The car became an SUV after two beers. The SUV became a truck after five. After eight, it was a semi and he had to run across six lanes of traffic while clutching a box of stray kittens he was taking to the children’s hospital.
Not one person questions his story. They don’t even ask how he got the lady back to his car with a broken leg and a box of kittens. There’s a clicking of tongues and shuffling of cards, and nothing else.
Isla rests her forearms on the back of the sofa and bends over. The hem of her skirt hikes up the back of her thighs. The fabric strains across the perfect shape of her ass and I am incapable of stopping my brain from pointing out that she is the perfect level. It’s only the fact that we’re surrounded by asmall army of partially drunk relatives that prevents me from following through.
Resigned, I move to my boyfriend’s side and take the dish he passes me.
“How do you always get roped into this?” I ask him, scrubbing the dish dry and taking it to the cupboard.
“I volunteer,” Dom replies smartly. “I’d rather clean than have to deal with... people.”
A fact that never fails to amuse me.
Despite working at one of the top ad agencies in New York, Dom is allergic to people. To crowds. Yet, somehow, he always gets clients who are opening bars and clubs, restaurants and theaters. He’s the right person with his charming personality and witty humor, but it always makes me chuckle.
He scrubs the final mug and starts to glance around for another thing to throw himself into, but I capture him. I pull every inch of his front against mine and peer into his face.
“No more hiding in the kitchen. It’s Christmas.”
“It’s two days before Christmas, actually,” he counters smartly.
I roll my eyes. “It’s family Christmas. You’re not a maid. Come sit with me and Isla.”
The corner of his mouth quirks downward. “But if we don’t keep on top of the dishes, they’ll pile up and—”
“Let them pile. We’ll band together and get them done... later,” I stress.
His dark eyes pivot over the crowd of far too many people and he visibly winces.
“They pinch my bottom,” he grumbles. “The aunts. They tell me I’m so cute and squeeze things.”
My eyebrow lifts. “Which aunts?”
He waves at the room at large. “All of them. They’re very handsy and I’ve told them nicely to stop.”
It’s not funny.
No one should be touching another person without consent, especially not my boyfriend.
“No one will touch you. I promise.”
He’s not convinced but lets me guide him out of the kitchen to where Isla is still bent over watching something on Cousin Martin’s phone.
She jolts when I brush my hand along the upper curve of her spine. Her head jerks up in my direction, no doubt thinking it’s someone else. She relaxes when she spots me. Her expression softens into a smile that barbs around my heart.
My arm instinctively hooks around her middle and I draw her up to me while keeping my other hand securely laced through Dom’s.
“Are you sore?” I ask softly into her ear.
Her eyebrow arches. “Are you offering?”
I skim my grin into the side of her face. “Maybe, but also no. I want to know if you want to remove the plug. You’ve had it in nearly all evening.”
She surprises me by considering it before shaking her head. “I’m all right. Unless you’ve given up on your bet.”
Dom actively grimaces when I turn my head to him. “Heard about that, did you?”
“Was it supposed to be a secret?” she challenges with an impish little grin.
