“You didn’t?”
“I did. I have no idea what came over me. It was like some weird compulsion, Dakota! I couldn’t stop myself. I was a complete slut.”
Dakota is enjoying this far too much. I bury my head in my hands at her dramatic laughing. It’s excessive and, quite frankly, a little insulting. This is my life she’s laughing at. I have no idea what possessed me to kiss Owen. Maybe that’s it, maybe I was possessed. Yes, like that movie The Exorcist. Except I’m not that lucky. I think it was just me being impulsive and sick of dreaming of those lips and needing to taste them.
I’ve never done anything like that in my life. I’m careful. I am calculated. I don’t walk around just kissing random guys and especially not guys I work with. Or manwhores. Yeah, I really don’t do that. Honestly, the only man I’ve kissed since I was twenty-two years old is Kent and those kisses … well, they were nothing like what I experienced today.
I’ve heard the rumors. The gals at the salon where I went for a quick trim last week were more than happy to tell me all about the single men in this town, Owen included. If the rumors are true, Jameson, Owen, and Landon have been quite busy entertaining the ladies in this town. While the majority of women have hoped to be the one to take Jameson off the market, Owen hasn’t fared too poorly. Now that Jameson has taken himself off the market, Owen is sure to move up to commodity numero uno.
And, I had to kiss him. Not just kiss him but first maim him and then devour his mouth like it was a damn ice cream cone. With hot fudge. That’s what his kiss was like. The most decadent ice cream dripping with sinful hot fudge.
“Are you done laughing? I’m so glad my humiliation could offer you entertainment this evening. Just you wait, sister of mine. Your day will come that you do something completely ridiculous and I’ll be there to laugh at you.”
“Oh, Min, stop being such a baby. It’s hilarious. You jumped him. Well, after you practically broke his hand. It’s so unlike …”
“Say it. It’s so unlike the person I’ve been the last few years. Yeah, I agree. Can I admit something that you’ll forget as soon as we hang up?”
“Of course, sister vault.”
“I kind of dream of him at night. And it was like I couldn’t help myself. He was standing there, holding my hand, and just smelling so much like … a man. Dakota, he smells like a man. I don’t even know what the scent is. Like if he was a candle it would just be labeled ‘scent of a man.’”
“Oh man, you’ve got it bad. I love it! What’s next? Seduction? Are you going to invite him over, play coy, and then lure him to your den of sin?”
“Uh, your children live here, in case you forgot? There is no den of anything other than maybe blocks and Barbies.”
“True. Those little cockblockers,” she teases before breaking out in more laughter.
“Anyway, enough of my pathetic life. Which, by the way, is going to be worse because Jameson is taking some days off over the next few weeks and I’ll have to work more closely with Owen. You can feel free to kill me now.”
The call I took after I successfully made a fool of myself was Jameson. He wanted to make sure I’d be around since he plans on spending a few long weekends at his lake property, which is great for him but sucks a bit for me. That means, Owen and I will be left to run Strauss Construction. That would have been fine until about five hours ago, when I became possessed by a demon.
“So, Dakota, tell me how the transition is going? How are you feeling?”
Last week, Dakota transitioned out of the in-patient facility to a private outpatient home that will focus more on her physical therapy and widows group. This is the first step to her coming home and while from here, through the screen, I can see a tremendous change in her attitude and physical health, I’m still worried for her.
“I’m feeling really good. The PT is a bitch and I’m in a bit of pain after but that’s to be expected. I’ve made a few friends in group so that’s nice.” She sounds like she’s reading off items from a grocery list. But, at least she’s talking about it. “I,” she pauses, “I still haven’t talked much about the accident.” I wait for her to continue. The look on her face tells me she’s thinking more than deciding what to say next. “My counselor has, as he called it, ‘expressed concern’ that if I don’t talk about it soon, I’ll just continue to Band-Aid the emotion and one day just lose my shit.”
It’s nice to know her counselor and I share the same concerns. That’s a step up from the last doctor she was seeing, anyway.
“And, what do you think? Do you think you’ll lose your shit?” We both know the answer to this question.
“Sadly, yes. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve talked about it during my private sessions, it’s only with the group I can’t. They,” she pauses, “they look so sad for me when it’s brought up. I just can’t. Yet. I will. I know it’s necessary for me to move forward.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes. I simply pretend I’m not watching her process what she told me and Dakota turns her head and wipes away tears she’s going to pretend she isn’t shedding.
“So,” Dakota begins turning her attention back to me, biting her top lip. This is her telltale sign when she is about to broach a topic that makes her uncomfortable. “Have you decided what you’re going to do when I get out of here?”
“I’m going to be here for you like we planned.”
“I know that’s the plan for when I get home. But, what about your job? Kent?”
“Well, Kent can kiss my ass. I should’ve ended that long ago. As for my job, I like what I have here. I think I’m going to stay. I only took the leave so I didn’t lose my insurance and in case this town wasn’t a good fit for me. I love it here. Just wait until you’re here, Dakota. It’s so calm and serene. The parks are amazing. Plus, I really like my job.”
