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She copies my posture, meeting me with a stare of her own. The Christmas tree lights, the candles, the fire, all come together to dance in her whiskey eyes. As good as the view from between her legs was, watching the supernova in her eyes as she comes would be better.
Her lips quirk, like she knows I want more.
A smile finally breaks across her face. “I can go all night, Nic.”
The tone in her voice has my jeans feeling a lot more restrictive. It doesn’t matter what I want. I’m done with her. I raise an eyebrow because I’m not done with this stare-off.
“Jesus Christ, you two,” Amanda mutters under her breath, arranging her tiles. “Take your turn, Jessie, or forfeit.”
Jessie wrinkles her nose, attention dropping to her tiles. I hate that I find her adorable.
I look away and my eyes lock with Timothy’s. His head tilts slightly, his lips press flat, and his eyes bore into mine. His ‘you and I gotta talk’ look.
For two awful seconds, I hold his stare before the Christmas tree catches my eye and I look away, pretending I’m seeing it for the first time.
Has Timothy figured out something happened between me and Jessie? Shit, he might only suspect something’s up and I don’t want anything I say or do to confirm it.
I force myself to focus on the tree and count my breathing. In for four, hold for four, out for four. The massive tree is lit up and beautifully decorated in green, red, and gold baubles. Garlands are artfully draped over branches. Red velvet bows are carefully positioned. Everything is traditional with informal elegance.
The tree Addison put in our house last year was like something out of a horror movie. Silvery gray and dripping with red glass ornaments, every one sharp enough to cut.
Does Jessie put up a tree in her apartment? If she does, it probably features handcrafted tampon ornaments and an assortment of dicks, or maybe—
“I finally got an orgasm.” Jessie announces cheerfully.
I jerk back around, nearly knocking over my beer. She smirks, pointing at the board.
“Seven points, since the G is a blank tile. Not exactly a ten.” Her eyebrows rise innocently, apologetically.
The fuck it wasn’t a ten.
“A ten is impossible.” Amanda, the resident Scrabble master, corrects. She’s too busy trying to find a game-winner in her tiles to notice the edge in Jessie’s voice or the blush that has my face hot. “The most points you could get for ‘orgasm’ would be nine unless you were on a double or triple letter or word square, which you aren’t.”
Timothy’s laugh cuts across the room and every muscle in my body clenches. Amanda might be oblivious, but if Timothy caught any of that…
I need this game to be over. Now.
Celia saves the day, calling everyone into the kitchen for Irish coffee and cannoli, ending the games. In my haste to get away from Jessie, I end up right next to Timothy. He slings an arm around my shoulder, preventing me from escaping. “Get your ass kicked at Scrabble?”
“Every time.” The only person in this house who can beat Amanda is her father William, but I’m pretty sure the only person who loses as often as I do is Jessie.
We grab our coffees and a couple of cannoli and find a spot around the massive island—now cleared from Cookie Day.
“Look.” Timothy nudges me. Jessie and Mina are laughing over something at the other end. “Mina’s won Jessie over already. Looks like I might not need you to be that red cape after all.”
If any of this were funny, I’d laugh. I’m definitely a red cape now. Or a lightning rod. Whatever I am, after what happened in the laundry room, I have her attention.
Timothy turns away to answer a question, and as if she’d heard, Jessie looks up and our eyes meet. She’s the actual devil, raising the cannoli to her lips as she listens to Mina’s story. The way she leisurely licks the creamy filling gets right under my skin, as intended.
“Dude. Did you growl?” Timothy turns back to me with a laugh.
“My stomach.” I shrug it off, reaching for my second cannoli. “Still hungry, I guess.” I’m not. I’ve eaten so many damn cookies today. Not one tasted as good as Jessie.
Timothy’s grinning at me. I don’t like it, but I put on my best blank face and try to keep my attention on the conversation around me and not on how good it would feel to have Jessie lap at me like she does the cannoli.
My hopes of escaping to bed early when Amanda and Hazel and the kids do are dashed as Timothy hands me a glass of whiskey and drags me to the table. Jessie, at least, says good night and disappears, leaving the room less suffocating.
Mina whispers something in Timothy’s ear that makes him smile, then kisses him and says good night. William’s already snuck out and is probably reading in his chair by the fire, and with a smug, satisfied smile on her face, Celia hangs her kitchen towel, warning us not to stay up too late.
