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And then whispered under her breath so only he could hear, ‘Commando’
James sat back in his chair and nodded. “And he paints.”
“You paint?”
The words flew at him from across the table. From the petulant mouth of a teen who glared at him. The teen who up until now had acted as if he was the most uninteresting thing on the planet.
“You paint like houses?”
Shane shook his head. “No. I paint people…portraits.”
Bobbi rested her elbows on the table. “He just finished one…what was it called?”
She glanced his way and bit her lip. He knew that look all too well and his body was already tightening in response. “What did you call it?”
Shane frowned. The last painting he’d completed was of his old buddy from prison, Wilson. It didn’t have a name and it certainly--
“Commando? Was that it?”
He rested his hand on her thigh, smiling across the table at Eden and Celia. “I don’t know that I ever gave it a name.”
His hand slipped between her legs and thankfully the centerpiece hid the fact that it crept higher and higher as Celia began a long conversation about some art gallery she’d been to the year before on a trip to New York City. By the time she was done chatting about art, Shane had no idea whose exhibit she’d been to and he really didn’t care. His hand was so far up Bobbi’s thighs, there between her legs that Bobbi’s fingers now gripped the table tightly and he could feel how wet she was through the material of her tights.
Wet and hot.
When James pushed back his chair signalling dinner was done, Shane leaned forward, blocking his father’s view with his shoulder. He inhaled her scent as he gave her one last, generous rub with his fingers and as uncomfortable as he was, with his dick so tight and hard he was barely able to sit still, it was worth it. Totally fucking worth it to watch her gasp and bite her bottom lip. Christ, he hadn’t done anything like this since…
His finger caressed her once more and a wicked smile tugged on his mouth. He hadn’t done anything like since that disastrous Christmas dinner he’d invited h
er to and they’d had sex in the laundry room while his family served dessert.
With one final touch, he withdrew his hand and whispered softy, “Commando.”
She glanced up at him, her wine glass empty, her face flushed with need for him. For him.
“That’s a good word.” He winked. “I think it’s my new favorite.”
Chapter Twenty-two
A few weeks later, on a Friday night, Bobbi was alone at Shane’s place. She sat in front of the fire watching flames lick the top of the hearth, Pia curled into her lap. Absently, she stroked the dog’s fur, smiling slightly as the animal bumped her head against her palm and moaned, a weird little grunt of pleasure that sounded more human than some humans Bobbi knew.
She laid her head back onto the sofa, closed her eyes and enjoyed the quiet. The stereo was on, the volume low, and the distinct sounds of The Fray brought a smile to her face. Like the Stones, they were a favorite. One of theirs. Shane and Bobbi’s.
And just like warmed up meatloaf, sledding across the lake under a winter moon, or waking up together on a Saturday morning…it belonged to them.
Every time she heard The Fray, it made her think of that one summer, the summer when she’d fallen totally and helplessly in love with Shane. Her chest tightened as she let the emotion of the lyrics wash over her. How to Save a Life.
She thought she’d lost him. Hell, she thought they’d lost each other and now…now she was scared of the possibilities. Because Bobbi knew she wasn’t strong enough to lose Shane again, just like she knew she wasn’t strong enough to come clean with him yet. To wipe the slate and offer up a nice, shiny new black one.
Shane probably didn’t realize it yet but he’d already done that with his family. He had turned the page and was heading into a new chapter.
She thought back to the dinner they’d shared with his father. It had been interesting—not overly warm, not nearly as boisterous as a Barker family gathering, but still…there was something between all them—the Gallagher’s—and even if they couldn’t see it, she was pretty damn sure they felt it.
It was in the stolen glances from father to son when they thought no one would notice. The way Eden twirled her hair and said nothing and everything with her silence. The way Celia fussed over James, even though she was the one who was sick.
And the way he let her.
It was in the quick, lovely kiss Eden had planted on her mother’s forehead, the touch of fingers along a cheekbone, before she disappeared back downstairs to the basement. And the way the girl had paused at the top of the stairs, her eyes on her brother. There had been no goodbye. No talk of seeing each other again. But there had been that look.
