“Is everything about sex with you?” she asked, raising her head from my lap to take the to-go container from the coffee table.
“Sex?” I said, scoffing and grabbing the container from her hands. “I just finished a loaf of bread, pasta, and wine. Sex is not on the table. Neither is jogging, if I’m being honest.” I laid my head on the back of the couch, rubbing my stomach and groaning at the thought of exercise.
“Perhaps a stroll, then?”
I lifted my head from the back of the couch, taking in her pajamas with little cowboy hats on them.
“A stroll?” My eyes flicked to my sweatpants and bare feet, rubbing the scruff on my face.
“A rapidly paced jaunt down the pavement?”
“A jaunt?”
“Stop repeating my words, dick.”
She elbowed me again, and I grunted, wrapping my other arm around her to dig my fingers into her sides. Her arms flailed as she squirmed, trying to get away from me as I tickled her—something I loved to exploit.
“Okay. So, if you’re not going to let me wine and dine you, what brought on the sudden need to go for a run? I swear to all the gods, if you tell me it’s because some asshole made a comment about how you look, I will lose my shit.”
Both my hands dove underneath her pajamas as I tickled her, running my fingers from her side to her stomach while she thrashed around me. Pitiful, sexy laughter fell from her lips as she squirmed, making me want to bottle the noise and replay it whenever my mood soured. Her feet kicked the air, and I feared for the table lamp and vase, slowing my assault to save the furniture.
“Stop. Stop. Please stop, and I’ll tell you.”
I pulled my hands from underneath her pajamas as she wiggled to the other end of the couch, crossing her arms after tossing her hair over one shoulder.
“I want frozen custard, okay?”
I laughed, leaning forward to put both hands on my knees. My sides ached from the force of the guffawing as Emma glared. Her bottom lip stayed firmly between her teeth, a sure sign her annoyance was flaring.
“When have you known me to ever turn down custard? I’ll even proudly walk with you wearing those adorable pajamas.”
“Damn right, you will.”
“Oh, Emma,” I said, standing to stretch before holding my hand out to her. She melted into my embrace, hooking her arms around my waist and resting her cheek on my chest. “What would I ever do without you?”
She shook her head, letting her bottom lip pop from between her teeth. “With any luck, you’ll never have to find out. Now, let’s go. Unless you really thought we were going to run.”
“Not even for a second. I’ll drive.”
Chapter 15
“Truly, Emma. Isbeer an appropriate beverage before dinner? A lovely Chablis is aerating in the kitchen to pair perfectly with the artichoke and blue crab dip your mother made for us to eat before our entrees.”
I paused with the beer partway to my lips, holding back a snarky remark about the dip and my lactose intolerance before lowering the bottle and sitting it on the dining room table. Mymother’s sigh broke through the uncomfortable silence, and I held back a smirk as she grasped the bottle beside me and took a sip.
“Honestly, Harold, could you at least wait until we finish the appetizer before harping on Emma? It’s bad enough that she’s hardly here anymore.”
Dad grumbled under his breath, finishing his scotch as Mom gave me a reassuring smile and pushed the beer closer. I grasped the bottle, letting the cool condensation seep into my warm hands.
This was the same nonsense I dealt with at the academy. Only this audience shamed me for my drink of choice and relationship status. My mom played the role of mediator as best as she could, but the harder Dad harped on my apparent flaws, the more belligerent—and buzzed—I got.
I knew that was an unhealthy way of handling things, but my dad just had this way of making me feel three inches tall. Maybe it was because he constantly reminded me that I was fired from my last job, or perhaps because it took him three rounds of golf to convince the headmaster to give me that provisional contract.
Never mind that the job offer wasbeforeDad played golf with him—not that he’d admit I did something without his influence. These dinners were supposed to be about enjoying time with my parents. I was the only kid left in the state and tried to make family a priority. But the stuffy atmosphere and stilted conversation left me desperate for human contact where I could be myself.
Like with Bev and the Hansen brothers.
They welcomed me into the fold, flaws and all. I could go to Bev’s house wearing sweatpants and with peanut butter in my hair, and she’d laugh before passing me a glass of wine. If I had attended their family dinner, I’d have had my fix of good,wholesome family time and be better equipped to deal with the prolonged exposure of my father.
