The conversation goes on. El taunts Brin with a story from one of his old girlfriends. Apparently, El was dating one of her friends (the term used loosely, I gather, for Polly’s benefit) when she revealed that Brin is nicknamedNoodleswithin their friend group. Why? Because according to Brin’s old conquest, he thinks foreplay only takes two minutes.
Gasps and splutters break out, Polly wading to the conversation when she comments he didn’t getthatfrom his father. I’m paying attention and laughing along, of course I am, but I’m also watching Whit as he portrays not one hint of what my toes are doing to his leg. The man is supremely cool about my silly seduction.
I make an exaggeratedoh, my goodness, I am so fullkind of motion as I slink a little farther down my chair. It gives me an inch more leverage.
But still, nothing
Because that’s the table leg.I curl my toes around definite edges.Yep.I chuckle to myself.I’m trying to get the table leg off.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Whit murmurs, and I startle, thinking he’s talking to me. I breathe easy again when Lavender answers.
“I don’t make wishes because wishes are for suckers.”
“I’m with you on that one,” I find myself agreeing.
“You don’t believe in wishes?” Primrose asks, perplexed. She’s looking at me like she thought I was one of her people. Optimistic, maybe. Bright and cheerful, definitely. I am—I still believe in good over bad and think that most people would be happier if they just smiled a bit more. But wishes? I grew out of that concept a not so long ago.
“I thought you believed in magic,” Whit asks from across the table.
“Hmm.” I press my index finger to my lips and cast my eyes to the ceiling a little theatrically. “I think I said I voodoo.” Because I believe in Whit magic, in his sexual voodoo. I’m also a devotee of what his wand can do.
“I knew it was something like that.” Whit’s mouth quirks, those striking eyes weaving their spell.
“A shop on Camden Road will sell you voodoo dolls.” Lavender looks at her older brother almost as though she’s trying to goad him. “And chicken’s blood for spells and stuff.”
“I hope they’ve got a license.”
She looks mildly disappointed by his answer. Meanwhile, I drag my toes up the inside of a human leg this time. Whit’s leg, definitely.
“Are you thinking of getting a part-time job there?” he asks airily.
“No. My exams are coming up soon, so I don’t have time for work.”
Whit just smiles. At least he knows he’s responsible for spoiling her.
“You okay?” Heather asks as my body suddenly jolts.
“Yeah, fine.” I paste on a smile. Whit just grabbed my foot. I should’ve thought this through because my feet are really ticklish, and I think he’s about to find that out. “I was just thinking about my very first job.”
“I’ve had jobs before,” Lavender puts in, taking offense to God knows what.
“Hanging around festivals isn’t a job,” Brin teases.
“I handed out leaflets—and water and stuff!”
“You look like you’re about to cry.” Heather frowns my way, ignoring them.
“Just a sneeze,” I say, scrunching my nose ridiculously as Whit draws his thumbnail along the sole of my foot. “Oh!” I give my nose a rub when what I really want to do is yank my foot back and kick him with the other one because the cause for violence is real!
“You can sneeze,” Heather says next. “I know Mr. Moneybags over there thinks he’s posh, but the rest of us aren’t.”
“Mr. Moneybags objects to that,” Whit answers as he playsthis little piggywith my ticklish toes. I don’t like it, not one bit! But the way he’s watching me, I dig. “You object to it too,” he adds, tilting his head like an inquisitive terrier. “Don’t you.”
“Yes!” I peep. “Just a little bit.” I turn to Heather and hope my wild eyes seem at least a little apologetic. “I knew your brother when he was a poor, ramen-eating student. He hasn’t changed.” I shake my head, less to convince her and moreno, no, no, just stop!
“I worked while I was at college.” Whit seems determined to involve me in this conversation. Or make me scream. One of the two. “Do you know what I did, Mimi?”
“Sperm donor?” El suggests, allowing me a reason to bark out a laugh. Oh, that felt so good to get out. Maybe it was a little loud but it’s too late to do anything about it now. I try to twitch my foot away again, but no dice. And when Whit presses his thumb to the middle of my arch, I’m pretty sure my eyes almost roll back in my head. A hot deliciousness begins to pulse along my leg, getting higher and higher until it quivers in a place it has no business being at the dinner table.
