Page 26 of Mom-Com
“You totally have to buy it, Dad!” Stein shouting his approval brought me out of my ab-induced haze. I blinked several times and saw Milly staring up at Jameson with stars in her eyes. Apparently, she didn’t mind the ugliest shirt known to the twenty-first century. She was taken by Jameson for entirely different reasons than her mother.
When I’d come out of the dressing room after hearing him call her a princess and saw her hugging him so fiercely, my heart had squeezed in my chest. As a mother, you want to give your children the best of everything and it’s the very worst of guilt trips to realize you saddled them forever with a not-so-good father. Yes, he still saw them nearly every weekend, but he just wasn’t engaged with them. Milly never looked at Shawn with stars in her eyes. I would bet Shawn had never taken her shopping or insisted she try on ball gowns.
I’d have to watch Milly carefully to make sure she didn’t grow too attached to Jameson. He was just the next-door neighbor. He had no ties to her and could move again at any moment.
“While I’m tempted, Lily-Marie looks like she smells something foul, so I’m going to have to pass.” Jameson’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
Everyone swiveled their head to look at me. That’s when I realized I’d been frowning, lost in my thoughts.
“Sorry! It’s interesting. Just not quite your colors.” I tilted my head like I was actually considering the shirt, trying to let Stein down easy.
Jameson clapped. “Okay, that’s resolved. I’m starving! Let’s go eat, huh?”
The kids all jumped into action, Milly tugging my arm to go back into the dressing room and get out of her beautiful dress. I let her pull me back in, but not before a backward glance to catch one last sight of Jameson as he took his shirt off. I only counted to four before the door slammed shut and Milly demanded to be unzipped. Such was the life as a mom.
* * *
By the time I got Milly and myself out of our dresses and we’d herded the kids to a restaurant next door, I’d cooled off, placing the vision of bare-chested Jameson in a box in the back of my brain never to be brought out again. Because the reality was, he wasn’t the man for me. I wasn’t settling again for a nice guy who was just okay who’d eventually leave me for a younger, thinner, prettier model. I wanted the magic. I wanted to be swept off my feet and treasured. Jameson was a nice guy, and okay, I admit, he had some delicious abs, but he wasn’t my Prince Charming in his polos and sweaters and stilted conversational skills.
I know, that was a bit harsh. He’d told me himself he had a hard time saying the right thing, but the dating world was harsh too. I needed to refocus and put my moves on some fresh potential mates, not drool over my neighbor. My libido needed redirecting and getting back on the horse quickly was the best way to get on with it. Great, now even my thoughts were as jumbled as that hideous shirt.
Jameson held the door open and the kids and I stepped into the waiting area of a barbecue joint, the smells hitting us the minute we entered. My stomach growled and I was glad we abandoned shopping for sustenance. Jameson went up to the desk to put our name in while I scanned the people waiting for their tables.
A middle-aged man with a hint of gray at his temples sat on a bench lining the walls, next to a couple other guys. Clearly, the men were out for a night of barbecue and watching the football game. No ring on the left hand.
Game on, boys.
I sauntered over and claimed the seat right next to his, sliding close in the guise of needing room for the three kids who trailed me. I supposed trying to get my flirt on with my kids in tow ran a bit out of the ordinary, but better to get that little fact out of the way. If he had an issue with my kids, better to know now rather than later.
He shifted as I sat down, his head rotating to get a look at me. I smiled my warmest smile and followed him by closing the inch of gap he’d given us. His polite smile turned warmer. Before I could give him my opening line, the one I’d been working up in my head to be a doozy, rough hands hauled me up to standing.
I was chest to chest with Jameson, his familiar scowl somehow shaming me for my seat choice. My hands were pinned between us, caught in his tight grip. Then the room was spinning and Jameson was in my seat, pulling me down to his lap, his hands on my hips giving me no choice.
Anger bubbled up my wind pipe, but got strangled by the sensation of being on Jameson’s lap. My damn libido was barking up the wrong tree again and my intended victim—potential date—was walking off to be seated at his table, never to have heard my line that would have procured his number, I was sure of it.
I sat there, stunned, Jameson’s tree trunk legs the perfect seat bottom, his chest the ideal back rest. My thoughts were conflicted. The commanding way he stepped in and moved me was kind of hot. The goal-oriented modern woman in me was pissed. How dare he get in the way of my flirting game? The anger won out, that and the fact that my kids were watching me sit on a man’s lap—who wasn’t Santa.
Scrambling off his lap, I sat down in the seat the silver fox had vacated, crossing my arms over my chest. I refused to look at Jameson. I didn’t owe him an apology. As far as I was concerned, he owed me one.
“MacMillan, party of five?” The hostess called us and none too soon. As she led us to our table, I saw another man having dinner with a table full of guy friends. A streak of boldness rushed up my spine, making me roll my shoulders back and thrust my ample breasts out. Two could play this game.
Right as we passed, I pretended to stumble, catching myself on the man’s strong shoulders. Not as wide as Jameson’s, but why the hell was I comparing, anyway? He looked up and held me steady with one hand on my elbow.
“Sorry about that! Me and my two left feet.” I gave him a winning smile, which he returned for a brief second. Until Jameson wrapped his arm around my shoulders and hustled me off to our table.
“Careful, honey,” he said just a bit more loudly than necessary.
I jabbed an elbow in his gut with all my pent-up frustration behind it and sped off. I took a seat at our table right between my two children, which meant I wouldn’t have to sit next to Jameson.
Dinner went fine as I kept up a lively conversation with the kids. Jameson interjected here and there, but otherwise left me alone. I stewed about his behavior the entire time we ate. He had no right to stop my flirting attempts. So why did he stop them? What was his deal? I thought he was still hung up on his ex. Did he somehow have feelings for me and I just didn’t know it?
I’d like to state that I’m a mature woman, having mothered two kids already, but the thing was, I liked to have a little fun. Sometimes at other people’s expense. Like when I purposely stood up from the table the other night just to see if Jameson would stand too. It gave me a little thrill. Kept some humor in my otherwise mundane and stressful life. It wasn’t hurting anyone, so why not?
Which was why I decided to try as hard as I could to use another one of the ways to find a husband when we left the restaurant. Just to see what he’d do. A little test, if you will. After Jameson held the large wooden restaurant door open for me again, I walked through the parking lot with the kids behind me. Right as we passed a group of people standing around chatting, I zeroed in on the single guy—currently the only one in the group without a woman hanging on him—and made my move.
Without missing a beat, I tripped, yet again. Damn those two left feet of mine. I almost went down, but before I did, I caught myself. My purse, however, was not so fortunate. The force of my almost-fall slingshot that sucker into the air, flipping it upside down and upending everything that was in it. And I’m a mom, so you know it was a lot of crap that came raining down on the pavement, right at the feet of my intended target.
I heard the kids gasp behind me, but interestingly enough, not a peep out of Mr. Muscles and Frowns. Thankfully, the guy I’d targeted did exactly what Ms. Sanders must have envisioned when she wrote up her man-list. He swooped down and instantly started picking up my various items like the gentleman he clearly was. I had a full three seconds of jubilation before Jameson squatted down and helped pick up the ten thousand things that were rolling around the ground.
