Page 7 of Say You Will

April 12, 2018

Place. Check.

Menu. Check.

Time. Check.

Lark family called and coming. Check.

Finn and family. Check.

Jake’s parents. Security. Check.

Ben and Sawyer. Sexy. Check.

Sean and Brett. Cuties. Check.

Ty on guitar. Check. And Mark. Check.

Told Ace’s coworkers to come, if and when they could. Check.

My parents. Fuck.

“Hey, babe. You okay?”

I’d zoned on Ace and my book. What the hell was I reading anyway? This author should learn how to Google. A little research goes a long way. I glanced down to see I’d been out of it long enough for my e-reader to have shut off automatically.

“I’m fine.”

Ace’s lips twitched. Like father, like son. His eyes darted between me and the game. He wanted to ask but didn’t want to miss a play. Yankee rivalry and all that. I didn’t blame him one bit.

I thumbed on my book and ignored his inquiring stare. It was still six weeks out from his birthday, from the party. The one I hadn’t yet told him about. The one I still hadn’t yet gotten him a present for.

The jewelers. Double fuck.

“Nope.” Ace patted my legs, nudged them off the couch, and scooted closer. He leaned for the remote and clicked off the television.

Surprised, I pushed myself upright, waking myself from my meanderings. “What?” Going for full innocence, I even opened my eyes wide.

“You groaned.”

“I what?”

“Groaned. It was quiet, but I heard it. Something’s going on.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. If I groaned, it’s because of my back. You know how standing all day destroys my body.”

“I do. I also know that you have no problem throwing yourself into my lap and begging for back rubs. Seriously, you don’t even have to beg, you can just lie here, and I’ll touch that amazing body of yours.” He patted said lap with a leer-filled smirk.

I moved to do so, suddenly craving his touch, but he blocked me with his arm.

“Dare.” Shit, now he was giving me “the stare.” He used it to full effect: staring down customers trying to make false returns, employees trying to beg off shifts, his friends when they tried to cajole him into doing shots like college kids. Me, trying to keep my secret.

“I know it’s not your back.”

I couldn’t look at him, so I got up and went into the kitchen. Ace followed, watching me fill the electric tea kettle, turn it on, set out a mug, tea, and spoon. He leaned casually against the counter, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, a study in easy masculinity.

“Would you like some tea?” I finally asked.