“Izzy Lane,” I returned, laughing under my breath like I was one, too, loving how fucking cute that she was when she got all frustrated and didn’t know what to do with me.
Flustered, she shook her head. “You can’t do this. You can’t come around here acting like you are a part of who I am.”
I angled close, tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, tried not to dip my nose in to trace along the delicate flesh of her neck. Still, I whispered the words at the shell of her ear, “Not a part of you? You couldn’t scrape me from who you are if you tried. Come to dinner at my house tonight. You and the boys. I want to feed you.”
Apprehension moved through that sweet body. “You know that’s not a good idea.”
“I think it’s a great idea.”
“Well, kiss her if you want her to be a kissin’ kind of friend,” Dillon shouted from the window.
Izzy’s eyes went wide, and I had to stifle a laugh.
Now I owed the kid a ten.
At this rate, he really was going to earn that trip to Disneyworld.
I inched closer to her, backing her against her car. “What do you say? Come to dinner.”
“Maxon . . . this is gettin’ complicated.”
“And you should know, I have every intention of complicating you.” Our mouths were almost touching when I murmured it, and I could feel the thud of her heart hammering at her chest.
Took everything I had not to press myself against it. Feel it beat.
That energy alive.
“Please, Mom! I want to eat at Mr. Mack’s house! I’ve never been there before.”
If he kept it up, I was going to have to sign my bank account over to him.
She looked at me like she wanted to throttle me. Only it was soft and adoring.
My stomach tightened. Before I did something stupid like actually kiss her in front of her kids, I backed away and smiled. “I’ll drive the boys. See you there.”
She huffed, and if I didn’t know any better, would have sworn she stomped her foot. “Fine,” she said, all exasperated like, but I was pretty sure there was a smile behind it.
Twenty-Three
Izzy
I followed Maxon and the boys into Charleston, my senses still a thunder as I dialed my parents’ number.
Relief hit me when the old answering machine picked up.
Call me a coward, but the last thing I wanted to do was explain to my mama or daddy on the phone why we weren’t going to be there for dinner.
No doubt, my mama would have plenty of questions later. The whole problem was I seemed to be lacking all the answers.
Never had I felt so out of sorts.
So uncertain.
I mean, what was that whole kissin’ thing? What had he told my boys?
God, I was in trouble. I knew it to my core.
When the answering machine beeped, I left a message. “The boys and I are having dinner at Maxon’s tonight. We’ll be home by eight or eight-thirty. Hope you have a nice, peaceful evenin’.” I quickly tacked that onto the end, as if maybe I could convince myself that the only reason I was staying out tonight was to do them a favor.
Wishful thinking.
Because my nerves had gotten themselves into a tangle.
Anticipation knotted in my belly.
Hands sweaty where they clung to the steering wheel.
I just knew agreeing to come over here was changing everything. I was coming up against a wall.
A deadline.
A decision.
And it was all happening too fast.
Taillights flashed as Maxon pulled into his driveway.
I pulled in behind him, and Maxon hopped out.
The man looked like a reckoning when he gave me a look that told me to sit tight in my car.
Confusion twisted across my brow.
What was he doin’?
I watched him stealthily move around his front yard.
Slow yet sure.
He climbed to the porch, unlocked the front door, and peered inside.
At least I got one answer.
One thing of which I was sure.
He was checking for safety.
His posture rigid and imposing.
A protector.
A fighter.
My dragon.
Sorrow clogged my throat and moisture filled my eyes with the realization of the fear that this man still held onto so tightly.
As if it’d been etched into him as part of his being.
I wanted to reach out and stroke it away. Hold it. Bear a portion of it for him.
I just wished he would have let me.
He disappeared inside for a minute, and when he returned, his shoulders were relaxed.
He started back to his truck to help out the boys, and I slipped out onto shaky, unsteady feet.
“Is this your house?” Dillon asked as Maxon swung him down from the truck, holding him from under his arms. “How long have you lived here? Do you have a dog?”
“Sure is. About four years. And nope, no dog.”
One thing I could say about the man, he kept up just fine with Dillon’s erratic train of thought.