Meet Cute (Page 21)

“Those are light days for thongs.”

His confusion is almost adorable. “Thongs?”

“Will Emme need those?”

“What?”

“Does Emme wear thongs?”

His expression shifts to horror. “She’s thirteen.”

I raise a brow. “That doesn’t mean anything these days.”

“She better not be wearing thongs.” His sudden protective rage turns to inquisition as he looks me over. “Do you wear thongs?”

“I own a lot of pencil skirts, Dax. Have you ever seen any lines?” Oh God. I should not be entertaining this kind of banter. It’s dangerous and it blurs lines that already seemed blurred from day one when he hugged me in the conference room, and my little digs and comments since then.

A smile tugs at the right side of his mouth, and his eyes move over me. I’m wearing purple jeans tonight. Skinny jeans that hug all of my many curves. “I can’t say that I have.”

“You just admitted to checking out my ass, by the way.”

“It’s a pretty rockin’ ass. You can hardly blame me.”

I blush at the compliment and turn back to the products displayed before me. “What about tampons?”

“What about them?”

“Do you think she’ll want some?”

Daxton shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“We’ll get them, just to be safe, and we’ll get the applicator and non-applicator varieties, just in case.”

“Non-applicator?”

“Yeah. One has an applicator, the other you just use your finger.”

He makes a gagging sound, and his horrified expression returns. This is far more fun than it should be for a Friday night at the CVS in the Aisle of Red.

He looks around, leans in, and drops his voice to a whisper. “But wouldn’t you get . . . stuff on your finger?”

“Stuff?”

“You know, period stuff.”

I grin at how uncomfortable he looks. “Yes, Dax, that would happen. However, most bathrooms come equipped with this magical product called toilet paper, and they have sinks and soap and water so you can wash your hands.”

“But why would you want to stick your finger . . .” He shakes his head, obviously confused.

“I don’t think it’s about wanting to. They’re just more compact. Discreet.” This is far too much sharing.

“Maybe we can forgo those ones for now.”

“Sure. We can come back to those another time.” Once we’re stocked up on all of the sanitary products, we stop in the painkiller aisle, where I explain what each bottle is for as I throw them into the basket. Then we double back to the candy aisle and toss in some more junk food because periods suck, and cravings are everything.

I stand in line at the checkout with Dax and help him unload the basket. By the time they finish ringing through all his purchases, it’s well over a hundred dollars. “It’s expensive to be a girl,” he mutters, handing over his Amex card. It’s one of those black ones, the kind with a high limit.

Once we’re in the parking lot, he stops in front of his Audi. He looks a little lost with his armload of menstrual defense. “Thanks a lot for your help. I’m sorry I pulled you away from dinner.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.” I motion to the store. “That was actually rather entertaining. It pretty much made my week.”

He chuckles. “Well, I’m glad it was amusing for you, if nothing else. I should probably get back and give all this stuff to Emme so she can figure out what she wants to use.” He holds up the bags: one full of pads and tampons, the other full of junk food.

Before I think too much about it, I blurt, “Do you want me to come back with you and explain it all?”

His eyes go wide with hope, which he tempers quickly. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. You’ve already been more than gracious with your time.”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering. It might be easier coming from a woman than coming from her clueless brother.” I don’t mean to sound like a jerk, but that’s how it comes out.

He nods. “I really am clueless.”

“I’ll follow you back to your place.”

His house is literally one left at a stoplight and a right-hand turn down a side street from the CVS. It’s a sprawling, massive home on a huge lot. I’m really not all that far away from him, although I live in a much more affordable area.

I park behind his Audi, noting the lovely manicured lawns and the very pretty flower beds. Ones I’m certain Daxton doesn’t have the time or inclination to manage. “Was this your parents’ house?” I ask as we make our way up the front steps.

He nods. “I figured it was best for Emme to keep her in the same school and not change too much on her.”

“That was selfless of you. Moving must’ve been difficult.”

He shrugs. “I just want to make things as easy for her as possible, and my condo was too small for the two of us. This made more sense.”

“Still, cleaning it out is such a daunting task. I had to do that when my father passed.” Holly was there to help, but it was emotional. Packing away his things, sorting through pictures, and of course there were all of my mother’s belongings that he’d refused to get rid of when she’d passed years before him. It was almost like losing them both all over again.

“The thing about unexpected death is that sometimes you find things you probably weren’t supposed to.” He opens the door and ushers me inside.

“Such as?” I glance around the living room, which smells faintly of fresh paint. It’s a clean, organized space.

I imagine his childhood was spent living out of a suitcase or on a set. Clutter doesn’t seem to be his thing; it’s not mine, either. I find hints of his parents lingering in the pictures hung on the walls, and the small out-of-place trinkets on the bookshelves.

“Uh, let’s just say my parents had an interesting sex life as evidenced by the contents of my mother’s dresser.” He gives me a wry smile.

“Oh.” I can feel my cheeks heat under his gaze.

“Emme?” he calls out, then turns to me with an apologetic smile. “I’m going to assume she’s still hiding out in her bedroom.”

“Do you want me to stay here or come with you?”

“Um, you can come with?” Dax drops the bag of treats off in the kitchen, and I follow him to the second floor.

I’m only slightly ashamed to admit I check out his butt. I mean, he already confessed to checking out mine, so it’s only fair.

To the right is a set of open double doors leading to the master bedroom. The king platform bed is neatly made, and a simple navy comforter lies smooth across the mattress. I turn away, unable to stop myself from imagining Dax in that bed, wondering if he sleeps in boxers, or maybe nothing at all. Why does my head keep going there tonight?

He stops at a door with a KEEP OUT warning sign hanging from a tack pushed into the wood. It’s hot pink and glittering with fake gemstones framing the edge.

“Em?” Dax knocks tentatively.

The music coming from the other side of the door lowers, and we hear the creak of a bed and the padding of feet crossing the room. The door opens a crack and one bleary, red-rimmed eye peeks out. “Did you get the stuff?”

This sounds like a bad drug deal.

“I did. I also came with reinforcements.”

Her brows dip. “What?”

“I, uh, I called Kailyn.”

“You did what? Why?” Her pitch rises to mortification level.

“Because I needed some help and she’s a girl with experience in this area.”

She throws the door open, and whatever words are about to come out of her mouth die when she sees me. “You brought her here?”

“Don’t be rude,” Dax snaps.

Emme’s anger turns to chagrin and she bows her head a little, peeking up at me. “I’m sorry. I’m just—this is so embarrassing.”

I want to alleviate some of the tension my presence seems to have caused. “What’s embarrassing is your brother walking around a CVS with adult diapers instead of maxi pads.”

Emme looks from Dax to me. “Seriously?”

“Oh, totally. Now everyone in that store thinks he pees his pants.”

A small smile appears on Emme’s uncertain face and she giggles.

“If you want, we can go through your goodie bag and I can tell you what’s what,” I offer.

She bites her lip. “Okay.”

I skim the back of Dax’s hand, encouraging him to relinquish the bag. “We’ll be out in a bit.”

He seems torn as I enter his sister’s room, and my heart softens even more at his forlorn expression when Emme closes the door on him.

Her room is typical teenage girl. Boy band posters and her favorite TV stars are taped to the wall. Books are stacked haphazardly on her dresser, and a journal lies facedown on her bed. She closes it and slips it under her pillow, dropping down on the mattress with a soft bounce. The comforter is wrinkled and the room is lived in.

She pats the mattress, inviting me to join her. I dump out the contents of the bag and her eyes widen. “Oh my God. There’s so much stuff.”