She vanishes into the crowd that’s now forming a semi-circle around our fathers, who are dangerously close to making Suspicious Minds live up to its name.
"The pack seems to be fueled by a potent combination of eggnog and repressed suburban impulses. Scientists remain baffled by this phenomenon,” Eve goes on making me wonder if she didn’t suck down a bit of the nog from hell herself.
Nick stares at her, his expression a strange cocktail of horror and morbid fascination, like he’s watching a train wreck he secretly hopes will derail into another. “You’re disturbingly good at that.”
Just seconds later, as Dad hits what can only be described as a lethal hip thrust, the karaoke track cuts out, replaced by the unmistakable opening bars of Sweet Caroline.
The reaction is instant and almost Pavlovian. Our parents freeze mid-performance before bursting into delighted cheers. In seconds, they’re swaying arm in arm, their previous antics forgotten in the glow of collegiate nostalgia.
"Genius," Nick breathes, clearly awed by the strategic brilliance of the move.
"Pure evil genius," I correct, my lips twitching as I watch Holly, smug as hell. That flirty little hop step keeps her sweater slipping off her shoulder, revealing just enough golden skin to make me forget we’re surrounded by witnesses.
"Get a room," Charlie mutters as she brushes past.
"We have one," Holly fires back, her timing too perfect for comfort. "But someone's mother keeps organizing family activities."
I choke on my whiskey, torn between pride at her quick wit and panic as Nick's head turns with analyst precision.
"We?"
"Super secret network purposes only," I croak, but I'm already calculating how many more slips we can afford before Nick puts it together.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chance
It’s takingevery last shred of my self-control not to cross this room, toss her over my shoulder, and march off like a caveman. Straight to her soft, warm bed where the first thing I’m going to do is give her the fucking kiss her pussy begged me for when she had me locked between the socks.
Just one more night… Just one more night… Just one more night…
My motto, my mantra, my battle cry—whatever you want to call it, is reduced to those four words.
They're my white-knuckle grip on my dwindling reason.
This time tomorrow, she and I will put the energy pulsing through both of us to good work.
Just one more night of my cock throbbing incessantly, leaving me grinding my fucking sheets like a ten-year-old starring in REMageddon: The Final Spurt. A race to nut before the sunrise.
Okay, seriously, I need her to go to her room. I can’t. This is more than a medical condition at this point. It's medical, psychological, and behavioral.
I pull out my phone, my fingers flying over the screen.
ME
Those socks are a security breach, Squirt.
HOLLY
Didn’t know you were the sock police, soldier boy. What's wrong with my socks?
ME
You know exactly what's wrong with them. Those are MY socks. MY thighs.
HOLLY
Funny, I don't see your name on them. Now Otis, on the other hand
