Page 65 of Fiona and the Fixer

DAX

This wasthe closest I’d seen Fiona to panicking. Strange, because when someone was waving a gun around, she didn’t even blink. But the idea of having someone on her side made her lose her shit.

I could relate. Without Jack working as a hitman, I’d felt a little lost these past few months. I knew he had my back. Would take a bullet for me. He’d been my partner, in and out of crime, since elementary school.

Fiona, though, didn’t even like me holding her hand. We’d had sex. A bunch. But she’d kept it impersonal. She fled EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

Now, as I cupped her cool cheeks, I felt a different kind of connection. Not sexual chemistry, but something else.Something deeper. I wanted to break through that skittishness she had. I wanted her to let me the fuck in.

Why? It made no sense because I was just like her. Keeping everyone at a distance. Everyone away from my feelings. No one touched them. Nope.

But I was the one who wanted to touch Fiona. I was the one who wanted to get closer. I’d known since the first second I saw her in the convenience store that she was different. That I was hooked.

Jimmy said love destroyed. It was also really fucking hard.

“Dottie’s cheesy rice is real,” I said, trying to calm her down. To keep her right here with me. I had no idea what the hell I was doing, but I wanted to stop chasing her in the middle of the night.

“Do you know what happened last night?” she asked, glancing down at her running shoes and not at me.

I stroked her cheek with my thumb, then slid my hands down to her shoulders. They were sturdy and strong beneath her fleece top.

We stood in the middle of the street. Talking. It was cold. Dark. There was a good chance Fiona would kick my knee out or bolt.

I could only imagine what happened the night before. Calamity seemed to happen wherever she went.

“What?”

“Craft night. We painted pumpkins.”

I cringed at the horror of it. It was worse than I thought.

Finally, she lifted her eyes to mine. They weren’t filledwith derision or annoyance. They were bright with cautious excitement. “I won. My glittery Medusa pumpkin won the competition. I got a sash.”

My mouth turned up, amused at how disgruntled she sounded. “A sash?”

She nodded, her ponytail sliding over her shoulder. “It was…”

I expected her to say horrible. Mortifying. Dull. Ridiculous. Stupid.

Instead, she said, just above a whisper, “Amazing.”

While I couldn’t imagine sitting around and painting anything, let alone pumpkins, if Fiona said it was fun, then it must’ve been. She was as wary of normal people and normal things as I was.

“I think I want Dottie to adopt me,” she added.

I kept my lips zipped because she was talking about her feelings.

Yeah, what the hell was wrong with me wanting a woman totalk about her feelings?

I understood women. At least women who I’d been with in the past. Interested in a sugar daddy. Seeking a husband. Whatever. I knew the score and stayed out of that game. I kept enough distance between the women I fucked to ensure their manicured talons didn’t get hooked into me.

Fiona wasn’t interested in that. She wasn’t interested inme.

I had to get her to see I was on her side. I was worth keeping around. I was worth not running from. That I could shoulder the weight of her problems.

“She hugged me, Dax. Told me she was proud of me.” Her eyes–at least in the glow of the streetlamps–looked like they were tear filled.

“I hope you didn’t throat punch her for saying that,” I said with a smirk. “She owes me some spaghetti.”

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