Page 35

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

CLARA JUNE

I never would have thought that I wanted a man to wipe chili from the corner of my mouth while staring into my eyes, but when it happens at dinner, I think I am temporarily transported into an alternate universe.

I have the strongest urge to text Jackie and tell her that the men that wipe food off your lips then tenderly stare at them afterward, dreaming of kissing you, that those men exist and that Dean is one of them.

But I never get the chance, because conversation is smooth and seamless the entire time.

Not even once do I have to awkwardly pull out my phone to stall or buy time.

We only pause talking to warn Archie about the dangers of too much milk after chili (thankfully he doesn’t learn the hard way tonight), to encourage Jo Jo to get her own meal and not split Rawley’s, and of course, telling her she is not going to chip in on the bill.

As we’re wiping our hands on paper napkins that are way too thin and cheap to support chili-coated fingers, Archie tugs on my leg, his bottom lip out in his I want something and I’m going to emotionally manipulate you with my cute face pout.

“I wanna show Dean my lizard collection. Please, mama, can he come inside at home for a minute?” His big blue eyes slide to Dean, who is smiling at Archie from his spot beside me.

Dean gives me a very serious look. “I do love lizards.”

My heart swells. “Alright, just for a few minutes though. Coach Dean has school in the morning, just like you guys, so we can’t ask him to stay too late, alright?”

Archie agrees, though he and I both know very well that he’s going to put me on the spot in about fifteen minutes and beg for Dean to stay longer. Once Archie is satisfied, he returns to the kid table and starts clearing his spot, with help from Jo Jo.

“Thanks for that. And don’t feel like you have to stay, I mean, I know you?—”

His hand comes down on mine, and the weight and heat of a part of him pressed against a part of me has my words drying up on my tongue, my throat suddenly the Sahara. My heart is racing, faster than a horse with a jockey, and my mind struggles to calibrate.

Another casual but personal touch.

Heat flares in my cheeks, burning down my neck, and I know Dean can see how flushed he’s made me with a simple touch.

His hand resting on mine. That’s all it is.

Still, it burns me in the best ways. And when I meet his eyes, and find he’s wearing a tiny little knowing smirk, like he’s aware of what this touch is doing to me, our locked gaze feels bold.

It feels like I’m wordlessly admitting and showing him just how much I want him, how much interest I hold for him, how attracted I am already.

He winks, and slides his hand off of mine, quietly adding, “I was hoping you’d invite me back, but I’m glad Archie did. ”

On the drive back to our house, Dean, Tanner and Rawley talk football, while Archie plays with the charm bracelet on Jo Jo’s wrist. When we arrive, Rawley and Jo Jo immediately hop into his car, and he says goodbye to us to drive her home.

Tanner and Dean are in Archie’s room with him and I take that moment to slip into my room, and change out of my jeans and blouse and boots, into my black leggings and a simple t-shirt.

Dean has seen me after sixteen hours at Goode’s, he’s seen me crying at Tanner’s bedside, he’s seen my house in its worst form— leggings and an old KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON t-shirt shouldn’t scare him off.

I tie my waves up into a bun, aware that it isn’t perfect, but okay with it all the same.

I’m past the point in my life where I need to have my makeup on, I need to have my stomach sucked in and all my perfect angles on display.

There’s freedom in knowing that Dean knows me as I am, and, in the words of Mark Darcy, likes me, just as I am .

Tanner comes out first, pecking me on the cheek to say goodnight.

He takes his two Advil, and we refill his bag with fresh ice, and he heads to bed.

Archie is next to come say goodnight, and as he kisses my cheek and recites his nighttime prayers, Dean reappears, sinking onto the couch next to me, sadly with a cushion between us still.

He lifts the basket of laundry off the floor from where I left it earlier, and takes a towel out, folding it as Archie runs down the hall to his room.

I grab Dean’s wrist. “What are you doing?” The way the hair curls at the back of his neck, shiny and golden, is so sexy. I envision, briefly, Dean inside me, my legs locked around his hips, my fingers tugging at those long strands at the back of his neck while I whisper how full I am.

“Folding towels,” he pauses to peer into the basket. “And t-shirts, a pillowcase and some Spiderman undies.” He grins. “What are you doing?”

