We didn’t even bother to take everything over to the couch and futon, we just stood around and piled our plates high, stuffing our faces until we’d had enough and we had to sit down.
“I don’t think I can move,” Will said, putting his hands on his stomach.
“Ditto,” Lottie said, her head lolling on Zan’s shoulder.
“Who knew pancakes and pizza made such a good combination?” Simon said. Brady raised his hand.
“I did.”
“Sure you did,” Simon said, honking his nose.
Stryker had found a pen and was busy drawing something on my arm as I sat in his lap. He wouldn’t let me look at it until it was done, so I was just watching everyone else as they debated about the best Thanksgiving side dishes.
I’d told my parents I was bringing a guy home, but I hadn’t told them much more than that. Trish had accused me of being ashamed of Stryker, but it wasn’t true. I knew if I went into too much detail, they’d either tell me that he couldn’t come, or read too much into our relationship.
Yes, I liked him. I could no longer deny that. Yes, I enjoyed spending time with him and yes, that included having sex with him.
No, I did not want him to be my boyfriend. Things were fine the way they were, and besides, we weren’t headed for commitment. Boyfriend came before fiancé came before husband. I wasn’t going to marry Stryker, so why even go down that road?
“You can look now,” he said, holding up my arm. He’d drawn a silhouette of my face with a frame around it, like a picture. “What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful.” I turned my arm to see it better. “Now I’ve got ink, too.”
“Would you ever get a tattoo?”
“I’ve thought about it, but I could never decide what I wanted.”
“They say you should sit on a tattoo idea for two years before you get it.”
“Is that what you do?”
“Not exactly, but it’s a good idea. At least for your first one.”
“If I make up my mind, I’ll let you know and you can go with me. Deal?” I held up my hand and he shook it.
“Deal.” He capped the pen. “So I was thinking I should bring something.”
“You don’t have to do that, I swear.”
“Still, it is a tradition in polite society to bring the hostess gift at least.”
“Well, I have the green bean casserole covered, and Mom always does potatoes, squash and sweet potatoes.”
“How about a baked brie?”
“A what?” I’d never heard of such a thing.
“It’s cheese baked in a crust with jam. It’s delicious. I swear, you’ll love it.”
“Brie? The boy with the banjo, tattoos and lip ring eats brie?” He leaned in and snuffled my neck, making me giggle.
“Shhh, that’s the third rule of cooking: Don’t speak of the brie,” he whispered in my ear before biting my earlobe.
“Okay, I won’t speak of it.” I slid my hand down and squeezed his dick once when no one was looking. He made a little sound of surprise and shifted under me.
“Dirty. You play dirty, sweetheart.”
***
Mom was in full panic mode when I got home on Wednesday night, and I could hear her fighting with Dad all the way from the front door. They’d put the turkey flag outside and I knew the house was going to be dripping in leaf cutouts and various other Thanksgiving memorabilia. My mother had an entire room in the house reserved for her various holiday decorations.
“Gina, you need to calm down. You do this every year and it always turns out fine,” Dad said in a soothing voice. “Hey, Katiebug!” His face broke into a smile.
“Hi, Dad.” I set my bags down in the doorway and headed into the warzone, otherwise known as the kitchen. The table was set with the maple leaf placemats and a Yankee Candle store’s worth of spice-scented candles were burning. And, of course, Mom had her traditional rust-colored turtleneck on. Dad leaned down from his towering height to give me a hug.
“How is she?” I whispered.
“I’ve hidden the coffee so she won’t get crazy on caffeine. So far we haven’t hit panic mode,” Dad whispered back before letting me go.
“Hey, Mom. Do you need any help?” The counter was covered in cans and bags of flour and cooking spray and spices galore. Stryker would have been horrified at their disorganization.
I’d said good-bye to him this morning and I was already itching to text him. I’d put my phone in my glove box so I