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“Why is there a pig in my kitchen?” Kristy asks, and Jimbob flushes, scooping the piglet up and cradling it in his arms.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Jimbob says, his drawl coming out nice and thick. “He just escaped. Got a little excited.”
Kristy eyes him, her lips pursed and then a smile lifts them. Goddamn, I thought I was the only one to make her smirk. But this is a full-on smile.
How can I compete with that?
Everybody justloooovesJimbob. This is just fucking great.
Jimbob presses a kiss to Kristy’s cheek and she flushes, turning back to the stove and stirring some baked beans.
“Well, just make sure he minds his manners,” Kristy says, and Jimbob mutters a “yes, ma’am” once more.
It shouldn’t be endearing, but it is.
Ugh. Handsome, ridiculous man.
“Well,” I say, carrying the corn on the cob and the salad to the table. Eating around a table is a thing people do in Kansas apparently. I never had family meals, but they’re all about them. No, I was sat in front of a TV while my parents worked.
Bennet helps Mark carry the ribs and the grilled pork chops inside, his muscles bulging beneath his shirt, and I can see Jimbob eyeballing them too. I mean, how can you not?
They’re nice muscles.
Then we all sit down at the table, Jimbob sitting on one side of Bennet and me across from them both. Terrible placement. Now I have a front-row seat to their flirting. It doesn’t help that Jimbob has the little pig in his arms, squirming around, looking adorable with his little blue bib on. Jimbob pulls a bottle out of his overalls and sets it on the table and the pig squeals.
“Sorry ’bout him,” Jimbob says, blushing.
Bennet nudges him, his eyes sweeping across his broad chest and I feel something tighten in my belly.
Don’t care. I don’t care that he’s checking him out.
“I’ll just feed him. Abra-ham just gets a little hangry is all.”
And then he gives the piggy a bottle, and the pig sighs in contentment. Bennet’s eyes get all gooey, and I feel something ugly rise up within me.
I am having massive heartburn. Or possibly diarrhea. I can’t tell.
Ugh. Enough. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.
The food is passed around the table as people chatter, and I make eye contact with everyone, making sure they take a serving of salad.
“You will eat that, Mark,” I say and then glare at Fred when he tries to take just one leaf. He stares at it sadly as it plops onto his plate, and I reach over and scoop him up a serving.
I swear, these men are children. Crying over some lettuce.
“Corn is a vegetable,” he grumbles, and I scowl at him.
“Corn is a starch and it’s terrible for you. You need to eat this, Fred, or so help me gods.”
He sighs, and I turn my gaze to Bennet who takes a heaping spoonful of my salad and for some reason, that warms my damn heart.
It’s going to catch fire pretty soon.
We all dig in, me watching to make sure everyone is following the rules and eating the greens, and I smirk internally when they exclaim over the potatoes. Yes, well they don’t realize what’s inside. And I’ll never tell them. I snuck it in when Kristy wasn’t looking.
Bennet eyes me from across the table and meets my stare.
His lips turn up at the corners, and I feel my chest clench uncomfortably.
