She burst out laughing and reached for a piece of bread. “It’s been so fun catching up, I’m so glad we did this.”
“I hope you choke on that bread,” I said through clenched teeth, whispering against her neck like I was nuzzling her instead of contemplating wrapping my fingers around her porcelain skin and giving a little squeeze.
“Do I know about this accident, Patty?” Avery just had to ask.
And Mom, being Mom, just had to answer. “Oh, he was such a small boy.”
“Still is.” Avery said under her breath.
I squeezed her knee again. She gave a little yelp and stole the bread right off my plate.
“Thief,” I whispered.
“Liar,” she countered.
“Well, it’s the damnedest thing,” Mom continued, completely oblivious to the war zone across from her. “He just loved that little game where you drop the game pieces down the slots and they line up—you know, the one with the holes.” Mom waved her hand in the air.
Our waiter approached.
Thank God.
“Here is our most recent favorite, nominated for its clear taste and . . .”
I tuned him out and shared a look of pure evil with Avery.
“You wanna play, little girl?” I cupped her cheek with my hand, using my thumb to flick her lower lip. “I’ll play.”
“Bring a cup.” She winked.
The waiter filled my champagne glass, and Avery’s attention was back on my mom. “Are you talking about Connect Four?”
“He liked the holes.” Mom covered her mouth with her hand, but it didn’t matter—her voice carried, it always carried. It pained me to admit how often I was the topic of one of her inappropriate conversations.
“You said that.” Dad poured himself a glass of champagne and lifted it in the air toward me.
God, I’d need to consume that whole bottle to start forgetting this evening.
“He.” She made a motion with her pointer finger. “Loved.” Oh, here it came. “The.” Another jabbing motion. “Holes.” The last was said in the creepiest of whispers.
Avery gasped.
Dad chuckled and belted out, “Never did figure out how he got his little hot dog in there!”
Tears pooled in Avery’s eyes, and then she burst out laughing with my parents while I poured myself more champagne.
“Sweetheart”—Avery elbowed me—“why the holes? Do you think it’s because you have a fascination with sticking things . . . where they have no business going? And Patty, I ask this with all seriousness . . .”
I swore under my breath.
“Was he an equal-opportunity hole user? You know, sort of like if there was a hole, he just wanted to stick something in it.” She briefly pressed her lips together. “I guess you could say, like having a different hole every day of the week, perhaps?”
Mom sighed. “You know, now that I think about it, he did try it more than once, the first time was—”
“Mom!” I yelled. “I need, uh, to excuse us for just a second. Avery hasn’t taken her digestive pill for the meal, and I think I left it in the car. We’ll be right back.”
Avery frowned. “My digestive pill?”
She stood and excused herself. I grabbed her elbow and steered her away from the direction of the ladies’ room and into the wine cellar.
“WHAT THE EVER-LOVING HELL WAS THAT!” I roared, my chest heaving as I pressed Avery against the nearest wall. I wasn’t sure if I was mostly angry or just embarrassed.
“Equal-opportunity hole user?” She shrugged and then giggled and tugged the collar of my shirt with both hands. “So really, you’ve always been a whore?”
I let out a growl. “I’ve never wanted to slap a woman so badly in my entire life.”
She made a face. “Look down. My knee would get you in the junk before you ever got the chance, and we don’t want your Wednesday getting upset that you can’t perform.”
“If I can’t perform, I’ll just spend the day following you around and making sure everyone in your vicinity is fully aware that you didn’t comb your hair until you were six and had to chop up your hot dogs until you were seventeen!”
“THEY’RE A CHOKING HAZARD!”
I smirked. “Maybe inform the next guy so he has fair warning.”
“You smug bastard!” She tugged my collar tighter, and as our lips grazed, an electrical current of energy zipped between us.
“Shit.” I exploded, on the spot, lost my mind, and crushed my mouth against hers.
And then nearly experienced either a mild stroke or an orgasm when her tongue met mine halfway.
Chapter Seventeen
AVERY
Kissing Lucas Thorn was a poor life choice—it had always been that way. Why could our kisses never be romantic? Involving situations where we went out on a normal date? Where nobody was pissed or drunk or about to get married?
His hot mouth slid against mine while his fingers dug into my ass, and then he gripped my hips. His thumb was pressed against my skin so hard, I’d probably be able to use the print to unlock his iPhone later—the pressure felt good, too good.
Bad idea.
Bad idea.
Kissing Satan.
Good, Avery, moan, because that makes him want to stop.
My arms, betraying bitches that they were, wrapped around his neck, and then my hands slid down his chest as I deepened the kiss, my body erotically rubbing against his.
Lucas tasted like champagne—his tongue did a weird twirl thing that had my legs nearly collapsing and sent shivers down to my toes and in all the wrong places because this wasn’t happening, this couldn’t happen! Not only because he was my boss.
He literally slept with other women.
ON PURPOSE.
And they knew about it.
Besides, he cheated on my sister!
I knew what he was capable of.
I would not be that girl.
“Stop!” I jerked away and then leaned in and kissed him again. He kissed me harder and harder, and I pulled back again. “No—I mean, we should stop.”
“Yup.” His hand cupped my breast.
I let out a little moan. “In like ten seconds, eleven maybe.”
“Eleven seconds and we stop.” His eyes blazed as his mouth descended again. His hand rubbed against my right breast and then lowered to my ass again as he pinched it and then slapped.
Hard.
“Okay,” I hissed, shoving him away. “I can explain this.”
His chest rose and then sank, as though he’d just had the workout of his life. “Oh?”
“Family pressure combined with drunkenness and lying makes people do really stupid things. You know, brain cells die because of the . . .” He licked his lower lip. “A-alcohol.”
“Mmm.” He reached for me again.
I let him.
WEAK!
The next kiss was softer.
It was the way I’d always wanted Lucas Thorn to kiss me—like I was precious, like I mattered—so for good, I pushed him away.
For my good.
For his.
For the sake of the friendship we used to have.
And for whatever future friendship we were trying to build. Everything was too confusing, and the kiss wasn’t helping things. Not at all.
“I’m not going to be your new Tuesday.”
He grinned. “Of course you won’t, Tuesday’s taken.”
I glared at him.