Page 64 of Doc Showmance
One more beer and I’d brave his table.
“Who wants to watch the game?” I waved Ian’s phone. “Bet I can find it.”
A half hour later, we had three cell phones showing football and several more pitchers of beer. We’d also collected a few more people who were apparently more interested in the game than their tables.
A waiter placed dessert in front of me and whispered, “Mrs. Todd requests that you lower the noise back here. It’s disturbing the guests.”
“What is this dessert? Where’s the pie?”
The waiter scowled. “It’s a fruit salad to keep it light with the heavy meal.”
What heavy meal?
“That’s so thoughtful of the chef,” I said sarcastically.
Our whole meal was fucking “light.” For once, I wished I didn’t live in California. I needed Thanksgiving with sweet potatoes and macaroni and cheese. I needed pie with homemade whipped cream.
At least I could drink my calories. I poured myself another glass of beer.
“You’re irritating the hell out of my mom by being so rowdy,” Ian whispered into my ear.
I looked up into his intense gray gaze, enjoying my buzz and the relief of him here. I put my hand against his cheek and stroked my finger against the roughness.
Jesus, I might be falling for him. Or maybe I was just horny and tired of this whole mess. Or maybe I’d had too much to drink. Yep, that was it.
“Your parents’ food offerings suck. No turkey. No stuffing. No pie. What kind of Thanksgiving feast is this?”
A few snickers from around the table alerted me I was speaking too loudly.
“It’s P.C. Thanksgiving with a nod to organic, gluten-free, tree-hugging vegans,” Ian said.
“It’s no wonder your family is the way they are. They don’t know how to eat. It’s a holiday. Loosen up and live.”
“I’m not disagreeing. How much have you had to drink?” His regard took in the pitchers of beer.
“You advised I do at least a wine or two an hour, but I moved on to beer.” I lifted my half-filled glass of beer. “Want one?”
“Sure.”
He scooped me up into his arms to put me in his lap. I didn’t even have time to formulate a proper complaint. Guess my reaction time was off. I hadn’t realized he’d dwarf me and make such a comfortable chair.The camera’s recording this. Screw it.
My inner voice said,You drank too much.
A corner of my mind realized the sigh that just came out of me was all about the buzz and losing inhibition, I leaned against him and buried my nose into his neck. To inhale. To pick up that hint of remaining aftershave. “You smell so good. I could just sit here and breathe.”
He chuckled, the rumble coming from deep in his chest and vibrating through me. “All I had to do to tame the feisty was give you a few beers?”
“Or maybe just feed me a healthy Thanksgiving meal. Seriously, Ian, I needed my turkey and stuffing with a side of artery-clogging potatoes.” I wrapped a curling strand of his hair around my forefinger and marveled at its softness.
Even though we were surrounded by at least fifteen people at this point, it felt like we were in our own bubble. Ian’s body was flush against mine. I felt every hardened ridge of him perfectly fitting against me. His fingers slid along my arm, inducing a path of goose bumps. He looked down at me, his perma-smile gone. The glittering gray of his eyes stared at my mouth.
“Have we stayed long enough?” I asked. “Can we go? Maybe do something more fun?” I kissed the side of his cheek. Then whispered into his ear, “If we’re stuck in this fake suckfest, can we at least enjoy it?”
He tucked a few stray hairs behind my ear and leaned in to whisper, “You’re drunk.”
“Maybe tipsy. I hold alcohol well. It’s one of my gifts. I’m also curious about this sex beast the twins mentioned. If you’ve grown a conscience, maybe we can just get each other off?”
His eyes were fully dilated, and his breaths came hard. “You’re so beautiful. This dress is amazing. Don’t tease me.”
