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“Oh, me too, AJ. Me too,” Grandma says, saluting Linkin with her glass of sweet tea.
Everyone is staring at him as if he’s about to stand up and rip off his tear away pants to a Jay-Z song. My palms start to sweat and I brace myself for the letdown. He’s about to take one look at my crazy family and run from the restaurant. Why wouldn’t he? He’s been here less than five minutes and already interrogated for being a stripper.
And maybe I should let him go. He’s just as crazy as my family, remember? Offering to help me have a baby.
But something has been blooming in my chest ever since he made his suggestion. Hell, if I’m being honest with myself I’ve felt something since the first time I yelled at him in the hallway. No, I can’t seem to walk away, even though I probably should. The only way to define what I’m feeling is…hope.
I’m hopeful for the first time in I don’t know how long. My marriage to Chris was quickly going down the shitter, even before I found that document under our bed. I wasn’t happy. I definitely wasn’t happy when I found out what he did. But now? I find myself reaching for the olive branch that Linkin has extended to me.
Does that make me a little crazy too?
Probably.
“Linkin and I are dating!” I tell the table before chugging the diet soda set in front of me.
Wide eyes stare back at me. I hear his rushed inhale of breath, but don’t look over at him. I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep up the ruse. Or that I’ll throw myself at him. Either way, probably not the best thing for Sunday lunch.
Instead of speaking, Linkin takes my hand and brings it to his mouth. He places a slow, tender kiss on my knuckles that sends lightning bolts of lust soaring through my blood and striking my nerve endings. Each wave of desire lands squarely between my legs, rendering the panties I changed into before knocking on my sister’s door, as useless.
My eyes find his, dark and full of heat. His lips have yet to move from the tender flesh of my hand, and I sorta pray they never do. Unless he wants to use those lips in other places.
God, my body is all tingly and hypersensitive.
“You are?” Meghan asks, her surprised, yet happy eyes bouncing between Linkin and me.
Words seem to evade me. As much as I try, with him touching me, I can’t make myself speak. Linkin must sense my inability to formulate words and jumps in. “Yes, we are. It’s a new development. Right, sweetheart?” he says softly, placing a kiss on my palm this time.
“Right,” I answer, my voice gruff and barely above a whisper. My head just keeps repeating over and over the way his deep voice says sweetheart.
“Well, I’m so happy for you,” Jaime says, offering a smile.
The rest of lunch progresses fine, but I feel completely out of it. I engage in conversation, but I have no idea what I said. Everyone seems to accept Linkin and my decision to date him, even though I’m not divorced yet. Hell, I just found out about my decision to date him, and I’m not even freaked out. Even if said decision was based on a knee-jerk reaction.
Maybe it’s the alcohol talking.
After lunch, we all stand to leave. Outside on the sidewalk, everyone talks over the person next to them as they embrace and say goodbye, as if we hadn’t just seen each other last night. Funny, aren’t we? We’re a close family, one that sticks our noses where they don’t belong and teases you mercilessly until you’re ready to pee. Or is that tickle? Either way, my family is always there for each other.
“Linkin, it was nice to officially meet you. I heard so much about you after Lexi’s divorce party that it was like there was another man in bed with us,” Grandpa tells Linkin, not even caring that he tap-danced over the invisible line between acceptable and awkward.
“I’m not divorced yet,” I remind my grandpa as I lean forward and graze a kiss over his wrinkled cheek.
“That’s because he’s dragging his feet like a streetwalker heading to pay her pimp,” Grandpa hollers, drawing attention from those around us.
“I’m handling Chris,” I tell him softly, touching his arm in a comforting gesture.
“If he doesn’t knock off his shit, I’m going to be handling him,” Linkin adds, arms crossed firmly over his chest in that way that I seem to notice, appreciate, and love.
Before I can say anything, Grandpa turns his full attention to Linkin and says, “You do that, son. Make sure that weasely bastard doesn’t hurt my grandbaby again.”
I’m stunned silent, trapped in the conversation they have around me. I should be pissed that Linkin’s speaking for me, or at least on my behalf, but I’m not. It’s shockingly endearing to know that someone has my back and is ready to wage a war in my honor. Warmth spreads through my veins as I gaze up at the man beside me. His short beard seems sexier in the daylight and his brown eyes twinkle with fierceness. He’s so tall and strong it’s like staring up at a tree.
A tree I want to climb.
“Anyway, it’s time for me to go home and nap,” I tell my grandpa, leading Linkin away from my family.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Grandma hollers, bursting through my siblings until she’s right in front of Linkin. “It was nice to see you again, young man. I wouldn’t mind seeing more of you soon.” The way she waggles her eyebrows at him tells me she’s not casually referring to him joining us at another family luncheon. No, this invite has more to do with him losing more articles of clothing.
A bubble of laughter bursts from Linkin’s mouth as he gazes softly down at my pint-sized Grandma. “You’re a handful, Miss Emma,” he says, bending way down to hug her.
