“Have we.” My voice is flat, there’s no inflection at the end to make that a question. It’s humorless, like my outlook on this situation as of five minutes ago.
All I can focus on is this beautiful girl in front of me, looking like everything I should’ve been dreaming of all this time, with some other asshole’s hands on her.
I.
Don’t.
Like.
It.
My legs spread under the table, readjusting myself, my posture, and running my hands down my thighs in an attempt to get out some of this tension that’s ratcheted through my entire skeleton. Irritatingly, my dick still hasn’t gotten the memo to calm the fuck down.
Spencerseems to get the hint that I’m not about to be butt buddies with him just because he’s fuckingmybest friend, and a cool silence falls over the table. I crane my head around to look for our waiter so we can get some drinks or somethingto alleviate this awkward-as-fuck situation, when I notice that Kayla is already sipping a drink.
My eyes take in the table in front of me and I realize that weallhave drinks. Even more annoying, they’re all the right orders. What is clearly an Old Fashioned is in front of me, Kayla’s got a vodka tonic in hand, Gem’s clearly been nursing her usual, and if I’m not mistaken, her date is drinking a fucking Tom Collins, like he’s from the roaring twenties or some shit.
“I ordered drinks for us already,” Gem’s voice sounds soft again, unsure, and it drives a knife through my chest that it’s because of me. It’s been hard to get Alex’s words out of my mind since that awful afternoon, but both times I’ve seen Gem since then, she’s seemed soalive, this confidence radiating from her I’m not used to seeing; a self-assurance that I apparently kill.
My fist clenches under the table, and I force myself to calm down, then shoot a smile at her, one that I actually mean. “Thanks, Gem.”
See? I sound perfectly normal when it’s just me and her. It’s this dickwad that’s making shit awkward.
I jut my chin out at him, toward his drink in particular. “You a bigMad Menfan?”
He cocks his head to the side, puzzled. Again, looking like a damn dog. He looks down at his drink and understanding breaks through, a smile breaking out on his face. “Oh, the drink?”
“Pretty sure the last time anyone our age drank one of those was in the sixties.”
He chuckles, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose, settling back into the booth, the arm around Gem’s shoulders rubbing up and down her arm through her dress as he does so. “No, actually. It’s kind of a tradition in my family. My great-great-great grandfather was a bartender in the late 1800s, and...”
Dammit. That sounds fuckingcool.
“Anyway,” he waves me off with a hand, like his story isn’t interesting, “you don’t wanna hear about that. So tell me, how was Romania?” How he managed to go from humble and almost self-deprecating (I willnotcall himlikable) to genuinely interested in me and pumped to hear what I have to say has a reluctant thought floating through my brain. He might be working on the wrong side of the camera.
“It was…gorgeous,” I admit begrudgingly. “But a lot. It’s good to be back. Glad to have a little break before jumping back into filming again.”
Spencer nods, like he’s genuinely interested in what I’m saying, and he’s really starting to piss me off. Especially every time he gives Gem a little flirty look, or a wink, which seems to happen every minute or two by my watch. Not that I’m calculating it or anything.
“Oh!” Gemma sits up excitedly, leaning forward, her dress shifting with the movement. It brings my eyes back to the hint of her chest that’s on display, and I’m all but sure I can see the press of her nipples through the thin fabric. My cock swells further in my jeans, and I’m so fucking glad it’s hidden underneath this table at the moment.
I cannot believe that I’m getting hard over my fucking best friend right now. The fact that her boyfriend and my girlfriend are right next to us is so much less important to me right now than that one thought, but somewhere in the back of my head, a voice screams at me that this is all kinds of fucked up. I ignore it.
“Do you know what they call a book lover in Romania?” Gemma practically erupts with giggles as she asks the question, clearly excited to be able to share this little tidbit with the four of us. It makes me smile.
Spencer’s only got eyes for her as he leans in close, enraptured in her story. Even Kayla is leaning forward, sucked in by Gem’s adorable fucking excitement over this.
“A library mouse!” she squeals, unable to wait for anyone to hazard a guess. Amusement sounds around the table in response.
Kayla’s movements bring my eyes back to her again, and they rove over her body, how it looks in that little dress. I decide it’s safer to focus on her rather than the girl across from me, and I lean in to my girlfriend, whispering something in her ear that has her smirking before she shifts closer to me. She tucks her left hand under the table, and smoothly, so smoothly I don’t think the lovebirds across the booth from us even notice, she slides that hand up my thigh until she’s covering my bulge. Her smirk grows, and so does something else.
That’s when the waiter conveniently shows back up, who asks us if we’ve dined with them before (as it turns out, Spencer has, but he asks the waiter to give us the entire ‘spiel’ as if he hasn’t—no doubt forourbenefit, the dick), and proceeds to walk us through their dining options. That’s actually what he said. I know, this place is kinda ridiculous, but even I have to admit the drinksaregood. It gives me hope for their chef’s preparations as well.
Our server is surprisingly funny, entertaining us while educating us on their ‘options,’ and he treats me like a normal fucking person despite the gleam of recognition in his eyes, which Ireallygoddamn appreciate.
By the time he’s run us through the daily specials (their menu changes day to day based on local farm-to-table availability) and we’ve placed our orders, my hard-on has taken a walk. I pull Kayla’s hand off of my lap, holding it with my own to keep it occupied, and I venture back into the much livelier conversation now happening around me at the table.
Everyone else seems to be having a damn good time, the stories flowing one into the next (I let Gem tell ours for me—I’mnot in the mood to entertain right now), and the girls are really hitting it off, as far as I can tell.
