Page 72 of Books and Hookups

My head spun like someone had slipped vodka into my mocktails. But it wasn’t alcohol that fuzzed my brain. It was Danny. His arms around me made me feel safe. His scent had become familiar and comforting. And his words acknowledged both my brain and the parts that craved his touch.

“Want to get out of here?” I asked.

“Yeah. Wait, no. This is your birthday party. You can’t just leave.”

“Can’t I?” I fluttered my eyelashes. “It’s my party, and I’ll ditch if I want to.”

“After you tell everyone goodbye. That’s how we Italians do it.”

I sighed. “Fine. But the longer this takes, the longer it’s going to be before I can suck your cock.”

His jaw steeled. “Let’s get started.”

25

The Italian Exit

Italian Exit

Combine equal parts dry and sweet vermouth with a splash of Fernet-Branca in a cocktail shaker with ice. Stir to chill. Strain into a chilled coupe glass and garnish with orange peel.

DANNY

By the time Lucie had made her goodbye rounds to everyone at the party, I was hard as a rock. Not only had she planted in my brain the image of her lush lips around my dick, but every time she touched me—nothing X-rated, just my wrist, my arm, my shoulder—my skin warmed until I felt like I was wearing a heated blanket of her handprints. I couldn’t stop imagining her fingers on my naked skin. And mine on hers.

I stood behind her as she hugged her friends. Standing behind her lush ass in that swingy skirt did nothing to erase the vision of bending her over a chair, but it was the best way I could think of to hide the ridge in my jeans.

Carly’s fiancé, Andrew, sidled up to me. “Hey, man.”

I blinked away the fantasy of her glowing, naked skin and glanced at him. He was my height and around my age, but he’d been to college, he came from money, and he looked like it in his button-down and khakis that I knew hadn’t come from the Gap.

“Hey,” I said.

“I’m glad you two are working your stuff out. She looks happy.”

Were we working our stuff out? I’d thought we were, until she’d found out my age. But in the months since, I’d been nudging my way into her life through a slow campaign of doctor’s visits, healthy snack drop-offs, and a steadily growing selection of literary-themed mocktails. I glanced at her, catching her profile. Her cheeks were rosy, and her plush lips curved up into a smile. “She does.”

“I’m really sorry I have to say this because I like you a lot, but if you hurt Lucie, especially with the baby and her book, I’m going to have to?—”

“Beat me up,” I interrupted him. “I get it. I have sisters.”

“Actually, no, I’m getting too old for that, and Carly likes my face the way it is,” he said, smirking. “I will ruin you. Financially. I know people who could get this place shut down in a heartbeat. So, treat her right.”

I shuddered to think of what Andrew Jones could do to me and my family. His family had a flipping hospital named after them. But thinking I’d ever do anything to hurt Lucie was jacked up.

“Look, man,” I muttered, “I care about her. Hurting her would be like ripping my heart out of my chest.”

He glared at me for a second before a slow grin spread over his face. “Having another guy in the group is going to be amazing.”

“Like having someone who can shoot the shit about baseball and cars while they talk about shoes and old-school boy bands?” I hadn’t pegged Andrew for a guy who looked down on women. I’d much rather hang with Lucie than some basic-ass dude.

With a perfectly straight face, he said, “No. To help them carry out their plans for world domination.”

I was still wondering if he was serious when Lucie turned to face me. Her belly brushed against the front of my jeans, and I sucked in a breath. All thoughts of Andrew and anyone else flew right out of my brain.

“I’m ready to go,” she said. “I’ve said goodbye to everyone. Some of them twice.”

“Then you’ve done it right,” I said. “You’re an honorary Italian now.”

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