“And Owen.”
“Stop. I had a momentary lapse in judgment…”
The sound of my phone signaling a text message stops me from finishing my sentence. I reach for my cell phone from the coffee table and tap the home screen. My eyes widen at the text and I look up at Dakota.
“What? Is something wrong?” she asks, concern lacing her questions.
“It’s Owen.”
“Oh, the kisser! What does he say?”
“Hush, I haven’t opened it yet. What if he says he’s going to submit a sexual harassment claim? Or what if he says he’s already taken out a restraining order?”
“Umm … yeah, none of that is what it says. I bet it says ‘Minnie, I want to stick my tongue down your throat and put it other places, too.’”
I scoff to show my less than impressed opinion of her proposed message and the fake voice she uses to imitate Owen.
Taking a deep breath, I open the text message and a smile is instantaneous.
Owen: I wanted to let you know blowing on my hand worked. No pain at all and full movement.
A small giggle escapes me as I type back a response.
Me: Good to know my nursing skills are up to par. Sorry, again.
“Oh geez, look at your face. You are a smitten kitten! I wish you’d tell me his last name so I can cyber stalk him like a good big sister.” Again. Major eyeroll.
“No,” is my only response. One word with so much meaning.
“Fine. Whatever. Okay, I’m going to let you go so you can sext or whatever with your lover boy. I love you, Minnie, and cannot thank you enough for all you’ve done. But, from the look on your face I think you should be thanking me for choosing Lexington. Night!”
Before I can respond, Dakota disconnects our call and I look back at my phone. Two texts.
Owen: Stop apologizing. I don’t think you meant to break my hand.
Owen: Uh, I didn’t mean break it. Sorry, don’t be pissed.
Me: I’m not pissed. I was on Skype with my sister.
Owen: Oh shit. Sorry. I’ll leave you alone.
Me: No.
Me: I mean, we’re done. She had to go.
Owen: Ok. So, tell me, what does Minnesota Walker do for fun on a Monday night?
I look down at myself and my baggy cut-off sweats, stained tank top. I know my hair is a hot mess piled on my head and by now my mascara is smudged under my eyes. I look to my right and the laundry is piled on the chair ready to be put away. I know the dishwasher is done and probably needs emptied and the stack of bills is still sitting on the kitchen counter begging to be paid. I can’t tell him any of that. It’s beyond boring and unattractive. Not that I want him to be attracted to me. Lies. Yes I do.
Me: Oh, you know, the usual. Deciding what tropical island I’ll jet off to next, online shopping for designer clothes, and eating ice cream.
Okay, so that last part wasn’t a lie.
Owen: Tropical island. That sounds promising. Is there a bikini in this plan? I could be on board with that. Or …
Me: or …
Owen: Is this island clothes optional?
Me: Lol. Yeah, no. Clothes are absolutely required.
Owen: Damn. A man can dream.
Me: Look, about today. I should explain.
Owen: I know, I’m irresistible. It’s okay.
Me: Well, obviously. I mean, it’s a wonder you can even walk down the street some days.
Owen: Some days I can’t. It’s really a burden.
Me: Wow, the ladies at the salon told me you were a bit of a lady’s man but I didn’t know how much. Thanks for that.
Owen: Why Minnesota, have you been asking about me?
Me: Uh, no. Apparently, the women of Lexington love the idea of, what did they call it? Oh yes, they love the idea of “running their tongues over your delicious abs.”
Owen: Dammit! I just choked on my water! They do not say that. That’s … gross.
Me: Eh, whatever. I don’t quite see the appeal.
Owen: Liar.
Me: Nope. Not once have I thought of licking any man’s abs. Not even Channing Tatum and his are about perfect.
Owen: Hmm…you know he’s married, right?
Me: It’s a fantasy not real life. Let me have my moment.
Owen: Fine, it’s yours. But seriously, I just want to make sure we’re okay.
Me: Totally fine. We’re adults. I like you, Owen. For some strange reason
Owen: Hey. I have feelings you know!
Me: I wasn’t done. I hit send too soon. What I was saying was, I feel comfortable with you. You make me laugh and yes, I’m attracted to you but it doesn’t mean I’ll attack you again. Don’t worry.
Owen: I won’t deny I enjoyed it.
Before I’m able to respond or tell him it may just happen again, I hear Cali stirring.
Me: I have to go. Kids.
Owen: No prob. See you later. Night.
Me: Night, Owen.
I almost type out “sweet dreams” but I don’t. Cali’s stirring turns to all-out cries and I rise from the couch, tossing my phone on the table before making my way to the girls’ room. When I walk in, I notice that Arizona is completely zonked out on her princess bed while Cali is standing in her crib and about two seconds from wailing. I reach for her and pick her up, placing my cheek to hers and humming. She’s cutting another tooth, and if the warmth from her cheeks is any indication, it’s going to be a long night in my bed with an uncomfortable little girl.