Page 24 of Boyfriend
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Lunch turns out to be both casual and delicious. We all sit around that giant coffee table in front of the fire eating crusty bread and a meat and cheese board that Stevie has thrown together. There are three French cheeses, two different salamis, several types of little olives, and cornichons.
I’m in charcuterie heaven.
It’s also a good vantage point for surveilling the family dynamic.
Weston’s dad is a good conversationalist. He tells us all about his newest commission—a teardown in Norwich, where the homeowners scrapped a 1960s raised ranch to build a contemporary mansion. “They’re nice enough people, but they have a Frank Lloyd Wright fetish,” he says with a smirk. “They keep asking for wood-paneled ceilings everywhere. And I keep trying to talk them out of it, or it will be like living inside a cigar box.”
Meanwhile, Stevie keeps sneaking looks at me and Weston. His curiosity isn’t very well disguised. So I decide to have a little fun with it. I slide my hand onto Weston’s knee, oh so casually.
Weston responds by lifting my hand just as casually into his. We make a great fake couple, if I do say so myself.
But then he casually runs his thumb across the back of my hand, and shivers dance across my skin. For a second, I allow myself to consider what it would be like to be Weston’s real girlfriend. The minute we were alone, I’d climb onto his lap and kiss him senseless.
He’d probably respond by pushing me down onto this oversized couch, where we’d make out for hours…
“Abbi?” Weston says, squeezing my hand.
“Sorry?” I say, suddenly aware that I’ve been asked a question.
“Would you like coffee?” Mr. Griggs ask, while Stevie smirks. “I’m thinking of making a pot.”
“Yes. Thank you,” I say quickly. “Clearly I’m a little dreamy today. Maybe I’ll just splash some water on my face.” I feel a little overheated too. Maybe it’s the fire.
Or maybe it’s sexy thoughts about Weston.
“There’s a bathroom just down the hall,” Mr. Griggs says, picking up the empty charcuterie board. “But why don’t you take Abbi upstairs while I make the coffee?” he asks his son. “And find a towel for her.”
“Great idea,” Weston says.
“I’ll just help you carry your stuff upstairs,” Stevie says, popping out of his chair.
“No need, punk,” Weston says, shutting him down. “What if you minded your own business for once?”
“What would the fun be in that?”
Weston wasn’t kidding. Stevie is suspicious.
I can sell this thing. If I’m successful, Weston has to take me out to dinner and split a bottle of wine.
Winning is imperative. I just have to figure out how.
Eight
World War Griggs
Weston
God, my brother is acting like a tool. And my dad seems tense. We just have to get through the party tonight, and then everyone can relax.
“Come with me,” I say softly to Abbi. She’s the only one in this scenario I can count on to behave. I already feel guilty for subjecting her to the madness of a Griggs family get-together.
She follows me to the staircase, where I step aside to let her go first. And I force myself not to ogle her legs in that dress. “It’s the room on the left,” I say when she reaches the top. I already put our bags in there.
But when I follow her into the room it looks smaller than ever. She eyes the double bed and then her eyes jump to mine.
“I’ll get Stevie to switch with us,” I whisper. “I’ll tell him…” I pause. “Okay, I have no idea what I’ll tell him. I’ll think of something.”
