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Dax is hard. Really hard. Like, metal-rod-topped-with-denimhard. And with the way I’m positioned in his lap, if said denim was removed, we’d be halfway to sex right now. The current situation, although clothed, is still rather pleasant. I shift my hips slowly back and forth, providing a delightful amount of friction exactly where I need it. It feels good. Damn good. So good that if I’m not careful, I’m going to come on Benny’s front seat, and with the way the pressure is building below, I doubt I could be discreet.
Dax’s thumb pauses, and his arms squeeze me tightly, limiting my ability to maneuver my hips. Dax dips his head and nudges me with his nose so he can whisper in my ear, “You’re killing me right now, you know that, right?”
The heat from his breath makes the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I’m so turned on that I can’t think rationally. Half of my brain thinks it’s an excellent idea to undo his pants right now just so I can stroke him, Benny be damned.
The tow truck takes a sharp left, pulling into the back parking lot of a garage and sabotaging all of my plans.
“I just need to go in through the side and open the garage door, then I’ll be back to take care of ya,” Benny says, completely oblivious to what is happening on his passenger seat. When Benny disappears out of view, Dax lifts me off his lap and onto the seat as he slides out and walks uncomfortably away from the truck, shaking one leg and then the other.
“Where are you going?” I call after him, knowing exactly what he’s trying to do.
He turns and gives me a stern glare as he points to the situation in his pants. “I need to get this under control before I’m arrested for being a pervert.”
Dax makes a long loop of the parking lot. By the time Benny opens the garage door, Dax and his pants look normal again.
“I got some good news,” Benny says to Dax. “Called a buddyin the east end, and he has the part you need. We can get it done this week. But I’m gonna need to charge you for the part now. We can settle on the rest later.”
Dax’s face drops as his hands move to his back pocket. He looks over at me, then back to Benny. “Yeah. Not a problem. I’m just gonna need to figure something out. I left my credit card at home.”
There’s an easy solution to this problem. “We can use mine.” I open my purse and root through it for my wallet.
“No,” Dax says, a little more forcefully than I expect. “No. You do not have to do that, Gemma. I got it. I just…” He pulls his phone from his other pocket. “I’m gonna call you an Uber. I hate doing this again, but I think we need to cut our night short. This is gonna take a while to deal with.”
The sinking in my stomach is trumped only by the state of confusion in my head. There’s an easy and logical solution to this problem that allows us to get out of here quickly and on to the sex. But as my eyes find Dax’s and see the same crushing disappointment on his face, my thoughts are clear enough to recognize that this Dax still doesn’t know me that well. I can see how it would be awkward to ask your date to help fix your car. We’re still a long way away from that level of closeness.
“Okay,” I say reluctantly. “And please don’t worry about the Uber. I’m going to walk home.”
Dax is not the only one who needs to walk off that tow ride.
“Are you sure?” Dax holds up his phone to show me a map with several tiny car graphics circling the nearby streets.
I nod, and he holds his arms out for one last hug.
“Text me when you get home, okay?” he says into my hair.
“You got it. Call me when you get home?”
He lingers as if he’s considering going in for a kiss, but then looks over at Benny, who is still waiting, and lets go.
“I’ll make this up to you, I promise.”
Chapter 18
He calls.
Well, technically FaceTimes.
As soon as he gets home from Benny’s, he crawls into bed—or at least I imagine it this way. When his face pops onto my screen, all I can focus on is the curve of his bicep as he lazily cradles the back of his head in his palm and the crispness of his white pillow—a stark contrast to the dark stubble on his face. Something about that combo makes me squeeze my thighs together and remember the conversation not too long ago with Kierst, where she insisted a night with Dax would end with a morning of whisker-burned thighs.
We talk for a little while. Then he says good night, and I attempt to self-serve with my Lady Pro 3000. The effort is lacking. I go to bed disappointed. And wake up in the morning with sex on the brain.
As if I’m not struggling enough, he sends a text while I’m walking into Wilde.
Morning beautiful.
Hope you have a good day.
Thepingof the second text hits me in the chest and zings allthe way down to my clitoris, giving me shivers in a way my Lady Pro couldn’t. I’m like Pavlov’s dog. Phone pinging. Lady parts zinging. I even have to put the phone in my desk drawer because Kiersten starts to send me a play-by-play about some sort of brawl at Riley’s soccer game. Even though I know the texts are from her, the pings have me thinking about the types of things one definitely should not be thinking about while talking to a sixty-three-year-old grandmother of five about her skincare routine.
