Page 65 of Sexted By Santa
I knew he didn’t have the best impression of Fynn. He thought I deserved better, which was flattering. But the truth was, I wasn’t always deserving of better. There’d been a time when a pretty face was enough for me. I’d liked the way Fynn had looked on my arm when we’d started dating. I’d liked to be complimented for my good taste.
It had taken me years to realize how empty it all was. How shallow I’d been. To recognize that I’d married a man I didn’t fully know or understand.
I didn’t want that to be the case with Jaxson. I wanted to know him. I wanted to be worthy ofhim.Because of the two of us, he was surely the better man.
* * *
After Jaxson left, I attempted to behave like a well-adjusted adult who’d entered into a mature, slow-paced relationship. I did not immediately call or text him, begging him to return for brunch. Points to me.
It had been a long time since I’d dated, and when I had, it had been considered a faux pas to come across as too needy too soon. Then again, Jaxson and I had decided to be in a relationship. We weren’t merely hookups. Jaxson had told me he didn’t want to play games. Surely, that meant honesty was okay, even if it was…slightly embarrassing, needy honesty?
I decided not to chance it. Instead, I walked Sir Elton John around the block a dozen times. If Jaxson had returned, exchanging hellos would have only been polite. And me being outside when he returned would just be a happy coincidence. A man has to walk his dog, even such a menace as Sir Elton John.
I was still holding a grudge against Sir Elton for the early morning wake-up/assault. If not for him, Jaxson might have continued to sleep for another hour. In my bed. With me. I was still wrapping my head around the change between us. Desire had been simmering a while, alongside the friendship we were forming, but I hadn’t expected to feel so strongly so soon.
Jaxson didn’t return during my dozen circles of the block, though, and Sir Elton’s stamina wasn’t up to thirteen. His legs were quite short. So when the plaintive yips and tugs on the leash toward home started, I reluctantly gave in.
“You woke us early,” I chided as I gave him a fresh bowl of water to lap. “The least you could do is give me a good excuse to see him without appearing desperate.”
Sir Elton snorted, having gotten water up his nose. I took it as an apology.
“I suppose you’re forgiven. But don’t make a habit of it.”
I went to shower and change, then set about making breakfast—a lovely veggie omelet. I snapped a pic and considered sending it to Jaxson, but that might give him the wrong idea. I didn’t want him to think I resented his need to be with his daughter. I didn’t in the slightest. I was just…lovestruck.
You need to get a grip, Christian. You’re not fifteen.
With a mournful sigh, I checked my to-do list I’d compiled for my winter break. Surely, I could find a useful way to occupy my time.
Get an estimate on the kitchen remodel
Clean out the basement
Fix the toilet
Steam clean the carpet
Clean the blinds and windows
Prepare spring curriculum
Read at least ten books
Well, that was depressing. I wasn’t in the mood to do any of those things, but a good book might help distract me. I went to my bedroom to fetch my Kindle and lounged on the bed while I pulled up a list of books I’d been saving for a day when I had more time to read.
And promptly fell asleep.
When I woke, there was a message from Jaxson on my phone.
Tori was fine, and I’m officially an overprotective father. Her words. I think the Winstons agree with her. I’ve promised to take her shopping as penance. Maybe we can talk later?
I’d missed the message by a solid hour because I’d fallen asleep like an idiot, and Jaxson was long gone again.
I started to type a response that I’d love to get together as soon as he had time, but I stopped, uncertain how he would take it. I didn’t want to come across as pushy or selfish for wanting his time. Jaxson had talked at length about why his previous relationships didn’t work. The last thing I wanted was to sink the ship before I was even out of the harbor.What a terrible metaphor, Christian. You need help.
I called Barry. He was a good friend, and he’d been married a long time, but I had no intention of askinghimfor advice.
“Hey, Christian,” he answered when he picked up the phone. “How’s it going? I didn’t get a chance to ask if Fynn behaved himself.”
