Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“Yes, they’re now they slash them,” Lavender murmurs. “I wonder if the experience with you left its mark.”
“Is that Lavender cracking a funny?” El presses a pondering finger to his chin. “It’s amazing what life you find when you put your phone down, eh?”
“Leave her alone,” Whit mutters, topping up his mother’s glass. His very happy mother’s glass who has made so many references to how wonderful it is to have almost all her children around her. “More wine, Mimi?” He holds the bottle over my glass in anticipation. I rest my hand over it with a shake of my head.
“But you’ve only had a glass,” El protests.
“It is lovely, but I’m not a big drinker.” I reach for my water glass instead as my mother’s voice echoes in my head. Everything in moderation, Mimi. I’m pretty sure an overload of meat and veggies won’t kill me this once.
“Think she’s nodded off with her eyes open?”
El’s joking tone brings me back to the moment. “Food coma,” I say, lifting my water. “Just a mini one.”
Thankfully, the Whittington clan seem to have lost interest in any explanation regarding the rest of the bases, though I’m not done myself as I slip off my shoe and stretch my foot out. I can’t quite reach third base, but I can run my toes up Whit’s leg. Why? Because I have had so much fun today. I’m so happy he ignored my arguments and persuaded me to tag along.
I don’t need wine to make me feel warm and fuzzy because the way Whit keeps glancing at me makes me feel like that anyway. He wants me. And I want him, always, but seeing him here with his family just makes him all the more perfect.
And who doesn’t want perfect, even if just for a little while?
“…honestly, El. She wasn’t interested!”
I come back to the conversation at Heather’s giggled words.
“She was totally into me.” Elbow on the table, El does the chair-based equivalent of a swagger.
“Really?” Heather scrunches her nose unconvincingly. “And you could tell that just from looking at her in that chainmail bikini?” Oh, they’re talking about Friday night. His exploits with the server? “Because your eyes weren’t exactly on her face.”
“Of course I looked at her face,” he complains. “Eventually.” His siblings all chuckle.
“She gave you her number, then?” Brin throws his napkin across the table at him.
“Not exactly.” Balling it up, he volleys it back.
“But you asked her out?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“Well, her lips might’ve said no, but her eyes said—
“Read my lips,” Heather butts in, making everyone laugh again.
The conversation goes on. El taunts Brin with a story from one of his old girlfriends. Apparently, El was dating one of her friends (the term used loosely, I gather, for Polly’s benefit) when she revealed that Brin is nicknamed Noodles within their friend group. Why? Because according to Brin’s old conquest, he thinks foreplay only takes two minutes.
Gasps and splutters break out, Polly wading to the conversation when she comments he didn’t get that from his father. I’m paying attention and laughing along, of course I am, but I’m also watching Whit as he portrays not one hint of what my toes are doing to his leg. The man is supremely cool about my silly seduction.
I make an exaggerated oh, my goodness, I am so full kind of motion as I slink a little farther down my chair. It gives me an inch more leverage.
But still, nothing
Because that’s the table leg. I curl my toes around definite edges. Yep. I chuckle to myself. I’m trying to get the table leg off.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Whit murmurs, and I startle, thinking he’s talking to me. I breathe easy again when Lavender answers.
“I don’t make wishes because wishes are for suckers.”
“I’m with you on that one,” I find myself agreeing.
“You don’t believe in wishes?” Primrose asks, perplexed. She’s looking at me like she thought I was one of her people. Optimistic, maybe. Bright and cheerful, definitely. I am—I still believe in good over bad and think that most people would be happier if they just smiled a bit more. But wishes? I grew out of that concept a not so long ago.
“I thought you believed in magic,” Whit asks from across the table.
“Hmm.” I press my index finger to my lips and cast my eyes to the ceiling a little theatrically. “I think I said I voodoo.” Because I believe in Whit magic, in his sexual voodoo. I’m also a devotee of what his wand can do.
“I knew it was something like that.” Whit’s mouth quirks, those striking eyes weaving their spell.
“A shop on Camden Road will sell you voodoo dolls.” Lavender looks at her older brother almost as though she’s trying to goad him. “And chicken’s blood for spells and stuff.”
“I hope they’ve got a license.”