Page 69 of Hot Shot

“You don’t know my family,” she mutters. “They’ll be all over this like stink on a skunk.”

I bark out a laugh.

“Seriously.”

“I can handle it.” I squeeze her waist with the hand resting there. “Your dad was already interrogating me. It’s fine.” It’s actually pretty cool to have family who care enough to be all up in your business, even though I know Carrie’s dad is looking at this Latino dude and wondering if he’s good enough for his La Jolla-raised daughter.

She lifts her eyes and meets mine. “I’m sorry.”

“Carrie. It’sfine.” I want to kiss her. Hell, why not? Everybody thinks we’re a couple. So I bend my head and brush my mouth over hers. Heat shimmers through my veins and my cock thickens eagerly. Now I want more than a kiss. I want to wrap her up in my arms, pick her up, carry her out of here, and sink my cock deep inside her, all the while telling her everything is okay.

Except . . . it sort of isn’t, because every time I remember she’s leaving I get a weird ache in my chest.

“Okay,” she whispers, staring back at me with big eyes.

The music changes again, another tune I don’t recognize, but it definitely sounds raunchier. Like stripper music. Carrie and I step apart and Carrie murmurs, “Oh my God.”

I follow her gaze and see her grandma gyrating—well, as much as you could gyrate with eighty-six-year-old hips—her hands holding both ends of the feather boa and sliding it back and forth behind her as she dances.

I grin. “Your grandma’s hot.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Eeew.”

“Come on. You know she is.”

“Yeah, she is.”

“Don’t worry, babe. I only have eyes for you.”

She nudges me with an elbow and I laugh.

“Come on,” she says. “I want some of that punch.”

“It’s red.” I follow her toward the counter.

“Yes, it is. It’s got cranberry juice in it.”

“All we need is a flask of tequila.”

She laughs. “That would definitely liven up the party.”

I pick up a pitcher and fill two plastic cups with punch, then hand her one. “Why do I have a feeling your grandma might enjoy a little shot of tequila?”

Carrie grins. “You’ve already got her pegged. She’s a live wire, all right.”

“She reminds me of you.”

Carrie grimaces. “I wish I could dance like her.”

“It’s not that. It’s the smile . . . the love of life. Like you both think life’s too short to worry about bullshit and pretension.”

She tilts her head to one side as she sips her punch. “You’re right about that. Which is why Grandma and I don’t totally fit into the family. And I think Julia’s feeling the same.”

“You all are the black sheep,” I tease. “I like that.”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure the rest of my family are exactly white sheep. Okay, maybe. I guess we should go talk to them.”

I grip my cup of punch tighter.

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