table.
“Drew! I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.” My words come out pretty clear, considering how much wine Rory made me drink. On a scale of one to ten on the slurr-o-meter, I’d say I’m at a three.
He grabs a chair from a nearby table and joins us without being invited. His sexy brown eyes are on me the whole time, which is good, because now Rory is pinned in the corner, and if Drew focused his magnificent, magnetic, majestic attention directly at her, Rory’s head would pop right off like a Barbie doll head and roll away.
“You mean you didn’t recognize me without my suit,” Drew says, his perfectly kissable lips curled back in a grin. “A man is not his suit, Meenie.”
He starts to turn toward Rory to introduce himself. I let out a tiny shriek and grab his shoulder to pull him toward me. I whisper in his ear, “My friend is very shy, so do me a solid and dial your sex magic down about three notches, will ya?”
He gives me an amused look, then shuffles his chair closer to mine, to give her space. Without looking directly at Rory, he says, “Sorry to barge in on your meal.”
I introduce them. “Rory, this is Drew. I met him at the community center.” I give her two winks, to let her know that by community center , I mean my self-help group. “I’ll get rid of him, if you want.”
Rory’s body language is stiff, but she doesn’t seem too horrified. “Don’t be silly. Of course your friend can join us.” Her voice is pitched high and thin, like she’s making an effort, but it’s okay. Rory isn’t afraid of men, just intimacy stuff.
That means this situation is okay, because Drew and I are just friends. His knee is touching mine. We’re just friends. He gets more relaxed in his chair, waves for the waitress to bring another bottle of wine, and then his hand moves down from the air to land on my knee. We’re just friends. But his hand is on my knee.
I give Rory a wide-eyed look, but she’s not even paying attention to me. Drew is telling her about the guys he’s here playing pool with. They used to be on a rugby team together, back in college, and they still get together sometimes for a few drinks. Now Rory’s asking him about rugby, and is it as violent as it seems on TV? Now he’s telling her about men’s bodies slamming together. I would expect her to run screaming any second, but she seems to be enjoying every word he’s saying.
Meanwhile, his big, masculine palm remains on my knee. The heat is radiating into me, making my whole body warm and tingly. The waitress brings a fresh bottle and pours me some much-needed refreshment.
Drew’s hand doesn’t stray from my leg. It doesn’t move up, or down. His hand reminds me of those orange traffic cones people put in parking spots to reserve them for later. This is mine. Find another parking spot, because I’ve claimed this one, and I’m going to do exciting, adventurous, intimate things in this parking spot. Not now, but later, under the cover of night.
Rory says, “What do you think, Meenie?”
“About what?” I think my nipples are turning into orange parking spot cones, but you don’t want to hear about that, Rory.
She laughs, seemingly even more comfortable with this situation than I am. “What’s more manly, guys slamming into each other on a rugby field, or grunting over each other in a wrestling ring?” She looks over at Drew and explains, “Meenie was on the wrestling team in high school.”
He gives my knee a delightful squeeze, the kind of squeeze that sends pure delight through my muscles and veins and bones.
Chuckling, he says, “Why am I not surprised? Did you trash talk the other guys about their lack of balls? Did you hold the guys down until they cried?”
“I only wrestled girls.” Well, that’s not entirely true. “Officially.” I take a sip of refreshing wine, since my glass is too full and in danger of spilling.
“Meenie, go easy on that,” Rory says, looking at the bottle
“Drew! I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.” My words come out pretty clear, considering how much wine Rory made me drink. On a scale of one to ten on the slurr-o-meter, I’d say I’m at a three.
He grabs a chair from a nearby table and joins us without being invited. His sexy brown eyes are on me the whole time, which is good, because now Rory is pinned in the corner, and if Drew focused his magnificent, magnetic, majestic attention directly at her, Rory’s head would pop right off like a Barbie doll head and roll away.
“You mean you didn’t recognize me without my suit,” Drew says, his perfectly kissable lips curled back in a grin. “A man is not his suit, Meenie.”
He starts to turn toward Rory to introduce himself. I let out a tiny shriek and grab his shoulder to pull him toward me. I whisper in his ear, “My friend is very shy, so do me a solid and dial your sex magic down about three notches, will ya?”
He gives me an amused look, then shuffles his chair closer to mine, to give her space. Without looking directly at Rory, he says, “Sorry to barge in on your meal.”
I introduce them. “Rory, this is Drew. I met him at the community center.” I give her two winks, to let her know that by community center , I mean my self-help group. “I’ll get rid of him, if you want.”
Rory’s body language is stiff, but she doesn’t seem too horrified. “Don’t be silly. Of course your friend can join us.” Her voice is pitched high and thin, like she’s making an effort, but it’s okay. Rory isn’t afraid of men, just intimacy stuff.
That means this situation is okay, because Drew and I are just friends. His knee is touching mine. We’re just friends. He gets more relaxed in his chair, waves for the waitress to bring another bottle of wine, and then his hand moves down from the air to land on my knee. We’re just friends. But his hand is on my knee.
I give Rory a wide-eyed look, but she’s not even paying attention to me. Drew is telling her about the guys he’s here playing pool with. They used to be on a rugby team together, back in college, and they still get together sometimes for a few drinks. Now Rory’s asking him about rugby, and is it as violent as it seems on TV? Now he’s telling her about men’s bodies slamming together. I would expect her to run screaming any second, but she seems to be enjoying every word he’s saying.
Meanwhile, his big, masculine palm remains on my knee. The heat is radiating into me, making my whole body warm and tingly. The waitress brings a fresh bottle and pours me some much-needed refreshment.
Drew’s hand doesn’t stray from my leg. It doesn’t move up, or down. His hand reminds me of those orange traffic cones people put in parking spots to reserve them for later. This is mine. Find another parking spot, because I’ve claimed this one, and I’m going to do exciting, adventurous, intimate things in this parking spot. Not now, but later, under the cover of night.
Rory says, “What do you think, Meenie?”
“About what?” I think my nipples are turning into orange parking spot cones, but you don’t want to hear about that, Rory.
She laughs, seemingly even more comfortable with this situation than I am. “What’s more manly, guys slamming into each other on a rugby field, or grunting over each other in a wrestling ring?” She looks over at Drew and explains, “Meenie was on the wrestling team in high school.”
He gives my knee a delightful squeeze, the kind of squeeze that sends pure delight through my muscles and veins and bones.
Chuckling, he says, “Why am I not surprised? Did you trash talk the other guys about their lack of balls? Did you hold the guys down until they cried?”
“I only wrestled girls.” Well, that’s not entirely true. “Officially.” I take a sip of refreshing wine, since my glass is too full and in danger of spilling.
“Meenie, go easy on that,” Rory says, looking at the bottle
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