“So good” and “Thanks,” the others mumble through mouths full of food.
“Elliot made the chicken.” Stuart’s voice is laced with whatever that thing is that lives in his larynx and becomes dangerously intoxicating to me when it’s airborne.
“Who’s Elliot?” teases Trouble, eyes lighting up in mischief but perfect face arranged into a look of confusion.
Jessie falls for it. “Elliot is Gould, you dork. How can you not know that? You’ve known the guy for years.”
Trouble loves it. His eyes dance in a way that scares me. “Really?Your first name is Elliot? I had no idea, Gould.”
Luke and Wyn laugh, and Mat and Will drape their arms over the back of Trouble’s chair. Mat smooths Trouble’s hair down and then finds Will’s hand, weaving their fingers together. Trouble leans back into their touch, eyes softening.
I wait for the usual jealousy to hit. The green squeeze. The unpleasant rush I feel when I think about the fact that despite trying my ass off, I’ve never managed to find a single person who wants to keep me around, and here the three of them are with not one person, but two.
I wait and wait, watching as Will dips his head to whisper something to Trouble.
Green doesn’t squeeze.
I see Luke and Wyn still cracking it. Jessie is still talking to Stuart. Engrossed. Leaning in and focusing so hard, I can tell he’s trying to memorize what Stuart’s saying. He’ll probably call me tomorrow to get Stuart’s number. Bet he’s milliseconds away from asking Stuart if Adrian can have a playdate with Sadie. Bet Luke will think it’s a lovely idea. Bet Stuart will agree.
As I look at all the familiar faces around the table, it hits me that at one time or another, I’ve had a crush on just about every person at the table. I see Luke’s cheery goodness and Jessie’s sultry looks. Wyn’s eager smile and the ravishing beauty and brawn that make up Triple Trouble.
I find Stuart’s face in a sea of friend-faces. It stands out like a beacon. Sun-kissed and serious. I find his eyes, and like that, I’m treading water, frozen, frightened, unsure how I got here.
He’s serious for so long that I feel like I can’t swallow. My windpipe is suddenly rigid and thick. I start thinking I should look away. I try to. I do, but I can’t tear my eyes off him.
He dabs his lips with his napkin and leans back in his chair without breaking eye contact with me. Then he smiles lazily, eyes lighting up, teeth gleaming from the light of the candles on the table. It’s there for a second, and then it’s gone. It’s quick. Just a flicker. Just a hint.
It’s enough though.
More than enough.
Sitting there in a room crammed full of people I’ve had epic crushes on over the years, I look into Stuart’s dreamy blue eyes and realize I’ve never had a crush on anyone before.
Not like this.
Not even close.
Welp, shit.
Guess I’m not completely fine. Guess being obsessed with your dad’s best friend isn’t a good idea after all.
Guess I’m fucked.
Before the cold twist of dread accompanied by that revelation can fully envelop me, drinks are topped up. Wine splashes into glasses, hitting the bowl and forming tiny barrels before it settles. Red wine, white wine, rosé. The conversation ramps up. Voices get louder. So does the laughter. It starts tipping the scale from civilized giggles to the kind of thing that would sound like wild, abrupt roars if you weren’t personally involved in the conversation. It gets to the point where I’m sure Stuart’s thinking,It’s a damn good thing they all took an UberandShit. I hope we do have enough booze.
The last of a full-bodied red slides down my throat. Soothing and dry at the same time. Stuart tops me up, his arm grazing mine as he does it, puffing a hit of that potent airborne shit in my direction.
It makes me happy. Super happy. Way happy. Slippery-slidey happy. My chest feels lovely and full. Can’t believe I was worried about this. Obviously, everyone likes Stuart. He’s the best. And obviously, he likes them. They’re the best too. Everyone’s the best. Luke’s the best. Sadie’s the best. The food is the best. And the wine is the best. The wine’s really, really the best.
Yeah, I might be a little blasted. Why do you ask?
“Elliot,” says Stuart, “would you mind helping me with dessert?”
Ooh, shit. Nearly forgot about dessert.
I jump to my feet quickly, reeling slightly from the fact Stuart said my name.
“Sure, Daddy!” I cry.
