“Just went down the wrong pipe,” Bennett explained.
“He’s usually much better when he’s aiming it down mine,” I said in a stage whisper, and both Will and Max burst into laughter across the table. Will leaned forward to give me a high-five.
“Has he told you about his new virginity?” I asked.
“He mentioned he’s enjoying the sport of keeping you waiting,” Max said. “But for the record, Chloe, I’d like to say that those heels are fucking smashing.”
“I agree!” I said, grinning over at my fiancé.
The booth was large enough for several people, and after they’d ordered their drinks, Brian and Bull joined the four of us. For several quiet moments we sipped our cocktails, and Max and I shared an amused grin when we heard Sara’s cackle across the room.
“That’s your girl over there,” I said.
He raised his glass to me, cheeks flushed, and murmured, “Indeed it is,” before taking a sip.
I looked over at Sara and laughed. “Actually, that’s your girl over there with a big belly . . . carrying a tray of shots.”
He looked up and groaned, standing to walk over. His words drifted out of earshot after we heard him say, “Sare, love, that’s too heavy . . .”
“He is whipped,” Will murmured.
“Don’t even start on that, Sumner,” Bennett said with a shake of his head. “You can barely keep your tongue in your mouth around Hanna.”
Will shrugged and leaned back in the booth, not even hiding the way he looked over at his girlfriend and studied every inch of her exposed legs.
I let my eyes move around the men at the table and wondered if they were being relatively quiet because they wanted me to leave so they could discuss guy things, like penises and basketballs and toilets. But I was so comfortable, and the weight of Bennett’s arm around my shoulder was too perfect to want to move. The only way I would move is if it was to climb into his lap and wiggle a little.
I started to execute this brilliant idea, but he stopped me with a tight grip on my shoulder. “Don’t you dare.”
“Are you hard?” I asked quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.
He shot me a look. “No.”
I licked my lips and felt my pulse take off when his eyes dropped to my mouth and he leaned a little closer. “How about now?”
“You’re impossible, woman.” He moved away, reaching for his drink.
A large tattoo of a woman’s face on Bull’s arm caught my eye and I leaned close to Bennett again, but he leaned away.
“No, come here,” I said, pulling at his T-shirt. “I have a question. I swear I’m not going to lick your ear.” Reluctantly he leaned close enough for me to quickly lick his ear before asking, “Who is that on Bull’s arm?”
He studied it for a second before turning to whisper, “I think that’s his girlfriend—or ex-girlfriend?—Maisie. They’ve been on-again, off-again since they were teenagers.”
I absorbed this information: Bull might currently be “on” with this Maisie woman and was hitting on every vagina under forty in the wedding party. “Are you kidding me?”
“I wish.”
I studied it as casually as I could; the last thing I wanted to do was raise Bull’s attention and let him think I was checking him out. But the tattoo was enormous, practically the size of my entire hand, and incredibly detailed. It had been hidden at the dinner the night before under his dress shirt, but now, in casual clothing, the entire thing was revealed, in full color. Basically, it was Maisie’s face, neck, and chest stopping just where the hint of her breasts began to swell.
Turning back to Bennett, I whispered, “Jesus. She must be bringing it. I know how to suck a dick but no one has ever tattooed my face on their skin.”
Bennett went still, hand frozen where he had just reached for his glass.
“I don’t expect you to tattoo my face on your arm, Mr. Ryan, settle down.”