I shoot a quick glance to my mother, then to my cleavage. “My mother swears I’d look great in a wedding dress, but I’d need someone who looks equally great in a tux to stand by my side. And as of late, I just don’t see any prospects…” I meant to finish it withback in L.A., but I’d die of mortification if Jax thought I was hinting that he fills those Italian leather shoes.
I glance down at his Italian leather shoes and smirk because he is the one and only candidate I’d consider.
He leans in close. His warm cologne wraps its spiced arms around me. “And what about kids?”
My heart thuds unnaturally as I look up at my childhood friend turned playboy.
“What about them? I mean, if I had the right person in my life”—such as you—“I’d probably have fifty.”
He belts out a laugh. Jaxson’s arm finds a home around my waist, and it feels natural like this with him. My hand lands over his chest, and I can’t help but gaze lovingly into his eyes. Strangely enough, I don’t feel one ounce of awkwardness because I happened to catch Mom and Deb pointing their phones in our direction. More fodder for the scrapbook they would have undoubtedly gifted us at the wedding.
“Fifty is a nice round number.” He twists his lips a moment, deep in thought. “I guess if I had the right girl by my side, I’d want at least that many. I want to be a hands-on father like my dad was. Little league coach, ballet, whatever the sport, I’ll play coach if they’ll let me.”
Jax Stade is melting me and simultaneously causing my womb to riot for his seed. What in the hell was I thinking letting this demi god use a condom? I could have gone back to L.A. happily knocked up with his baby. Although, separating myself from him by over a thousand miles makes that Super Dad scenario rather farfetched.
My arms float around his waist, and I pull him as I cower under the umbrella of his stately frame. If I had any lady balls whatsoever, I’d take this chocolate chip cookie scented moment to tell him exactly how I feel. But I don’t.
“You are going to make a great dad someday, Gordo.” It comes out sad, defeated as if he won the parental tug-of-war, and he’s the only one of us to go on to play that procreation game.
“Hey”—he lifts my chin and catches my gaze—“you’re going to make a great mom. I can’t wait to see it.” Here it is, my very last moment to say something, anything that might imply that these nebulous children we’re clamoring for might be one and the same. My mouth opens, and nothing but dead air comes out.
“Maybe our kids can play together?” Andthat, my friends, is what cowardice sounds like. Between you and me, it doesn’t smell much better. I can effectively fire my deodorant. But in my hormonal defense, being this close to Jax has always brought me to my sweaty knees.
“Yeah.” A lengthy breath expires from him. “Maybe they can.”
Mom and Deb pull out the win and take home the grand supreme baking prize, which only solidifies their stance that they can do no wrong.
“We’re winning at life!” Mom chimes as they come at us with their newfound hardware—a gilded slice of cake with a flag spike in it readingBake Off Champions.
“Oh, Char”—Deb pulls Jax and me in for a congratulatory group hug—“with these two together, we’ve already won the grand prize.”
Mom presses her hand to her chest. “I’ve seen a lot in my lifetime, but I’ll be honest, I had given up on seeing the two of you together.”
Jax wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me in close, but neither of us loses the heavy look we’re giving our mothers.
Mom nods, touching his cheek then mine. “If God took the breath from my lungs at this moment, I could honestly say I died happy knowing the two of you were right where you belong—in one another’s arms.” She and Deb coo into one another as a small crowd heads over to gawk at their trophy.
Jax and I step away as they bask in their glory.
“Wow, Gordo”—I turn to look at my partner in crime—“it’s going to be a real crap-fest once we break the news.”
Those magical dimples of his invert as a wicked grin slowly materializes. “Homecoming dance, freshman year—my mother showed up as my date.”
A short-lived laugh expels from me. “Try junior year geometry class, my mother showed up in a bathrobe and curlers with a sack lunch she claimed I forgot. A sack lunch! It was a trifecta of humiliation.”
He gives a knowing nod. “Senior prom—our mothers won the honorary titles of both king and queen.”
“Damn, they were good.” I give a wistful shake of the head. “Graduation day—a moment we toiled thirteen long years to achieve—they wore matching Minnie Mouse costumes, and thus stole our thunder.”
“Lesbo Minnies were a hit, though,” he notes.
“True, but they really screwed up pictures for us. It looked like we went to Disney High.”
“So, what do you think?” His fingers press in over my ribs, and I can’t help but drink down the sensation knowing everything touchy-feely between us is literally barreling to an end.
I shed a crooked grin. “I think the bitches have it coming.”
And in the mother of all ironies, they would have stuck in one last paralyzing jab without realizing it. In an effort to give them their comeuppance, I’ve impaled myself right through the heart on the flashing sword of revenge.
