And apparently, I can’t say no to Winnie.
We push through the crowd toward the back, where the team has commandeered a cluster of tables near the pool tables. It’s a little quieter here, a little less chaotic. Logan waves us over enthusiastically, nearly knocking over someone’s beer in the process.
“You made it! Banks actually showed up! This is historic. Someone take a picture.”
“Nopictures,” I grunt.
I ignore him and scan the seating situation. The tables are full. Every chair is occupied. Zayden and Tori are squeezed into one side of a booth, Archer and his wife on the other. Logan is perched on a stool that looks too small for him. A few of the younger guys are standing, holding beers, but there’s nowhere for us to sit.
“Sorry, man,” Zayden says, noticing my assessment. “Place filled up fast. We can try to grab more chairs—”
“It’s fine.” Winnie is already moving toward the booth. “We’ll make it work.”
Before I can process what’s happening, she’s sliding into the small gap at the end of the booth and pulling me down next to her. But there’s not enough room. Not nearly enough room. I’m wedged against the wall, my shoulder jammed into the corner, my legs too long for the space under the table.
“This isn’t going to work,” I say.
“Sure it will.” Winnie shifts, trying to find a comfortable position. Her hip bumps against mine. Her thigh presses along the length of my leg. “We just need to—”
She stops, looks at the lack of space, then looks at me.
“Oh, just sit on his lap,” Tori says, like it’s the most obvious solution in the world. “That’s what I do when we’re cramped.”
“I don’t think—” I start.
But Winnie is already moving. Already repositioning herself so she’s perched on my thigh, herback against my chest, her body settled into the curve of mine like she belongs there.
This is a problem.
“There,” she says, adjusting slightly. “See? We fit.”
We fit. That’s one word for it.
Another word would be torture.
She’s warm. So warm. I can feel the heat of her body through my jeans, through my shirt, seeping into my skin like sunlight. She’s soft in all the places I’m hard, her curves pressed against me, her weight a solid presence on my lap.
My hands don’t know where to go. They hover awkwardly at my sides, clenching and unclenching, while my brain short-circuits.
“Banks.” Zayden is smirking at me from across the table. “You’re allowed to touch your girlfriend. She won’t break.”
Right. Girlfriend. This is what couples do. This is normal.
Except nothing about this feels normal.
I force my hands to move. One settles on her waist, fingers curving around the dip above her hip. The other rests on the table, gripping the edge like a lifeline.
Winnie leans back into me, her shoulder blades pressing against my chest. “Relax,” she murmurs, quiet enough that only I can hear. “You’re stiff as a board.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re vibrating.”
Am I? I can’t tell. Every nerve in my body is focused on the points of contact between us. Herthighs on mine. Her back against my chest. The curve of her ass settled against my—
Don’t think about that.
Too late.
