Cheesy on the Eyes by Teagan Hunter Page 0,37
water with Sully doesn’t scare me.
“Thea?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you going to touch my hair forever?”
“I wish I could.”
The truth slips out easily, and it takes a moment for me to register what I just said to him.
“We’re gonna be late.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat, releasing the strands from my fingers and sitting back. “Right. Let’s go, then.”
We climb out of the car, meeting around the front.
My nerves start to make an appearance, and I blow out a steadying breath.
“You ready?” Sully asks, standing so close I can feel his heat spreading over me.
Another deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”
I don’t know who reaches for the other first, but our fingers entwine like they’re old friends.
Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
“Come on, Thea. Just let me have a cookie. It’s for Frankie.”
“Stop trying to use your pregnant fiancée as an excuse to eat all my cookies. I know they’re for you.” I look him up and down. “Besides, I thought you had a tux to fit into?”
“Wow. Wow. That’s the card you want to play? Is this because you’re still pissed at me for bailing on our movie the other night? Because that was one hundred percent Frankie’s fault.”
I’m not mad at him, but that hasn’t stopped me from pretending to be to get my way over the last few days.
My phone pinged with a text from Jonas just as Sully and I walked through the theater doors. Turned out even the thought of movie theater popcorn was triggering Frankie’s morning sickness, and they weren’t coming.
We decided that since we’d driven all that way, we were going to see something.
It was easily the most intense movie-watching experience I’ve had since Peter Barlet had his parents drive us to the theater in eighth grade and he touched my boobs.
Sully and I shared a popcorn, and every time our hands brushed in the bucket, I swear they lingered a little longer. After he lifted the armrest, claiming it was more comfortable that way, I knew he was lying when he ended up plastered to my side. And when he slung his arm around my shoulders during the second half of the movie, I was glad I’d thought ahead to dress for cooler weather because I was sweating up a storm under his touch.
The thing that got my heart racing the most: there was nobody he was putting on a show for. His actions weren’t motivated by anything. It was just…him.
When I dropped him back at his boat, he hesitated in the car.
“You can’t sleep in here, you know,” I tease.
“I doubt there’s room for two in the back anyway.”
“Two? Why, Sullivan, are you asking me to sleep with you?”
He leans across into my space, getting so close I’m almost certain he can hear my heart hammering in my chest.
I hold my breath because all it would take is an inch for his lips to be on me, and I wouldn't mind one bit if he closed the gap.
“I told you, Thea…you’ll be the one begging.”
Then he was gone.
My heart hasn’t calmed down since.
“Well, technically you’re the one who got me pregnant, so…” Frankie trails off, reaching for a cookie.
I smack her hand away. “No!”
“Come on, Thea. I’m carrying your future favorite niece or nephew. Just one cookie?”
“But they’re precious,” I say, looking affectionately at my box of Daisy’s baked goods. “I can’t just go giving them all away.”
“You bought two dozen. Two! You can’t let your favorite brother have just one?”
“No.”
“But you admit that I’m your favorite?”
“You’re my only brother, moron.”
“That you know of,” my mother says, sliding into the kitchen and snatching a cookie. She takes a huge bite, moaning just to tease Jonas. “Wow. That is so good.”
“What the hell? You didn’t even try to stop her!” he complains.
“Dude, she pushed me out of her vagina—without drugs. Pretty sure she can do whatever she damn well pleases.”
“Yeah, Jonas. I pushed her out of my—”
“Uh-uh. No way!” Jonas shushes her, shaking his head vigorously, face contorted in disgust. “You are not allowed to talk about your vagina. That goes against rule number one of mother-son conversations. No vagina talk, even if it’s a birth story. It’s gross.”
“Oh, please. I’m sure you idiots talk about way grosser things in the locker room,” I say.
“That’s true,” Frankie agrees. “I’ve heard the stories you come home with.”
“Some of those dudes, man… If the tabloids got wind of their extracurricular activities…” He shudders.
“You’re not inviting any of those weirdos to the wedding, are you?”
“Of course