my stomach to flip again.

My mind jumps ahead to the end of this night. How the hell are we going to say goodbye? It was one thing to bump into him at Caroline’s, but then it spiraled into this truly wonderful day. All I can think about is ending things with a good night kiss, which is totally off limits. The good juju does not require a good night kiss.

This whole day has been a mistake because I’m supposed to be kicking his ass a week from tomorrow. He’s supposed to be an overconfident asshole. We’re not supposed to hang out, and he’s definitely not supposed to endear himself to my girls.

What the hell is going to happen when he leaves? Is it just going to be a see ya and wave? Or do we shake hands? Will he try to hug me? Is there a tiny chance he might try to kiss me?

“Daddy, you seem confused?”

I blink and find Annabelle looking back at me. She sips from her Olaf-branded water bottle.

“The snowman is now talking. Do we need to rewind?” Jack asks.

He tries to take the remote from me, and our fingers touch, eliciting an electric response that makes the hairs on my neck stand up. I can smash into him on the ice no problem, but a finger touch threatens to knock me down.

What if I took Jack’s hand? What if I brushed my calloused thumb over his bumpy knuckles and liked it? What if I admitted that today was one of the best days I’ve had in a long time? Being with Jack makes me believe that I’m living my life exactly as I should, that waiting for him to be my first with a guy was the right move because there is no better man than him.

Jack doesn’t pretend to watch the movie. He watches for real. The girls keep looking back at him, waiting for his reaction to a musical number or plot beat, and he serves every time. And when he glances at me for my reaction, I struggle to keep my face muted when my desire to kiss him keeps gaining strength inside me like a hurricane headed for the Florida coast.

I’ve seen this movie enough times to know how much longer until it ends. With each second, the countdown clock pounds in my head. Because once it’s over, the girls will go to bed, and Jack will go home, and we will have to say goodbye. With a head nod, a handshake, a hug, or a kiss.

It’s not going to be a kiss, I tell myself. Jack is being nice to the girls. That’s all.

We reach the final number. Elsa and Anna find true love in their sisterhood. Why the hell am I thinking about Jack whenever they mention true love? He’s probably the conniving prince.

Everyone on screen gets their happy ending. The girls yawn. One of them may already be asleep. The credits roll. It’s over. This incredible day and night are done.

I stop the movie mid-credits, an exciting panic flinging itself around in my chest. I imagine this is how people feel while on a good first date.

I sit in my seat for a few extra moments, admiring how peaceful the girls are, afraid to look at Jack.

The quiet, the darkness, the twinkly lights. It’s all too romantic, and I need it to go away.

I stand up and clean up the popcorn kernels from the floor. The more I can focus on the task at hand, the better. Jack squats next to me. I can smell his woodsy cologne.

“I’m going to have half of those songs stuck in my head, won’t I?”

“Oh, no question.”

His laughter sends a warm and fuzzy bolt down my spine.

“I’m going to get them into their beds.” I nod down at the girls, fast asleep in the pile on the blankets.

“I’ll help.” Jack gives me a thumbs up.

I carry Annabelle down, while Jack carries June. Their tiny chests move up and down with each breath. There is nothing more peaceful in this world than watching your child sleep.

They don’t fight us when we tuck them into their beds, instead rolling over into a continued slumber. I won’t tell their mother that they didn’t brush their teeth. One missed night won’t destroy their oral hygiene.

I watch them from the doorway, thanking God I get to be their father. I can’t be mad about being in the closet until I was in my forties because I got to have them. I turn and find Jack watching me.

“They’re the best,” Jack says. “And they have a great dad, too.”

I worry one more compliment will make me want to pull him into a kiss. I sidestep Jack and head downstairs to the front door. Jack follows a second later.

“I guess it’s that time. Thanks for letting me crash your day with your girls.”

“It was fun. You’re good with them.”

“They’re good kids. It makes it easy. It’s fun seeing the world from their point of view for a time.”

“They keep me young,” I say, a generic line I heard many a parent say.

Jack takes a step closer. My breath hitches in my lungs. I feel behind me for the doorknob and open the front door.

“Well, thanks for…” I start.

“Yeah. I guess you’re not the miserable asshole I assumed,” he says.

“And maybe you’re not the cocky piece of shit I thought.”

“Oh, I am. I mean, I think your girls liked me better than you.”

My face drops, ready to call bullshit. Jack breaks into a laugh.

“Kidding. It never gets old watching you make that face, Griffin.”

“Fuck off, Ringer.”

He steps forward, stretches out his arms, a signal that he’s about to hug me. I jab a hand forward that almost stabs him in the stomach. He looks down, and without hinting at any confusion, he gives it a nice, hard shake.

“I’ll see you on the ice,” I say.

“Likewise.” He turns to go fast and shuts the door behind him.

I exhale a massive breath and lean against the closed front door. That was close. A tsunami of relief floods me. Awkwardness averted. But just as quickly, regret and anger course over me. The regret burns like tequila down my throat.

“Fuck,” I mutter to myself.

In the quiet of the house, I hear footsteps outside. Climbing my front stoop. Then a knock at the door.

