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“Hell no, my friend. You’re in this with us,” he deflects, pushing it back my way.
Suddenly, I feel her hand creep across my thigh. I jump so hard I hit my knee on the bottom of the table, making everyone around me jump. “Shoot, sorry,” I mumble, refusing to glance to the vixen beside me. The one who’s digging her nails into my thigh hard…and harder…and, “Ouch!”
She just smiles sweetly at me, fluttering her long lashes like it’s her job. “Sammy, please take the shot.”
My heart jumps around in my chest as I stare at the only woman to make me want to put liquid death into my body. Yes, death. One time, a long, long time ago, I almost died from alcohol consumption, but if you ever tell anyone, I’ll deny it until my last breath.
Realizing it’s a futile point, I sigh my resignation and reach for the glass. “Fine. One shot.”
“Yay!” Marissa and Harper both cheer as they raise their glasses with the rest of us.
“To Harper and Latham and a long, happy marriage,” Jensen toasts.
“Cheers!” we salute, bringing our glasses to our lips.
Cool liquid hits my lips and throat as I toss the alcohol back. The first thing I notice is the smell. It’s smooth, just like the taste, yet I know they’re both deceiving. The contents of my glass are about to hit me like a sucker punch to the gut, especially on a mostly empty stomach. I set my glass down on the tabletop as warmth spreads through my blood. It could be from the liquor. It could be from the hand. Yes, Freedom’s hand that still rests on my thigh. No, she’s not digging her nails into my flesh, but she hasn’t moved it yet either.
For some reason, I don’t say a word.
I let her hand rest mere inches from where my cock twitches with eagerness.
Chasing the liquor with big gulps of water, I finally ask the group, “What is everyone having?”
We order food and visit, discussing details of tomorrow night’s wedding, as well as the dinner afterward. Again. Like we haven’t discussed it to death in specific detail since the news spread that they were getting married in Vegas. I try to focus on the words around me, but I can’t. Her hand. It’s still there. On my leg. And it’s doing crazy things to my mind. Things I shouldn’t be thinking about, especially as we discuss my sister’s impending nuptials to the man sitting next to her with stars in his eyes. The thing going on in my pants shouldn’t even be a blip on the radar at this point.
Jensen orders a round of drinks and groans when I order another water. He mumbles something to the waiter that has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. I already know he’s up to something.
“I can’t wait to dance,” Marissa says, smiling at the couples heading up the stairs toward the music.
“Me either!” Harper agrees, her eyes sparkling under the lights.
“I can’t wait to watch you dance either,” Rhenn mumbles, placing a kiss on her exposed shoulder. My little sister blushes fiercely but smiles in response. She leans in and whispers in his ear, and I have to look away when his face transforms into something that definitely speaks of dirty talk.
Averting my eyes, I find Jensen kissing on Kathryn’s neck and Latham running his finger down Harper’s cheek like he can’t stop touching her. My gut clenches with something that feels like…jealousy. I’m extremely happy for my siblings that they found love. So why am I suddenly wishing it were me sitting there, gazing at the woman I love like I can’t wait to be alone with her?
I’ve never felt that kind of longing. Even when dating over the last decade. They were nice—great, even—but they didn’t bring out this primal urge to rip off all their clothes in a public place. Something I’d never do, mind you, but still. You get the point. My siblings are there. They’re happy and engaging in healthy relationships, while I’m sitting here alone.
No, not alone, I’m reminded as Freedom flexes her hand on my thigh.
Subtly, I glance her way and study her profile. She’s smiling softly at my sister, her best friend. Her hair is up, a high ponytail with a little butterfly clip on the side. My fingers twitch to slide through those long locks. Something tells me they’re soft and smell amazing, and suddenly, I’m leaning just a little closer to see if I can catch a whiff.
There.
There is it.
That familiar earthy scent I only associate with Freedom.
Our waiter returns with drinks and appetizers. My stomach growls, the warmth of the alcohol still very much present, as a glass of something dark is set in front of me. I glance over at my brother, who just winks and lifts his own glass. It’s definitely not beer, and something tells me whatever’s in this glass is going to kick my ass. That’s the prime reason I won’t be drinking it. I’ll politely decline, settling for my water for the rest of the evening, but then that damn hand moves. The touch, the heat, the familiarity is gone as she turns and talks to Harper. An odd sense of longing sweeps through my blood, a sadness I can’t describe, and that’s when I reach for the glass.
That weird feeling I’ve been trying to ignore but keeps returning all the same.
That weird pull I feel in my chest whenever she’s around.
That horrible twist in my gut when some guy passing by our table stops and engages her in a conversation.
She laughs.
I hate it.
