Page 5 of Dealing With Christmas

CHAPTER THREE

CHRISTMAS EVE

CHARLEE

Drew is shoveling food into his mouth at an alarming rate which, oddly, I find sexy. He goes through each dish with so much gusto it makes me wonder what else he does with such enthusiasm. I think my mother almost proposed marriage when he asked for a third helping of lasagna. She loves feeding people more than I do, and I love it a lot.

Everyone at the table is eating, drinking, or laughing—sometimes all three at once—but I’m sitting here stewing, getting more irritated by the minute. We’ve been at the table for over an hour now and Drew has yet to say a word to me that doesn’t involve passing a dish. Maybe that wouldn’t seem so strange if we were on opposite ends of the table but the idiot is right next to me.

I don’t know what his deal is but it’s pissing me off. We were getting along perfectly, both of us flirting shamelessly over drinks. I think he was even about to kiss me right before my brother walked into the den. I’ll be the first to admit that my forwardness has intimidated many men in my life; hence, why I’ve never been good at relationships. I refuse to apologize for who I am—or change who I am—and the guys that I’ve dated in the past ultimately wanted someone more reserved, I guess.

That’s not the case with Drew though. He takes it all in stride and gives as good as he gets. He seems to actually appreciate my lack of filter, or at least he did before Brody got here. Like a switch was flipped, now he’s practically treating me like I’m invisible and I’m fucking sick of it.

I grin when I come up with a plan to get his attention. As discreetly as possible, I slouch in my chair and slide my hand under the table. Drew’s thick quad tenses as I trail my fingers in light circles right above his knee. He clears his throat and shakes his leg a bit, probably trying to buck me off, but I don’t let that deter me. He finally gives me the slightest acknowledgement when my hand makes its way to his thigh. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye then pulls the cloth napkin off his lap, dropping it on the floor.

“Oops, I dropped my napkin!” he says.

I’m forced to scoot away as his big body reaches between our chairs to retrieve the red linen square. His hazel eyes gleam with victory as he sits back up and resumes eating.

So it’s going to be like that, huh? Game on, buddy.

Not only does my hand pick up right where it left off, I squeeze the muscle, causing him to jump in his seat, before making my way towards his inner thigh. His legs immediately snap shut, essentially trapping my hand; all the while, we’re both taking bites of our food, as if we aren’t playing a game of dirty tug-of-war. Drew is really strong, but I’m small, which allows me to wiggle out of tight spaces. I manage to pry my two outer fingers loose and begin a slow back and forth motion on his leg until I reach the unmistakable bulge beneath the denim. My pinky swipes across the tip of his erection right before all hell breaks loose.

Drew starts choking which I think is an act at first, but quickly figure out that it’s not. I give him a solid whack on the back which successfully purges the piece of bread that was lodged in his throat. Said piece of bread flies across the table and lands on my brother’s face with a wet plop.

“Get it off! Get it off!” Brody screams.

As Brody’s scrubbing the napkin against his face with some serious elbow grease, his elbow knocks over a glass of vino, staining the pristine white tablecloth. My mother and grandmother start cursing in Italian, arms flailing wildly, while Rainey jumps up, trying to get out of the splash zone. As she stands, her knee knocks the underside of the table, causing the entire bottle of wine to go rolling onto the cream carpeting below.

When I catch sight of my dad at the end of the table, still eating as if he’s not sitting in the middle of this giant shit show, I start laughing so hard I’m snorting and hyperventilating. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Drew has started doing the same. A boyish grin lights up his face when our eyes meet, sending tingles to all my lady bits.

God, he’s a beautiful man. That may seem like an odd description for someone so inherently masculine, but he really is. I’m usually drawn to men with darker features but Drew is the exception to that, I suppose, with his dark blonde hair and twinkly hazel eyes. There’s just something about him that I can’t ignore, and I’m not just talking about his appearance.

“Silenzio!” my mother yells, effectively ending the chaos. “Everyone sit back down and eat.” When nobody makes a move she narrows her eyes and adds, “Now!”

Forks immediately start clinking against plates. Sofia Harris may be little, but she’s fucking scary when she uses that tone.

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