Page 38 of Silver Foxed

As I put the tip down on the bar and reach for my drinks, his hand shoots out and rests on top of mine. “My break is in fifteen minutes if you want to talk more.”

My eyes narrow at the audacity of this man. But before I can say anything, a warm, steady hand is on my back and the tickle of a beard is in my ear.

“Please remove your hand from my wife,” a familiar baritone voice warns.

The bartender’s touch disappears as the hair on my arms stands on end. I don’t have to turn my head to know who has come to my rescue, who would dare to call me his wife.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t see a ring,” he says, holding up his hands.

“Ring or not, your behavior is uncalled for.”

The heat in my body rises from embarrassment and arousal. I shouldn’t be aroused, but I can’t help it. Elijah is here. He’s touching me. He called me his wife. I indulge in the comfort of his masculine body for a moment, enjoying the familiarity and safety I feel in his arms. The pressure of his hand on my back deepens, and my heart beats faster in my chest.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please grab a drink and take a seat. We’ll start the ceremony in about fifteen minutes,” the emcee’s voice says over the loudspeaker.

I stiffen, and I blink, remembering where we are. We’re in public. My parents are here. People, including my mom and dad, could be watching. I put space between me and Elijah and grab the drinks off the bar top.

“I’m sorry,” the bartender says. “I really thought—"

“It’s fine,” I cut him off, needing to get out of this situation. I bump Elijah with my shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go to our table.”

My voice snaps Elijah out of his stare down with the bartender. He looks at me, his azure gaze drinking me in as if he fully noticed that I was standing there, that I’m real.

“Let me take those,” he says, reaching for the drinks.

“I’ve got them.” I smile, my cheeks tense.

At my refusal to let him help me, his jaw clenches. Anger rises in my belly, flushing my chest and my cheeks. His eyes watch it happen, and I see him lick his lips. Elijah reaches out and touches my arm, and I swear my entire body lights on fire.

“Alex,” he whispers.

I shake my head, unwilling to trust my voice. I’m at war in my mind right now. One part of me wants to take him into a dark corner and mold my body against his, to kiss the lips I’ve missed so much the last month. But then another part of me wants to yell at him for being a Neanderthal, for staking his claim on me in public when he’s made it clear what our weekend was: just one weekend. Which I couldn’t and wouldn’t fault him for. But then he goes and calls me his wife the first time he sees me?!

“We should get to the table,” I snap, walking briskly away from him.

Trying to ignore Elijah’s presence at my back, I walk through the crowd, eventually spotting my mom’s blonde head and my dad’s gray hair. I’d recognize him anywhere because he’s got a small bald spot at the top that Mom’s been trying to get him to “take care of,” aka get hair plugs or a toupee. But Dad will hear nothing of it. He says aging is cool and hip now. I don’t know if that’s true, but that’s Oliver Martin for you. He walks to the beat of his own drum.

“Alex,” Elijah says as we get closer to the table, but I don’t turn to look at him. “We should talk.”

I shake my head. “Not here.”

He sighs, but I don’t know what he expects. He wanted to keep our relationship a weekend thing, and I respected that. I also don’t want to ruin my dad’s night. Because finding out his best friend and I fucked at his lake house isn’t exactly something a person reveals at an awards function. Or ever.

Mom’s head turns as I approach. “There you are!”

At her proclamation, Dad’s head turns, too. “Look who it is! We were wondering if you got lost.”

I force a smile for my parents while I hand Mom the now sweating glass of chardonnay. “Sorry, I picked up a stray at the bar,” I say.

They both notice Elijah at the same time, and their grins broaden. “Well, well. You clean up nice, you son of a gun,” Dad says, standing to greet Elijah with a handshake and a man hug.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Martin.” Elijah pats his back. While he looks normal and happy, I can see his pinched brow from here, showing me his signs of distress. I want to walk over and smooth it away; instead, I grip my wine glass as Dad steps away from Elijah to hug me.

“You look beautiful, honey,” he says, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for coming.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

After Mom hugs Elijah, we all sit. Thankfully, it’s a round table, and Elijah is sitting next to my dad while I’m on the other side next to my mom. There are three empty chairs between us. At first, I thought it was a good thing we weren’t next to each other, but now he’s in my direct line of sight to the stage, so I have no choice but to stare at him.

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