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“I know, but it frustrates me to work so hard and still not be able to pay for that stuff.”
Mom picks up the two bowls of ice cream she made. “Lots of mamas are in that situation, baby. I was there myself once. You give Jasmine what matters most, and it doesn’t cost money. Don’t you ever sell yourself short.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Let’s go watch our two favorite hockey players win this game.” She winks and walks toward the living room.
“Rainbow sprinkles!” Jasmine cries. “Thanks, Grandma!”
I smile. Mom loves living with us and doing lots of small things to make our lives better. I come home from work sometimes and find my clean laundry folded and sitting on my bed—which is usually unmade when I leave for work but is neatly made up with fresh, clean sheets when I return home.
She’s right. Those small acts of love are the most important. I need to remember to do more of those things for her in return.
Despite the very vocal encouragement we direct at the TV screen, the Saints lose the game 4–2. Jasmine is still sulking about it when I tuck her into bed late that night.
I’m in bed myself, scrolling through news and social media, when I get a text from Pax around midnight. He sent me the same picture of us my mom showed me earlier. I study the look of absolute bliss on his face again, my pulse pounding.
Pax: As you can see, none of this is fake for me. I’ll tell you more at dinner, but just wanted to say I miss you.
Me: Miss you too. Are you okay? That was a hard hit you took into the boards.
Pax: I’m good. Sitting in a tub of ice now.
Me: Jasmine said you guys got cornholed. I’m going to have a talk with my brother about the language he’s been teaching her…
Pax: Lol, I can just see her saying that.
Pax: I have to go get checked out by a trainer. Does Thursday night work for dinner?
Me: Yes, as long as it’s after 6.
Pax: Text me what time you want me to pick you up and I’ll be there.
Me: I will. Good night.
Pax: Night.
Chapter Fifteen
Pax
I park in front of Kylie’s house, trying to clear that damn Google search from my mind.
What kind of amateur googles “How to tell a woman you like her” and actually reads the suggestions? This kind, apparently. I’ve made it twenty-eight years in this life without having to tell a woman I’m crazy about her. Up late at night thinking about her. Sneaking a peek at the photo of us from the fundraiser a couple dozen times a day.
Shit. I’m sweating. I take a deep breath and crank up my air conditioner, just sitting in the icy breeze for a few seconds.
Step One: Approach her.
It’s solid advice, really. Nothing can happen until I walk up to her door and take her to the restaurant. I’m about to open my car door when she steps onto her porch, giving me a little wave as she approaches.
Step Two: Make sure to smile.
Scrambling out of the car, I walk around to open her door, implementing step two when I smile at her.
“Hey, sorry about that,” I say. “I was planning to come knock on the door and walk you out.”
She waves a hand and steps up to the passenger seat. “It’s not a problem, Pax. I can walk out on my own.”
I go around to the driver’s side and get in, giving her a quick once-over.
“You look nice,” I say. “I like your hair like that.”
Try as I might to banish that damned advice from my mind, that was step three.
Step Three: Compliment your date.
She blushes slightly and reaches up to smooth a hand over her hair, which is in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. Just as much as I like the hairstyle, I like the exposed skin on her neck. If only step four was forget the words, just kiss her neck until she sees how much she wants you, too.
“I’ve liked you since the first time I saw you.” The words spill out of my mouth as I pull away from the curb. “I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”
“Me?” She sounds genuinely stunned.
I look over, locking eyes with her for a second. “You.”
She says nothing as I reluctantly turn my gaze back to the road.
“I made a reservation at Chophouse, and I was planning to tell you all this there, but then I got nervous this afternoon and I googled…” I cringe. “…I googled some ideas for how to tell a woman you like her and it’s messing with my head, so I’m just going to put it out there now. The reason I said your name when I needed to tell Cassidy I have a girlfriend is because I think about you all the time and if I did have a girlfriend, I’d want her to be you. Jeez, it’s like I can’t shut up.”
