“I think you need to be a little more specific.” I’m not putting myself out there first.

He sweeps his thumb across my bottom lip and edges closer. “You’re good at reading body language and situations. What do you think I want right now, Kailyn?”

“To kiss me.”

His grin is almost wry as he untwines our fingers and both of his palms smooth up the sides of my neck, thumbs following a slow path along the line of my jaw. My stomach dips and clenches.

How long has it been since I’ve been kissed? How long since I’ve been this excited by the prospect?

“And you, what do you want, Kailyn?”

“To be kissed.”

His lips brush over mine and I latch on to his wrists, an anchor in a storm I want to be swept up in. The firm press of his mouth against mine fills me with longing. Daxton’s low groan follows, and then his tongue sweeps my mouth, soft and searching.

I’m falling and floating. Spinning out of control as he angles my head, deepening the kiss. Desire blossoms and takes hold. I want it. Him. And I’m worried this is only happening because we’ve slipped into the past, to a time where the biggest complication in life was getting the best mark.

But I don’t stop it, even if I should.

I give in to the ache of yearning. The explosion of senses; his smell, his taste, the warmth that grows hotter, igniting embers to flame.

One of his hands drops, taking mine with it. I clutch his thigh as his fingers curl around my hip, urging me closer.

The buzz and ding of a phone pierces the hazy cloud of lust, and I pull back, breaking the connection for a moment, but Daxton is right there, crowding my space, his fingers in my hair, twisting in the strands, tugging gently as his lips meet mine again. He nibbles this time, sucks my bottom lip and groans, tongue sweeping out, again and again and again.

But the ping, ping, ping of incoming messages is a bucket of cold water on my sensibility.

I put a palm on his chest, and push. “Is that yours?”

“It’s not important. Just ignore it.” He lifts my hand and kisses my knuckle, following with a light bite.

I feel it through my entire body, the bolt of lust, the rush of heat between my thighs. Even still, I recognize I’ve complicated so many things with one act of impulsiveness. One kiss that shouldn’t have happened, but did.

And I know I won’t be able to forget it. Not with the way my lips still tingle and my body still hums with his touch.

I look to the patio table, where beads of sweat trickle down the sides of our half-consumed beers. His phone lights up with an incoming message and rumbles closer to the bottles. A woman’s name flashes on the screen.

My throat tightens. Of course he has women calling him on Friday night. I’m sure they’re more than willing to come to him even if he can’t go to them. I’m probably convenient because I’m here and still obviously infatuated and willing.

“I should go.” I stand, adjusting my glasses, embarrassed once again.

Dax rises with me. “What? Why?”

“It’s late. You have other things to do.” I gesture to the phone, still buzzing on the table. I try to get around him, but he steps in front of me, blocking my escape. “Dax, please.” I don’t want to look at him right now. I can’t face what I’ve done. How getting caught up in that kiss compromises this situation in so many ways.

“Kailyn.”

“I need to go home.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you wanted—” I’m still trying to get around him. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine, I should just . . . you’re under a lot of stress. It’s understandable you’d seek comfort in someone safe.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

I slip around him and head for the door. “I’m glad I could be here to help Emme tonight, and I’m glad I’m a safe person for you, Dax, but this, what just happened, shouldn’t have.”

He doesn’t follow me to the door, but I catch his reflection in the window as I slip my feet into my shoes. One hand is shoved in his pocket while the fingers of his other hand sweep back and forth across his lips, his expression forlorn.

He’s seeking refuge in the past, caught up in a possibility that never existed because his present is so tragic right now. It doesn’t make this any less of a mistake.

It also doesn’t make it any easier for me to get in my car and leave.

chapter twelve

POST-KISS FAVORS

Kailyn

Since Dax has my cell number, he resorts to texting over the weekend. He makes sure I arrived home safely on Friday night after I bolted from his house, apologizes again for upsetting me, thanks me for helping with Emme, and issues yet another apology.

I’m polite and to the point with my replies, and of course I ask how Emme is doing, but I try to maintain a semiprofessional boundary. Which is difficult to do when I know what it feels like to have his tongue in my mouth.

On Monday I find a box on my desk. Inside is a note from Dax and a set of multicolored pens, exactly like the ones I always used to set out on my desk in class. Every once in a while, when Daxton was sitting behind me in class, he’d lean forward and whisper that his pen wouldn’t work, and he’d ask to borrow one of mine. I always lent him an obnoxious color, like hot pink or lime green. It’s a sweet memory and an even sweeter gesture.

The following morning I receive a phone call from Linda. “Hello, Kailyn Flowers speaking.”

“Kailyn, hello! I’m so glad I was able to get in touch with you.” Her voice has that high, reedy quality that automatically puts me on alert.

“Is everything okay? Is Emme all right?”

“Um, well, that’s what I’m calling about.”

I’m already reaching for my purse, ready to tell Cara to cancel my meetings for the afternoon. “Do I need to come to the school? Should I call Dax?”

“Oh! Oh no, it’s nothing so urgent. It’s just, well . . . I’ve noticed that Emme’s been wearing the same clothes repeatedly and I’m a little concerned about the state of them.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I follow.”

“It might be nothing, but she’s been wearing this very worn-out hoodie almost every day. You know how girls can be at this age, usually they’re concerned with fashion, and I understand that Emme’s in a difficult place emotionally, but I’m worried.”

“About what exactly?”

“She’s wearing clothes with holes in them every day, surely Daxton can take her shopping and get her some new things with the allowance he’s been provided, things are already difficult enough for her socially at the moment.”

I lean back in my chair, trying to figure out her angle, and whether she has information that’s valuable in this instance. “Do you mean beyond the incident in the cafeteria?”

“She doesn’t have a female role model anymore, and to be honest, I’m concerned that the money that’s supposed to be for Emme’s care isn’t being used appropriately. Surely there must be enough funds to afford a few new hoodies. If I was her guardian, I would certainly be taking her out to get her new things.”

“I’ll be sure to look into it.” I have yet to see receipts, but Dax just bought a hundred dollars worth of feminine hygiene products and treats for Emme, so I’m not too worried about how the funds are being spent. I try to be objective, though, because I’m aware my connection to Dax and Emme skews my perception. I suspect this is a fishing expedition on Linda’s part.

“Of course, of course. I just thought it was something you might want to know, especially since she’s not coming with a packed lunch like she used to, and I’m afraid she doesn’t have adequate funds for lunch. I’m always more than willing to help her out. I’d suggest to Daxton that he leaves money at the office, but we both know how unhappy he is with me at the moment.”

“I’ll be sure to discuss it with Daxton. Is there anything else?”

“No, no. That’s it. I just wanted to bring it to your attention.”

“Thank you, Linda. I appreciate your concern. Have a wonderful day.”

“You, too, Kailyn.”

I end the call and rub my temples. I can’t decide if her avoiding Dax is a strategic move or logical. Going through me makes a lot of sense since I’m the conservator, but based on the way she’s approached this custody lawsuit, I’m not convinced she’s completely aboveboard. And I’m also highly aware my relationship with Dax makes me more susceptible to bias.

The call from Linda weighs heavy on my mind for the rest of the day, distracting me and making it difficult to focus.

It’s after five when my cell pings with a message. And then another. Emme’s name appears on the screen. She uses typical teen texts with shortened words forms and lots of emojis. The gist seems to be that she’s stuck at school and she can’t get a hold of Dax. I haven’t heard from him all day, either, but he’s supposed to be in court, which should be finished for the day by now.

I don’t mess around with texting.

Her phone rings once before she answers. “Hello?”