Page 78 of Little Monster
She takes a sip of her half-full martini and glances over at me. “Hmm?”
“How’d he do this? Did he reach out to you and Dad?”
“Yeah, a couple weeks ago. He told us who he was and what he wanted to do. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea at first.” Her eyes soften. “But your dad and I discussed it, and he wanted to give him a chance.”
“Why?” I ask. My dad knows how torn up I was after Dex pulled away from me. I wouldn’t have expected him to want anything to do with the man who’d caused me so much pain.
Mom sighs thoughtfully, and it takes her a moment to respond. “Men are human, honey. They make mistakes and do stupid things and hurt us, sometimes without meaning to. Your dad certainly isn’t perfect.” She laughs quietly, as if remembering something I’m not privy to. “Maybe he saw a bit of himself in Dex.” Her eyes find mine again. “Loving someone takes time. You have to learn how to do it right, for both of you.” She raises her martini to her lips again. “I suppose it’s kind of like pickleball...”
A laugh bursts out of me, and I snatch the martini glass away before she can take another sip. “Okay, I think you’ve had quite enough of that.”
She arches a brow and glares, but she doesn’t fight me on it.
Across the patio, Dex and Michael finish their duet, and everyone claps. When Dex meets my eyes, I raise the martini glass to him in a little toast. The vodka burns through my body as I take a sip, heating me from the inside out. And suddenly, watching the way Dex grips the guitar, the flash of his smile when he pushes a hand through his hair, all I can think about is getting him alone.
chapter 28
IT’S ALMOST MIDNIGHT WHEN WE drop Mom and Dad off at their hotel. My mom fell asleep in the back seat of Dex’s Range Rover, and she leans sleepily on my dad’s shoulder as he leads her into the hotel. We made a plan to get brunch tomorrow, but I have a feeling Mom will need some time to sleep those martinis off.
When my parents are safely inside, Dex turns his stare to me. He’s holding my hand, his thumb tracing tiny patterns across my knuckles.
“What are you thinking about?” I whisper, searching his icy eyes for some hint of the emotion he’s feeling.
Lifting my hand to his mouth, he presses his lips against my knuckles, then turns my hand over to place a kiss upon my palm. The sensation sends a little shiver through me.
“I’m thinking,” he says softly, “that I wanna go wherever you are. I wanna be with you, next to you, always.”
His words send butterflies fluttering through my belly, and this time I don’t squash them down. “So...” My voice takes on a flirty edge. “Does that mean you’re gonna take me home with you?”
It’s dark in the car, but the lights from the hotel slip through the tinted windows just enough to illuminate his smile.
BACK AT DEX’S HOUSE, WE barely make it through the door before I’m pushing his suit jacket down off his shoulders and tossing the expensive material to the floor. He kicks off his shoes and picks me up so I can wrap my bare legs around him, and then he’s carrying me up the stairs, his mouth on mine, my fingers in his hair.
His room is streaked in pale moonlight, and he doesn’t bother turning on the light. Instead, he walks me to the bed, then lays me down on the mattress with the delicacy of someone handling something breakable, something precious. I keep my legs locked around him, pull him down on top of me.
“I missed this,” I whisper, running my hands over his face like I can rediscover him through touch. “Missed the taste of you.”
He catches my lips again, lowers the weight of his body onto mine.
But the energy in his kiss feels different from last time, and I pull away breathlessly to look into his blue eyes.
“Are you okay?” My voice wraps around us in the dark. “You feel... different.”
His gaze is soft, almost sad. Suddenly, I realize why it looks so familiar.
It’s the expression he wore the entire time we filmed the video together, from the twin staircases to the plush king-size mattress.
He props himself up on his elbows to look down at me. “I’m scared,” he says.
My thumb traces his ear, brushes against the silver cross hanging from his lobe, and he leans into my touch. “Scared of what?”
“Losing you.”
He closes his eyes. A beam of moonlight cuts across his face, and I study the curve of his nose, the sharp edge of his jaw.
“My mom said love is like pickleball,” I say.
Dex opens his eyes and arches a brow. “What?”
