“I know, but don’t make it your job to put it back together.”

“I won’t. I promise.” I don’t like how much that feels like a lie.

chapter ten

TAMPONOLOGY 101

Kailyn

True to his word, Daxton is in the store, basket in hand, hovering between the cold and flu medication aisle and the sanitary napkins.

As soon as he spots me, he rushes over and hugs me, catching me off guard. Again. He and Emme sure do like to hug. I wonder if he’s going to do this every time he sees me. As I pat him awkwardly on the back, I consider how that might not be a terrible thing. He’s just so tall, and broad and muscular, but not in an overly bulky way. He’s lean and toned, rather than hulking scary. And he smells good. Too good. I take a step back.

“Thank you so much for coming. I really, really owe you, Kailyn. I’m beyond grateful.”

I glance at the contents of his basket. He has chips and chocolate bars in there, a decent start on the unhealthy snack food frontier. I grab for the box that most certainly does not belong and hold it up. “What’s this for?”

He blinks at me, eyes wide and slightly afraid. “They looked sturdy, and like they’d catch everything.”

“Sure, if you’re buying incontinence products for your grandmother.” I slap them against his chest and grab his elbow. “Follow me.”

He doesn’t have a choice but to come along, since I’m pretty much digging my nails into his arm. It’s a nice arm. Very firm. I need to stop noticing these things. We make a pit stop at the I-can-no-longer-do-jumping-jacks-withoutpeeing-my-pants section and return the box before I lead Daxton to the aisle with the right products.

I sweep a hand out. “Welcome to the Aisle of Red.”

He glances at me, frowning. “That’s awful.”

“You have absolutely no idea.” I tap my lip and survey the selection. “She’ll need a box of these for the last couple of days.” I toss in some light days. “And she’ll need these for heavier flow.” Dax cringes, possibly at my terminology. I roll my eyes and stop in front of the midflow ones.

“What the hell are these?” Dax taps a box of triangular-shaped black pads.

“Those are light days for thongs.”

His confusion is almost adorable. “Thongs?”

“Will Emme need those?”

“What?”

“Does Emme wear thongs?”

His expression shifts to horror. “She’s thirteen.”

I raise a brow. “That doesn’t mean anything these days.”

“She better not be wearing thongs.” His sudden protective rage turns to inquisition as he looks me over. “Do you wear thongs?”

“I own a lot of pencil skirts, Dax. Have you ever seen any lines?” Oh God. I should not be entertaining this kind of banter. It’s dangerous and it blurs lines that already seemed blurred from day one when he hugged me in the conference room, and my little digs and comments since then.

A smile tugs at the right side of his mouth, and his eyes move over me. I’m wearing purple jeans tonight. Skinny jeans that hug all of my many curves. “I can’t say that I have.”

“You just admitted to checking out my ass, by the way.”

“It’s a pretty rockin’ ass. You can hardly blame me.”

I blush at the compliment and turn back to the products displayed before me. “What about tampons?”

“What about them?”

“Do you think she’ll want some?”

Daxton shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“We’ll get them, just to be safe, and we’ll get the applicator and non-applicator varieties, just in case.”

“Non-applicator?”

“Yeah. One has an applicator, the other you just use your finger.”

He makes a gagging sound, and his horrified expression returns. This is far more fun than it should be for a Friday night at the CVS in the Aisle of Red.

He looks around, leans in, and drops his voice to a whisper. “But wouldn’t you get . . . stuff on your finger?”

“Stuff?”

“You know, period stuff.”

I grin at how uncomfortable he looks. “Yes, Dax, that would happen. However, most bathrooms come equipped with this magical product called toilet paper, and they have sinks and soap and water so you can wash your hands.”

“But why would you want to stick your finger . . .” He shakes his head, obviously confused.

“I don’t think it’s about wanting to. They’re just more compact. Discreet.” This is far too much sharing.

“Maybe we can forgo those ones for now.”

“Sure. We can come back to those another time.” Once we’re stocked up on all of the sanitary products, we stop in the painkiller aisle, where I explain what each bottle is for as I throw them into the basket. Then we double back to the candy aisle and toss in some more junk food because periods suck, and cravings are everything.

I stand in line at the checkout with Dax and help him unload the basket. By the time they finish ringing through all his purchases, it’s well over a hundred dollars. “It’s expensive to be a girl,” he mutters, handing over his Amex card. It’s one of those black ones, the kind with a high limit.

Once we’re in the parking lot, he stops in front of his Audi. He looks a little lost with his armload of menstrual defense. “Thanks a lot for your help. I’m sorry I pulled you away from dinner.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.” I motion to the store. “That was actually rather entertaining. It pretty much made my week.”

He chuckles. “Well, I’m glad it was amusing for you, if nothing else. I should probably get back and give all this stuff to Emme so she can figure out what she wants to use.” He holds up the bags: one full of pads and tampons, the other full of junk food.

Before I think too much about it, I blurt, “Do you want me to come back with you and explain it all?”

His eyes go wide with hope, which he tempers quickly. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. You’ve already been more than gracious with your time.”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering. It might be easier coming from a woman than coming from her clueless brother.” I don’t mean to sound like a jerk, but that’s how it comes out.

He nods. “I really am clueless.”

“I’ll follow you back to your place.”

His house is literally one left at a stoplight and a right-hand turn down a side street from the CVS. It’s a sprawling, massive home on a huge lot. I’m really not all that far away from him, although I live in a much more affordable area.

I park behind his Audi, noting the lovely manicured lawns and the very pretty flower beds. Ones I’m certain Daxton doesn’t have the time or inclination to manage. “Was this your parents’ house?” I ask as we make our way up the front steps.

He nods. “I figured it was best for Emme to keep her in the same school and not change too much on her.”

“That was selfless of you. Moving must’ve been difficult.”

He shrugs. “I just want to make things as easy for her as possible, and my condo was too small for the two of us. This made more sense.”

“Still, cleaning it out is such a daunting task. I had to do that when my father passed.” Holly was there to help, but it was emotional. Packing away his things, sorting through pictures, and of course there were all of my mother’s belongings that he’d refused to get rid of when she’d passed years before him. It was almost like losing them both all over again.

“The thing about unexpected death is that sometimes you find things you probably weren’t supposed to.” He opens the door and ushers me inside.

“Such as?” I glance around the living room, which smells faintly of fresh paint. It’s a clean, organized space.

I imagine his childhood was spent living out of a suitcase or on a set. Clutter doesn’t seem to be his thing; it’s not mine, either. I find hints of his parents lingering in the pictures hung on the walls, and the small out-of-place trinkets on the bookshelves.

“Uh, let’s just say my parents had an interesting sex life as evidenced by the contents of my mother’s dresser.” He gives me a wry smile.

“Oh.” I can feel my cheeks heat under his gaze.

“Emme?” he calls out, then turns to me with an apologetic smile. “I’m going to assume she’s still hiding out in her bedroom.”

“Do you want me to stay here or come with you?”

“Um, you can come with?” Dax drops the bag of treats off in the kitchen, and I follow him to the second floor.

I’m only slightly ashamed to admit I check out his butt. I mean, he already confessed to checking out mine, so it’s only fair.

To the right is a set of open double doors leading to the master bedroom. The king platform bed is neatly made, and a simple navy comforter lies smooth across the mattress. I turn away, unable to stop myself from imagining Dax in that bed, wondering if he sleeps in boxers, or maybe nothing at all. Why does my head keep going there tonight?

He stops at a door with a KEEP OUT warning sign hanging from a tack pushed into the wood. It’s hot pink and glittering with fake gemstones framing the edge.