Rm w/a Vu(88)
Dinner looks and smells amazing, and it tastes even better. After everyone has had their fill, the men having decided on seconds, Greyston and I work together to clear the table while Jocelyn warms dessert in the oven and rejoins the others, leaving Greyston and I alone in the kitchen to do dishes.
“Your parents are great,” I tell him, putting a plate in the dishwasher.
Greyston laughs softly. “I told you they’d love you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You were right… Wait a minute, you’re not one of those men who feel the need to flaunt the rare occasions that this happens, are you?” I tease.
His laughter grows as he closes the dishwasher and wraps his arms around me. “I assure you that it’s rare I’m wrong,” he quips, kissing the tip of my nose.
Just then, the oven timer chimes, so I reluctantly pull free of his arms. “Well, that was before you met me,” I remind him with a playful smirk. “Come on, let’s grab dessert and head back outside.”
I pull on the oven mitts and grab the pie, carrying it toward the patio door while Greyston opens the fridge. Curious, I turn to look, only to see him hold up a can of whipped cream, waggling his eyebrows devilishly.
Laughing, I shake my head and mumble, “Just terrible.”
He follows me out onto the patio. “Yeah, you’ve said that once or twice today.”
“And I’m sure it won’t be the last.”
After dishing up, I grab the can of whipped cream and accidentally-on-purpose get some on my finger while applying it to my apple pie. The minute I lick it off, Greyston arches an eyebrow at me and brings his left hand under the table and settles it on my thigh—not in an inappropriate way; our parents are seated around us, remember. We’re not animals.
Usually.
He decides to keep his hand on my thigh while we eat, his thumb moving back and forth slowly, and I don’t mind the constant connection to him—even if it invites feelings that I’m going to have to force down until later.
“So, Juliette, what is it you’re studying?” Daniel asks.
I swallow the bite I’d just taken and smile. “Oh, I’d like to get a job in publishing, so right now I’m kind of majoring in a little bit of everything—primarily focusing on English and marketing.”
Daniel seems genuinely impressed, and we continue to talk about my schooling for a bit. Mom and Dad listen to me talk about school and my plans for the future, beaming proudly.
After dessert, we stay out on the patio and continue to get to know each other. It isn’t until my dad notices that it’s already nine o’clock that we decide to call it a night; we’d all been having such a good time that I hadn’t even realized how late it’d gotten.
Greyston and I walk our guests to the door and say goodnight, promising another dinner soon. Once they’ve climbed into their vehicles, Greyston closes the door and sets the alarm, and I head upstairs to change into my pajamas.
I’ve already traded my jeans for a pair of grey shorts, and am just removing my shirt to pull on a blue tank top when there’s a knock on my half-opened door. I turn around to see Greyston’s face through the opening, and I invite him in with a nod. He glances over my almost-naked torso appreciatively before perching himself on the edge of my bed. He pats the spot next to him, and I pull the top on before joining him, folding my right leg up under me.
He places a hand on my bare thigh, and a deep tingle starts in my belly and moves down to settle not too far from where it rests. I want to urge him to shift his hand inward, but I also like the idea of taking things slow. "Greyston," I whisper, my eyes dancing back and forth between his. "We can't." I can't even hear the conviction in my wavering voice, so it doesn't surprise me when his hand travels over and up a little until he's cupping my ass.
He exhales forcefully, his warm breath fanning across my cheek and neck. "I know, but it's just so difficult to keep my hands off of you," he admits, leaning in and pressing his lips to mine. He doesn't let the kiss get out of hand, pulling away just as my lips begin to part.
"So," I say hoarsely, licking my lips. "What should we do for the rest of tonight?"
With a confident smirk, Greyston says, “Why don’t we play a video game?”
"Um, I'm not very good at video games," I confess sheepishly.
Greyston laughs, taking me by the hand and leading me upstairs. "Works for me. I'm tired of losing."
"Oh, good," I tease. "I see we're going to keep this fair."
Greyston opens the door to the game room, and we step inside. I flop down on the leather couch and watch as Greyston opens the cabinet below the wall-mounted TV and starts reciting the names of his video games. I decide on the sports one because Greyston seems the most excited about it.