Miracle (Single Dads Book 7) by RJ Scott

Author:RJ Scott [Scott, RJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Love Lane Books Ltd
Published: 2023-12-21T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Arlo

It’s funny how something so perfect can turn a man into a complete coward. That kiss had been something out of a dream, the kind that lingered in your mind long after it was over. Holding Jax against the wall, supporting the weight of him, having his trust, getting my hands on him at last, and tasting his kisses. I was baffled why my brain told me I needed to leave.

Maybe it was self-preservation, maybe I saw how tired he was, maybe I’d taken advantage of a man who was kind of exhausted and messed up all at the same time.

I didn’t know if I regretted that kiss, or whether it was the whirlwind of emotions it stirred up in me that had me running scared. Maybe I should have stayed, faced the music, and talked things out with Jax, but in the heat of the moment, my impulse was to escape. To stay and maybe end up talking, might mean I compromised and agreed it should be a one-time thing, and I was done losing my dreams. After everything I’d given up—albeit willingly—didn’t I deserve to follow the path I’d always imagined for myself?

Maybe I should have called Jax, just to hear his voice, to ease this knot in my chest. Or maybe I should have gone all out and gone back to his house, laid it all on the table, and seen where we stand. But doubts crept in. What if I made things worse? What if Jax didn’t want to see me again? What if the kiss was him being tired and bored.

Why did we wait so long? My words echoed in my thoughts, and I was alternating between embarrassment and conviction.

I was left with more questions than answers because what we’d done had been everything, and I couldn’t help but second-guess every move I was making, let alone adding this to the heap. Nowhere in my future was revealing I was in love with Jax, or hell, kissing him some more.

So, busy work was where it was at. So far, I’d emptied and cleaned out two cupboards, reorganized photos on the kitchen pin board, and run two loads of laundry. The drier beeped at me, and I emptied the contents—comfortable and soft work T-shirts.

I fluffed and folded, and headed out through to the hall, finding Panda hanging precariously from the top shelf of a bookcase, one half of him in a shoe box, the other half kinda sprawled this way and that.

“You gonna help put this away with me?” I asked him as he blinked at me, then stretched out a single paw, showing me his pale pink toe beans, which could change into murder mittens in an instant. He made no move to follow me. “Guess not, then.”

Only, as soon as I neared my bedroom with my arms full of laundry, Panda sprinted up the stairs, spotted the attic door, which I’d not shut properly, darted through it, and vanished. I dumped the basket

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