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“Thanks. So do you,” I say, and I admire his plaid shirt unbuttoned over a plain white tee. His jeans fit him impeccably well, and the sneakers on his feet look freshly cleaned. “It’s good to see you in something other than your joggers.”
“I probably should have worn something with more give in the waist. The button on my pants is going to pop open before we finish cutting the turkey.” Shawn smiles. “Let me take those pies from you.”
“So you can eat them?” I elbow his stomach as I head toward the kitchen, meeting nothing but muscle and firm lines of a toned body. He was probably at the gym before heading over here this morning, sweating with the sunrise. “I don’t think so, buddy.”
“Just a taste,” he says.
“You can wait, just like everyone else.”
“You don’t play fair.”
“I play fair. You’re the one who’s lacking self-control.”
His hand rests heavy on my elbow and his fingers press into my skin, burning their way through the sleeve of my shirt. His grip tightens on my arm, and he stops me from moving forward. With a tug and a spin, I’m facing him, and I nearly drop the two pies as my back connects with the foyer wall.
“I have plenty of self-control, Lacey,” he says, and there’s a roughness in his voice that wasn’t there before. “But you should know I can be very persuasive when needed.”
His touch moves to the inside of my wrist. He rubs a small circle over my pulse point with his thumb, and I wonder if he can feel my heart hammering in my blood. I can.
Shawn blinks, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I notice the freckles across the bridge of his nose. A dusting of dots that look like constellations in the night sky. I see the hint of gray in his eyes, the hue as light as a wisp of smoke. Heat radiates from him, a furnace that engulfs me and draws me closer.
A rebuttal sits in my throat, but I swallow it down. I’m not sure what I want to say, because with Shawn staring at me, words are hard to come by.
“Thank god you’re here.” Maggie breaks the spell between us. Shawn takes a step back and my arm falls to my side. He runs a hand through his hair, and I remember to breathe. Color takes over his cheeks, and he clears his throat. “Are you two okay?”
“Fine,” we say in unison.
“Shawn was trying to weasel his way into getting a slice of pie, but it didn’t work. Guess he’s not as persuasive as he thought he was,” I say, and I wink in his direction. The pink on his cheeks deepens to crimson red, and I count his blush as a win.
“There will be plenty of time for pie later. I’m in crisis mode. Marjorie, Aiden’s mom, and my mom are planning a lunch for next week. They live seven hundred miles from each other,” Maggie says.
“And that’s bad, why?” I ask.
“What if my mom tells her about the time I snuck into the turtle exhibit at the aquarium? Or when I laughed so hard at a stand-up comedy show, I peed my pants? God, or that I failed my driver’s test the first time I took it because I can’t parallel park to save my life? I like Marjorie thinking I’m a delightful woman. I need you as backup.”
“To be fair, I think it’s a rite of passage to fail the parallel parking portion of the driver’s test. A test of resilience, if you will,” I say. “And of course Marjorie will think you’re a delightful woman. Just don’t tell her you and Aiden fucked on the counter where she’s currently eating crackers, and you’ll be all set.”
“Jesus,” Maggie mumbles. She loops her arm through mine and pulls me toward the kitchen. “Maybe I should leave you over here.”
“Careful with the pies, Mags,” Shawn says. “Don’t let Lacey drop them.”
“You and these damn pies,” I answer. “I’m going to smash one in your face if you’re not careful, and they’re not even that good. They have way too much nutmeg.”
“Smash away, Lace. If I want something, I tend to get it. And I want those damn pies.”
“Yeah?” I run my finger across the whipped cream on top of the smaller dessert, and I hold out my hand. “Prove it.”
He narrows his eyes. “Are you sure about that?”
“Of course I am.” I wiggle my fingers. “C’mon,honey. Where’s that self-control?”
I’m taunting him. Riling him up for a reason I don’t know, but it’s fun to watch his eyebrows lift in surprise. To watch his lips twist into a smile that makes other girls weak in the knees. For me, it just makes me smile, too.
“If you insist,sweetheart,” he says lowly, andoh,I kind of like it when he calls me that.
His fingers fold around my wrist and his tongue sneaks out of his mouth, running up the length of my finger. His lips close over the tip, over the purple nail polish I painted on last night, and he sucks the topping right off.
I did not think this through.