I shut my brain off before it can chime in with thoughts.

When I open the door, I don’t think, I don’t hesitate. I pull Jack into my arms and plant a heated but soft kiss on his lips. One that he doesn’t fight. His body melts into my arms. Strong and sinewy, it’s everything I feared and dreamed of and wanted. It’s better than all the times we hooked up because I get to savor it. The way my arm curls around his side, the curve where his hips meet his ass. The slightly chapped feel of his lips.

Jack moans against my lips. He dips back, cold air between us. And then he reaches past me and grabs his coat off the coat rack.

He holds it up. “I forgot my coat.”

Fuck.

He slips it on one arm at a time and folds down the collar. He checks himself in the front mirror that my wife made me put up. She says people need to have a front mirror to check themselves before leaving the house. It also comes in handy when you need an extra angle for witnessing your mortification.

“Took you long enough.” That signature smirk slides onto his face, only this time his lips are redder. Swollen. “I knew you’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Oh yeah, you did.” He shoots me a wink. “You think you’re stone-faced, but you’re actually very readable.”

“You know what?—”

Jack puts two fingers to my lips. “Don’t worry. So did I.”

He pulls me against him and continues where we left off. It’s like the music gets raised again, and the party can continue.

Right away, I can tell this kiss is different. There’s no rushing. No urgency to get to the next step. We could stand in this doorway making out all night, and I’d be happy with that.

I take in more details of Jack. The heat of his tongue, the way his nose feels pressed against mine, the little gasp intake of breath he takes because he’s not as suave as he thinks he is. I want every detail.

He dots my lips with pecks, caressing his hands through my beard. I press my tongue to his teeth.

“Slow,” he says. His hands shift from caressing my beard to directing my mouth. “This isn’t a game. There’s no buzzer. Slow.”

Jack demonstrates, sliding his tongue into my mouth, rolling it around, massaging my tongue, then slipping it out, a fish I can’t catch. Our mouths open and close as his tongue gently slips in, his fingers sliding over my beard, moans coming from deep within him. The result is hypnotic and relaxing. I didn’t expect to be relaxed while kissing Jack. The methodical movement of his lips and hands and the circling of his tongue send me into a blissed-out daze where time stands still.

“Like that,” he says, pulling back, his cheeks flush and eyes so black I hardly recognize them. But I recognize that smirk, softer, staring back at me. “You try.”

I touch my lips to his, savor their saltiness. Our mouths open and close in sync. My tongue slides into his cavernous space and swims around, sending tingles down my neck. The effect is pure magic, like that feeling of careening down the ice, wind whipping across my visor, blades gliding through the ice, rhythm perfectly in sync. I rake my hands through his hair, letting myself savor the roughness of each strand. I brush against the prickly hairs on the back of his freshly buzzed neck. I pull him harder against me, my soul feeling freer than ever in my life.

Even though we’re not sharing our biggest secrets, this feels scarily intimate, but I’m not scared. I feel a trust with Jack. He may have more experience with guys, but I doubt any of them have been as magical as this.

Jack moans against my lips. His fingernails dig into my back.

“That was good,” he says, gasping for air. “Really good.”

He throws his arms around my neck. I go in for round three. His moans gets louder and more instant as our lips touch, and I get more confident with my kissing.

“You’re a fast learner,” he says into my mouth.

“I’m not a newbie,” I say defensively.

“I get the sense you haven’t done this with other guys.”

My protectiveness over my sexual history comes out. He presses a finger to my mouth to stop me.

“I’m not judging.” Kindness shines through in his dark eyes. His eyes plead with me to lower my defenses.

I push him backward against the doorframe and close the gap between our lips, the smacking sound our mouths make is a most delightful melody. That’s when I remember the door is open. It’s not like Sourwood’s never seen two guys kiss, but they don’t need to know my business.

I rake a hand through his hair and stare into his eyes as our lips part.

“I like kissing you,” I tell him. I rub a thumb on his stubble.

Jack pulls back, and we gaze into each other’s eyes, no fear, no wondering about what happens next. Just enjoying the moment. Just being with him.

This is nice. Just as nice as our sexual escapades, but in a different way.

He brushes his hand against my fly, sending a wild burst of heat through my core.

“Shall we take this somewhere more private? Like your bedroom?” he murmurs.

I pull back, the cold light of reality hitting me. “My bedroom shares a wall with the girls’ room. I don’t want to risk waking them.”

“Agreed. That’d be a future therapy session waiting to happen.”

“Especially with the things you like to say.” I shoot him a wink. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“So what do you want to do?” Jack asks, waiting on me to come up with a plan.

“I don’t feel comfortable fooling around in the house, especially with the way sound travels in here. But we can’t leave them in the house alone.”

“Now I get why parents are so sexually frustrated.” Jack leans against the door. My cock strains against my pants, begging for a solution.

But it’s Jack who seems to have the lightbulb moment. He tugs at my shirt, pulling me flush against him.

“Your truck is in the garage, right?” he asks.

“Uh huh.”

“And even though your garage isn’t connected to the house, it’s still considered part of the house, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“Then Griffin, I want you to fuck me in the back of your truck.”