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Best DIY buffet ever.
It’s all so good and we can barely make a dent in finishing any of it, but we laugh and rate each dish as we try it. We’re already giddy discussing how good the leftovers are going to be tomorrow.
What’s even more delicious is the look on Warren’s face as he watches us.
“I don’t think I like you two together,” he says, but he’s smiling.
Bethany and I exchange a laugh.
“I think you’ve been overruled, Guv’nor.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
After dinner, I know one thing for sure.
Okay, that’s a lie. I don’t know anything for sure. Not even one thing. Except for the fact that Warren and I will not be making out tonight. I suppose I know that much.
No sexy times. Confirmed.
Because one, I’m far too full for sexy times. I know Warren has already seen me naked but that was on a good day, not after a buffet of Chinese food.
And two, because Bethany’s bedroom is across the hall. I think we’re sharing a bathroom, actually. Which, no complaints. It’s a working bathroom, unlike the one at my place.
It’s all very cosy and PG-13 here at Chez Mansion.
Which is how I’d like to keep it. Because as much as Bethany might joke about wanting a sibling, I can’t imagine she wants to overhear any shenanigans required to get one. That’s a therapy bill no one needs.
Besides, as much as I’d like to get Warren naked again, I can wait. Mostly because I have no idea if he wants to see me naked again. Maybe we were just doing a one-time thing? Who the hell knows.
Not me.
We’ve already established I know nothing about anything.
Big sigh.
When we got back to the mansion Bethany and Warren went to play a card game of some kind. They invited me, but I begged off because I don’t want to infringe on all of their time together.
Also, it’s Saturday night, so I do have plans of my own, thank you very much.
True, said plans might be binge-watching trashy reality TV with Gary, but that doesn’t make them any less important or valid than anyone else’s plans no matter what my teenage assistant would have to say about it.
Though honestly, maybe trashy isn’t a fair description. Sure, they only hand out Oscars to serious movies about people dying in the snow or whatever, but where is the appreciation for the layered characterization and plot twists that occur in every single episode of Love Island? As far as I’m concerned, this is some of the best-paced storytelling on television. And the plots?
Someone deserves an award, is all I’m saying. I’m not exactly sure who, but someone.
I change into a pair of pants with an elastic waist, grab Gary and head into the upstairs den. I love the upstairs den, because it’s got a giant television and furniture from this century, unlike the majority of this museum of a house.
Now, I could go for one of my favorite seasons of Project Runway —a classic—but it’s not quite what I’m itching for. Then I see it. My personal favorite. The ultimate in reality-show over-the-top spending.
Say Yes to the Dress.
I flip on the show and watch as bride after bride goes through dress after dress. I’m watching an old season, so I cringe as a few outdated trends show up on my giant TV screen. I’m gaping at a particularly horrible mermaid-style creation when Bethany breezes into the room, nearly scaring the crap out of me when she claps her hands in excitement.
“I love this show!” she says, as she all but bounces through the room. “Can I watch with you?”
“Um, sure,” I agree, feeling awkward.
“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to,” Bethany says, looking a little hurt. “Dad had to jump on a call, and I thought I’d watch something in here.”
“Of course I want you to,” I say quickly, patting a spot next to me on the couch. “I’m the guest here, not you.”
She smiles, big and genuine, and flops onto the couch. She’s in her pajamas, long flannel ones with pink stripes. I’m jealous. The governor’s mansion is frigid as hell. I tuck the quilt I grabbed up closer to my chin.
“I love how cozy it is in here,” I comment as Gary immediately leaves my lap and settles in on hers. He turns up his purr volume at least three levels.
Disloyal bastard.
“Oh, I know. Everything in this place is old because it’s either some kind of state antique or it was just left behind by some governor from, like, a hundred years ago.” She waves a hand, the gesture reminding me of a little old lady. “The only rooms with any of our stuff are this one, my room and Dad’s.”
Ah, well. That explains why it’s comfy.
“So what’re we watching?” Bethany asks, settling into a corner of the couch.
