I pressed my hand to my lips, struggling to hold back my laugh. “Oh, I don’t know, Lyle,” Bennett said quietly. “Maybe you could not point at my fiancée when you’re referencing hiring prostitutes?”
“That’s probably what I would do,” George agreed.
Oblivious, Lyle turned back to us. “They’d put a cinnamon stick in it over the holidays. Mark the occasion. Still tasted like fire.”
“Cinnamon fire,” I added, helpfully.
“In the drink or in the prostitutes?” George asked, brows pulled together.
Lyle didn’t even crack a smile. “The drink.”
“Really could have gone either way,” I said to George.
“I don’t know what women taste like with or without cinnamon sticks in them, is what I’m saying,” George stage-whispered to me. “Maybe it’s a thing.”
“One kid from my crew,” Lyle started, rolling back into his memories again. “Now what was his name?” He took another drink, closed his eyes, and then opened them in a flash. “Bill. Oh, that Bill, I tell you what. He was something else. One night he drank the hooch and came back wearing women’s underwear. Boy, did he get chased around the barracks that night.”
We all stood in silence, contemplating this for a few beats before George said, “Like I said. The navy sounds like my kind of place.”
We all turned at the sound of a loud shout. Across the room, Will was covering his ass with both hands, giving my aunt Mary his sexy-fire look of oh-woman-you’re-in-trouble before taking several predatory steps toward her. Mary was covering her mouth in a pathetically inadequate look of contrition.
George looked over at me. “Should I be jealous that someone else is harassing my boy toy?”
“Very,” Bennett mused dryly. “I’m surprised Chloe’s aunts haven’t put a saddle on him yet.”
“Well, then maybe I need to go find him and tell him once he goes gay, there’s no other way. I think he’ll be particularly interested to hear about what these magical hands can do.” He wiggled his fingers suggestively in my
face.
Lyle turned, drink in hand, and gave George a quizzical look.
“To a keyboard. Do to a keyboard,” George added, winking at me before walking across the room to the dance floor.
On the patio, Bennett and I looked out at the water, and chatted with some distant cousins he hadn’t seen in years, and whom I’d never met. They were nice enough, and the conversation entered the familiar territory of most conversations this week:
How’s the weather been in _____?
Now what is it you do again?
When was the last time you saw Bennett?
The entire time, his hand was around my waist, gripping me as if I was being punished.
His rough touch pissed me off, and thrilled me. Sliding my hand over his, I carefully dug my fingernails into the back of his hand. He squeezed my side harder and I dug in deeper. With a small yelp, he let go of my waist, glaring down at me.
“Damnit, Chloe.”
I smiled up at him, sugar sweet and giddy from winning the tiny battle, and felt Max’s giant hand cover my shoulder as he leaned between Bennett and me to speak to the wide-eyed cousins. “Don’t mind them. This is how they show love.”
The DJ announced that dinner was ready, and we all filed in to find our seats. Bennett and I were seated at the front of the room, sandwiched between our parents and flanked, farther down, by the entire wedding party.