Page 11 of Wrapped Around My Heart
“Margaritas are my weakness, Freckles.”
“Is that so?” Ari pushes to her feet, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I wonder what four margaritas will make you do.”
A choked laugh escapes at her openly flirting with me, distracting me for a second before I manage to recover.
“Only one way to find out.” I throw in a playful wink for extra measure before bending to hook the leash back onto Cora’s harness.
For the next few hours, Ari and I sit across from each other, nonstop laughing and talking about everything and nothing. At one point, she practically begs me to let her watch Cora for the next away game and it’s impossible to ignore. We don’t make it to four drinks, both of us getting so distracted with talking that we forget about our second round of drinks.
Even as I pay the bill, much to Ari’s disapproval for covering the whole thing, I find myself wanting more time with her. Arianna doesn’t rush anything either, seeming to keep a slower pace than normal as we make the walk back to her car and my apartment. The conversation doesn’t falter. It flows from one topic to the next, occasionally taking sharp detours when one of us gets distracted by a side story, but it continues easily, nonetheless.
By the time we stop beside Ari’s car, though, an ounce of awkwardness finally settles between us as we both stand in front of each other. When she says good night and drives off, leaving me and Cora to head up to my condo, the familiar ache of longing takes hold.
As we take the elevator up to my floor, I look down at Cora. Her floppy ears stick out in both directions as she pants happily up at me, and I sigh.
“I am so fucked, aren’t I, girl?”
CHAPTER 5
Arianna
“Where are the mashed potatoes?”
“Happy Thanksgiving to you too.” My mom rolls her eyes but motions to the oven. “Relax, I just finished making them.”
I grin, moving over to inspect the pan. She’s shown me how to make them countless times, and I do make them for myself at least once a month. But I swear it’s like she has some sort of magic touch because when she does them, they taste ten times better.
“I see my pan, but where’s everyone else’s?” I tease, barely dodging the end of the towel that she tries to swat me with. Laughing, I round the kitchen island and step up beside her.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Ma.” I kiss her cheek while she continues to work on what appears to be her stuffing and my mouth waters in anticipation for that as well. Thanksgiving is hands down the best holiday. I could eat all day long, then continue to eat the leftovers for the following week and still never tire of the food.
“What can I help with?” I ask, already knowing she won’t accept a hand with any of the food. Aside from letting my dad cook the turkey and occasionally allowing me help withappetizers, the kitchen is fully Mom’s domain. At least until it’s time to do dishes.
Before she can answer, the doorbell rings. Mom smiles at me, nodding in that direction.
“Can you go answer the door and offer whoever it is a drink?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, spinning on my heel and taking off.
I pass through the dining room where my parents already have the table set and grin at the number of chairs. Each year since living here, the holiday dinners only seem to get bigger and bigger. My parents love to host and hate the idea of anyone missing out. Most of the time, these gatherings end up being mostly Bobcats hockey players, with my parents’ and my friends occasionally sprinkled in. Mom makes enough food to feed a small army, and luckily enough, Landon’s teammates are always ready to eat.
It’s a win-win for everyone who shows up. We get fed. Mom gets to bask in everyone’s praises and mother hen anyone who walks through the front door. Dad gets to grill or smoke meat while making nonstop dad jokes, and their giant beach house gets filled with laughter. They’re in their element when they get to be hosts.
Reaching the front door, I run a hand over the skirt of my maroon sundress before plastering on a smile to welcome whoever’s here first. The sight that greets me has me grinning wider.
“Don’t let Mom find out thatyourang the doorbell,” I tell Dean while bending down to smush Cora’s face between my hands and kiss her forehead. She licks my chin in response, her tail wagging a mile a minute as I straighten out the bandana she has tied around her neck.
My heart swells at the sight of the cute little cartoon turkeys around the wordsofficial turkey testercombined with the wayher tongue flops out of the side of her mouth. It’s an adorable combination.
My cheeks flush when I look up at Dean and find him already watching me.
It’s been a month since I bumped into him after dropping off leftovers at Landon’s. That day seemed to break whatever unspoken rules we had about hanging out alone or texting outside of group chats. After our impromptu walk and dinner together, Dean sent me a picture of Cora passed out in the middle of his hallway. That following weekend, I reached out and unabashedly begged to watch the puppy while they were out of town for the four-day stretch of away games. He brought her to my house the morning they had to leave, and when I went to drop her off after, we spent the whole evening at his place. I’ve watched Cora for all away games since, which seems to be our excuse to have weekly dinners, just the two of us.
Yet, we still haven’t had sex.
The tension is definitely still there. Or maybe I’m delusional.
It’s impossible to ignore, considering how aware my body is to his presence. But neither of us has made a move. I can’t tell if he’s waiting for me to act first or if this lingering attraction is one-sided. Hanging out with Dean these past few weeks has been the highlight of my time. I’m forced to take work breaks and get out of my house. Sure, Vivian comes by on the weekends and even some of the nights that I’m watching Cora. She’s always down for a low-key night of just existing in the same space together. We’ll talk, scroll social media, watch movies we’ve seen a thousand times while eating junk food. But even when we’re doing almost exactly the same thing, what I have going on with Dean feels completely different.
