Page 65 of The Love Ambush
I turn to Levi, so close our lips are nearly touching. “It was great. I actually like the dress. How was the tux fitting?”
He grimaces. “Your brother spent the whole time demanding I marry you this week.”
The bite of bun in my stomach turns to lead. “I’m so sorry, Levi. You know Brodie. He’s all bark.”
Levi’s smile is slow and sultry. “You’re worried he’s going to scare me away. You like me, Gentry. You really like me.”
Why does he have to be so dang cute when he’s being a smug asshole? “Maybe I just don’t want you to get any ideas.”
“Oh, I’ve got ideas,” he says. “All kinds of ideas.” He dips his head so that his lips are touching my earlobe. “Like how good your name would sound attached to mine. Gentry Sullivan.”
I jerk my head away, shocked and way too turned the fuck on. What is wrong with me that I like the sound of that so much? We haven’t even gone on an official date.
I must still be high.
“Sounds so much better than Gentry Lendew,” he says, still in a low voice, but this time not so close to my ear.
My laugh sounds forced even to my own ears. “You’re going to scaremeaway.”
Under the table, his warm palm lands on my thigh, very close to the part of me that starts throbbing every time he touches me. “I don’t think I am. Not even a little bit.”
“What do you think, Gentry?” Daphne asks.
I jerk my head toward her, irrationally certain she just overheard my conversation with Levi. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Will you be disappointed if I don’t throw the bouquet? Apparently, we have two distantly related family members who’ve asked me not to throw it, because their girlfriends have gotten excessively competitive for it in the past.”
“There was a brawl at my brother’s niece’s reception last summer,” Rose says, her eyes sparkling. “Daphne doesn’t want a brawl at her wedding reception, but it would definitely make a good story. And tradition is important.”
“How about if you catch the bouquet, Gentry, we’ll have our priest marry you and Levi at the reception?” Brodie says.
“We’re not getting married, Brodie,” I say. Under the table, Levi squeezes my thigh and moves his hand higher up my leg. I let out a squeak that has every head at the table turning our way. “And I think you should get to have your bouquet toss if you want it, Daphne. Maybe your cousins’ girlfriends can sit this one out?”
“Oh, we couldn’t do that,” Daphne’s mother says.
“Brodie and I could act as a brawl prevention team,” Levi says. “Just point out the troublemakers and we can keep them from starting something.”
Daphne’s mother’s eyes light. “Now, that is an interesting idea.” She turns to her two sons at the table. “Boys, do you think you could help with that?”
Eventually, we order lunch and the food is brought out, wedding decisions are made and laughter is shared. I can’t focus on much beyond Levi’s hand on my leg, his thumb stroking constantly against my inner thigh.
I should probably tell him to stop, but I like it too much. I like the way he leans in close to talk to me and the way he somehow manages his entire lunch with just one hand so he doesn’t have to stop touching me.
“Don’t order dessert,” Grandma Hester says near the end of the meal. “Grandpa and I brought the best homemade chocolate chip cookies you’ll ever taste.”
“Absolutely not,” Rose says. “We aren’t touching anything you two make until we’re back home where we know Sheriff Ekelston won’t arrest us for indecent exposure.”
“Now, sweetheart,” Grandpa Morris says. “We promised we wouldn’t put Mary Jane into anymore treats, and we won’t. We always keep our word.”
Rose crosses her arms over her chest and glares at her parents. “You promised no pot, but I was too high to demand you not use ‘shrooms or peyote either.”
“Rosie,” Grandma Hester says in a reprimanding tone. “’Shrooms are a part of nature, and folks put them in all kinds of everyday cooking. They don’t even count.”
Rose rolls her eyes. “No, Mother. Mushrooms are part of everyday cooking. ‘Shrooms are a drug that only old hippies like you think should be handed out like candy.”
Levi squeezes my leg and leans in close. “Want to sneak away for a bit?”
God, do I want that. “Won’t that be rude?”
