up on the coffee table and spread his arms out along the back of the couch. “Nope.” He patted the seat. “Come on, sit down. You worked hard at making us dinner. Malcolm picked a movie out already—Four Weddings and Funeral.”
“He loves British movies,” I commented as I sat down within inches of him, feeling like I was in high school again, nervous and jittery about what was going to happen next.
My phone dinged with a text. It was Hartford wanting to know what my plans were for tomorrow. I replied, turned my phone off, and tucked it under the cushion.
“Hartford checking in?” Dax asked.
I nodded, seeing his lips tighten.
Another hour and a beer later, I grew drowsy, my head nodding into my chest. I drifted off and dreamed that Dax was really Aquaman, only he was way hotter than any comic hero I’d ever seen. His hair was messy and sexy and he had dragonfly designs all over his blue skin-tight wetsuit. I was a beautiful mermaid only I had legs. With the sea crashing around us, he chased me in the sand until he caught me and carried me into his cave. He kissed me . . .
I jerked awake, the only light in the room coming from the glow of another movie that had come on. Malcolm slept in the recliner, his mouth open as he snored.
Dax stared at me. “Hey, sleepyhead.”
I yawned. “Was I out for a while?”
“Not long.” He touched my hair, his fingers ever so slightly brushing the ends.
Barely even aware of doing so, I sighed and leaned my head into his hand.
“What were you dreaming?” he asked softly. At my questioning gaze, he said, “You moaned.”
Heat colored my face. “You remember in London telling me about your dream where I was a mermaid and you chased me on the beach and took me to a cave . . .” I stopped.
“I dream about you all the time, Remi.”
My heart jumped. I licked my lips. “My dream was . . . like that.” Feeling braver, I turned my head to take him in, questions burning in my mind. An idea had taken root earlier in the day as I’d had more time to analyze why Dax was so bitter about Hartford and me.
“Something’s been bugging me, and I wanted to ask you . . .”
“Mmm.” His hand pushed harder, the tips of his fingers digging into my scalp and working to the nape of my neck. Oh God. Felt so good. I bit back a groan.
“It’s hard to think when you do that,” I said.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Never,” I whispered.
“Good.” His hand skated lower, massaging the knots in my shoulder. “What’s been bugging you, Remi?”
My chest rose and I took a deep breath. “I—I have a theory about London on why you never answered my texts.”
His hand stilled. “Oh?”
I swallowed, staring down at my hands. At my ring. “It’s—it’s because you did come back with breakfast but you saw me with Hartford when the door was open or you heard him through the door. You left—because you were hurt.” My voice cracked at the end.
God, I was taking such a chance here. What if I was wrong?
I lifted my gaze to read his face. “Am I right?”
“Yes.”
The bag of sand I’d been carrying around my neck dropped. “Why didn’t you just tell me? We could have talked—”
“I saw you with your tongue down his throat. I don’t think there’s anything else to say. I was your rebound guy. You love him. He’s good for you. I’m not.” His voice was low. Matter-of-fact. Final.
I bit my lip. Nodded. Those things were all true.
He closed his eyes. Opened them, a void there.
“Don’t—don’t look like that.” I slid over to him, and he wrapped me in his arms. I pushed my face into his chest, and we sat like that for a while. For some reason, I was terrified to look at him, and maybe he was afraid to look at me, because just one little movement from him, one little whisper of my name, and I’d be willing to jump off a cliff. I’d go down that rabbit hole.
He placed his hand on my stomach, his eyes questioning. “I have a question for you. What happened to our baby, Remi?”
“WAIT,” HE SAID, grabbing my hand to pull me back as I jerked off the couch and stumbled in my haste to get away from him. The arm of the couch saved me from falling.