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Lisa points an accusing finger at her husband. “Do you remember when I started taking that pottery class at night, over at the U?”
Ricky slides lower in his chair, letting out a giggling and ashamed “Yes.”
She turns to the rest of us. “I told him I felt so old and frumpy around all these young college girls, and he said, ‘That’s okay, honey, I love you anyway.’ ”
Everyone laughs at this, and Theo lets out a groaning “Dad, no.”
Ricky turns to his son. “Are you kidding me? You got a call from a girl the other day and couldn’t remember who she was.”
“I didn—!” Theo starts, but Ricky holds up a hand.
“When we were here over Thanksgiving, what did you have hiding in your closet after Grandma left?”
Both Andrew and I go very, very still.
Theo closes his eyes, pretending to be embarrassed by this. “A woman.”
“A woman,” Ricky repeats. “Just hanging out in your closet waiting for us to finish eating.” Surprised laughter breaks out at the table, but inside, I feel like I’ve dodged the world’s largest bullet. “Theo, you are in no way prepared to give me shit about anything.”
“Earmuffs,” Aaron mutters to the twins, who belatedly clap their hands over their ears.
Miles is the last to get over his laughter about all of this, and Theo turns to him, teasing, “At least I’ve got game, bro.”
To my brother’s credit, he doesn’t look fazed by this in the slightest. “I’m seventeen. Am I supposed to be hiding people in my closet?”
“No,” Mom and Dad say in unison.
“Mae and Andrew are awfully quiet over there . . .” Lisa singsongs.
The entire room goes still, and every gaze swings our way. I look up from where I’m cutting my spaghetti into smaller clumps and realize Andrew is making nearly the same Who, me? expression to my right.
“I’m sorry, what?” Andrew says through a bite of salad.
“Oh, we’re just talking about how above reproach you two are,” Dad says, and Mom looks undeniably proud.
“These two certainly aren’t sneaking around, hiding booty calls in their bedrooms,” Ricky chides Theo.
While I struggle to swallow down a bite of gluey noodles, Andrew nonchalantly spears a piece of lettuce, saying, “That is technically correct.”
“Mae would have to date for that to happen,” Miles says, and I glare at him.
“Your sister is not interested in ‘booty calls,’ ” Dad says, bringing a forkful of spaghetti to his mouth before reconsidering.
My brother drops his fork in disgust. “Can everyone stop saying ‘booty call’?”
I feel Andrew’s foot come over mine under the table and am suddenly very, very interested in the composition of the meat sauce, blurting, “This is so unique, Theo, how did you make it?”
Flattered, he waxes happily about frying the meat, dumping in canned tomatoes, finding some dried herbs in the pantry. The conversation moves on, and I’m able to mostly tune it out . . . which is good because it’s taking nearly all of my energy to not be completely focused on Andrew’s every movement next to me. I would not be good for any conversation right now.
I think he’s intentionally brushing elbows with me, but it’s hard to know, because he’s left-handed and I’m right-handed. But then I’m thinking about hands, and fingers, and the way he gripped my leg, pulling it over his hip before rocking against me.
I’m thinking about those hands sliding under my shirt, up over my ribs. I’m thinking about those fingers pulling the button on my jeans free, teasingly tugging down my zipper. I’m thinking about that mouth moving breathlessly down my body, over my—
“Mae?” Mom’s voice rises over the noise.
“Mm?” I look up, realizing again that everyone is watching me. Apparently, I’ve missed a direct question.
Her brows furrow. “Are you okay, honey?”
With horror, I realize my entire face and neck are flushed. “Yeah, sorry, was just chowing on my dinner.”
Theo leans on his elbows. “I called Professor Plum, and you didn’t even blink.”
“Oh.” I wave my fork. “I’ll be whoever’s left.”
I can feel the ripples of shock make their way around the table. I am laid-back about few things, it’s true, and none of those things are Professor Plum. Like any self-respecting woman of twenty-six, I take my Clue very seriously.
And yet.
“What’s the big deal, guys?” I ask. “Sometimes a little change is good.”
• • •
I’ll have you know that Colonel Mustard won Clue tonight, and Professor Plum is already off to bed, pouting that not only did I take the good luck juju with me to a new character, but Professor Plum himself was the murderer, in the conservatory, with the rope. I don’t think Theo enjoys my victory dance, but Andrew sure seems to.
He and I pack up the game pieces in the living room while everyone else wanders off to their corners—bedrooms for the grown-ups, basement for the kid-ups, and then it’s just us, standing together with the fire crackling down to embers and the sexual tension roaring, wondering what comes next.