My body is so warm in his presence, and I am so turned on, I haven’t felt like this in so many years. It’s heady and addicting.

“You don’t have to fold, you know.”

He places his first towel on the coffee table and reaches into the basket for another.

“I don’t have to but I think we both feel pretty comfortable right here, on the couch, just talking.

” His smile, subtle and casual, makes me want things I haven’t ever had, and turns my insides molten.

Dean’s large hands maneuver the towel easily, and before I can reply, he’s setting it atop the folded pile.

Watching him with laundry makes me see him with a burp cloth on his shoulder, that same hand patting a baby’s back as he talks softly in its ear.

I’m pretty sure Dean folding towels just caused an impromptu pregnancy.

“You’re right,” I reply, because it’s been too many seconds of me just watching him, and truthfully, he is right. I am comfortable and I am having a good time. “Chili dogs and laundry.” I waggle my brows. “Bet you’ve never had a date so hot.”

His eyes roam over me with intention, and the playful smirk slides off my face and crashes to the floor when he replies, timbre rocky and quiet, “I actually haven’t. You, Clara June, are the hottest woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to take on a date.”

Caught off guard by the compliment, I pinch the fabric of my leggings—piling and faded—and laugh. “And the pajamas are the cherry on top.”

He grabs me by the wrist as I reach into the basket, trying to fold my way out of this little uncomfortable moment.

“Hey,” he rumbles, garnering all of my focus.

“I like that you changed your clothes when we got back here, you know why? Because that’s what you’d have done if I wasn’t here.

It’s real, and it’s normal. And I like that about you, Clara June. ”

I swallow, ignoring the sudden emotional cramp in my side. “Well… thank you, I think.” I smile as I fold a pair of Archie’s school shorts. “And thank you for the chili dogs.”

He wags a finger at me as he sinks into the couch, getting more comfortable as he goes to town on yet another towel. The man has already folded three. And they’re perfect. “Careful. In a couple of hours, a house full of people who ate chili… you could be cursing me.”

I can’t help but smile, and laugh to boot. “Was that… a fart joke?” I ask, feigning shock. “A fart joke on our first date?” I drape a hand to my chest, clutching my proverbial pearls. “Dean McAllister, you’re bad,” I tease.

He winks, and my pussy pulses. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, mama.”

Dean lowers the laundry basket to the floor, loops his long, strong arm around my waist, and yanks me toward him.

Our hips bump and I let out a laugh in response, almost feeling silly for the eruption because…

I’m a thirty seven year old mom of three.

Do I have any business giggling on the couch with a hot cowboy?

Hovering feet above me because of his sheer size, Dean smiles, and pats my leg. “There we are,” he says simply, as if it’s obvious.

“What?” I ask, trying desperately to make my voice normal, not raspy and thin like I’m about to hump the arm chair. I'm so horny.

“I finally get to sit right next to you.” He reaches for the remote, and turns the TV on, lowering the volume to a dull hush.

“I’ve been wanting to sit close to you all night.

” He takes a beat, contemplative, his eyes searching mine.

“Okay, that’s a lie. I’ve been wanting to get close to you for a long time. ”

If I ducked my head between my knees and looked, I very well may find a wet spot there.

I swallow against the truth lodged into my throat.

I want Dean, but I haven’t been able to have an orgasm in years.

Maybe it would be different with him, but maybe it wouldn’t and I’m totally broken?

The fear dances through my mind, virile and bright, making me shudder.

Dean’s eyebrows pull together and he pats my thigh, leaving his hand there to slowly trace circles right below my knee. “What’s going on in that mind of yours, Clara June?”

“Nothing,” I lie, or, actually, I’d prefer to think of it as stalling instead of lying.

If things continue to bloom between us, I’ll tell Dean all about my problems. About my poor broken vagina, or, alternatively, about my angry, defeated clit.

I’ll tell him how I can get all the way to the finish line, but never across.

I will tell him. “Just thinking… we should move slowly, you know? ”

I don’t want to move slow. I actually would like to package slow up in a box, duct tape it shut, travel to the biggest bridge, and launch it to its untimely death.

But if Dean calls things off when he finds out I’m all… well, all cat and no purr , then he’ll surely and most reasonably stop things. Who wants a girlfriend that can’t have an orgasm? I would understand. I definitely would.