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She immediately sits forward again to avoid touching me, subtly scooting forward on the seat as a brunette in a server’s uniform approaches the table.
“How are you this evening, Mr. Atwater?”
“We’re well, Jenna. Thank you,” my dad replies politely.
“I’ll bring around water for the table in just a minute, but what else can I get you to drink? Can I start you off with a selection from the bar?”
“Yes,” I say.
“No,” Dad answers dryly, shooting me a look.
“I want the sunset lemonade,” Parker volunteers.
“I’ll have white wine,” Gemma says.
“Iced tea,” I say.
“Make that two,” Dad adds. “And we’re going to get an appetizer.”
“The grilled octopus,” I say before he can continue.
The waitress nods and starts to write it down, but just as the nub touches her notepad, Parker swats me in the stomach and says, “No, don’t write that down.” Glaring at me, she says, “Are you serious?”
“What?” I ask innocently. “Maybe I like octopus. Maybe it’s my favorite thing in the world.”
“It isn’t,” my father says firmly, shooting me a look across the table. “You don’t even like octopus. We aren’t ordering it.”
Jenna is confused, so I tell her, “Some of us have very strong feelings about octopuses.” I glance at Parker. “Octopi?”
“Both are acceptable, but the correct way to pluralize it is octopuses. Octopus isn’t truly Latin, it was a word borrowed from the Greeks, so there’s no need to change it to octopi when using the plural form.”
I nod, looking back at the waitress. “She’s the octopus expert. My expertise is with a different kind of pus.”
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she bites back a little smile, her eyes glinting with amusement. I give her a little wink, and her cheeks bloom with color.
Growling with annoyance, Parker pushes me and starts to slide in my direction with the force of a steamroller.
I don’t realize until she’s practically on my lap and saying, “Move,” that she wants out.
It’s hell passing up an opportunity to grab her ass and make her regret pushing herself on me, but I can’t make a move likethatat the table unless I want to raise alarms so high, I won’t be able to get away with shit.
Gemma’s doe-eyes are wide and set on her daughter.
Parker murmurs, “I have to pee,” but I know she just hates seeing me flirt.
I’m feeling pretty fucking smug about it, so I move out of her way, but I stayin the wayenough that she has to brush her ass against me to move out from behind the table.
I laugh to myself a little as she huffs and strides away without looking back.
Dad shoots me an unamused look as I take my seat again.
“What?” I ask innocently.
“Do you have to taunt her?”
“I do. I have a quota to meet.”
The waitress clears her throat. “So, no octopus then?”
