"No," he rumbled in my ear. "I have to fuck you. Now."
"Why? Are you marking your territory?" I'd only been half serious with the comment, but he pulled back and the look in his eyes said that was exactly what he was doing.
I wriggled out of his gr...
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Amazingly, the calm Shawn gave me on the rooftop continued as we made our way back to the restaurant. Even Sophia’s peeved glare didn’t fluster me as the waiter pulled out my chair for me.
Sophia took a sip of the brown liquid in her hand. “It’s about time you returned.”
I remembered what Shawn had said as we’d left-that I’d forgotten something in the car-and I started to apologize, using that as the basis of my excuse.
But Shawn beat me to answering. “We got distracted.” He squeezed my hand before relinquishing his hold on me, letting me sit in my chair. As soon as I sat, he took my hand again under the table. I couldn’t think of another time that I’d been so publicly claimed. And after his private appropriation of my body minutes before, relaxing into a comfortable doubt-free place with Shawn seemed like a real possibility.
Not just a possibility but a reality.
“Beyoncé !” Kelly seemed about to burst out of her chair. “I’m so glad you made it!”
The last time I’d seen her, she’d been worried I was done with her brother. My presence was a declaration otherwise.
“Me, too.” I smiled back at her and passed the same grin on to the others at the table, including Chandler’s head that was bent over his iPhone and the Careys. But I didn’t look Mariah in the eye as I did. I could feel her trying to catch my gaze, but I wasn’t interested. She hadn’t told me about the dinner either and that made me suspicious. Perhaps wrongly so, but suspicious all the same.
“Me, three,” Shawn’s father said, winking at me.
Maybe it was my imagination, but Shawn seemed to snarl at his father’s statement. His protectiveness of me was silly at times, yet it also warmed me.
Sophia finished off her glass and set it on the table with an attention getting thunk. “Well, we already ordered.”
“That’s fine. We’ll catch up.” Shawn signaled the waiter, who hastened over. He ordered for us both, in beautiful French that made me slick between my thighs. Or, rather, slicker.
“And while you’re here, I’ll have another of these.” Sophia held up her empty glass to the waiter, and I saw Kelly and Shawn exchange a glance. I could relate all too well to what they were feeling-the dread of having an alcoholic parent, the questions and worries that occupied every moment. Would she drink too much tonight? Would she make a fool of herself? Of us?
Except in my life the she’s were replaced by he’s. It was my father who had been the alcoholic, the one who had caused me anxiety. Was that where I had first learned to worry? Maybe something I should talk to a therapist about sometime. Or, since I wasn’t seeing a therapist anymore, then maybe my counselor at the group I attended on a somewhat regular basis.
