Getting Played - Emma Chase Page 0,60

shot, things between Dean and me are amazing. Better than amazing—more than I’d ever let myself dream. After having Jason, being with Dean is the second best decision I’ve ever made. My body certainly thinks so, since he’s kept her thoroughly, exhaustedly satisfied. And as corny as it sounds—my heart thinks so too.

Dean and Grams come with me and Jason to my parents on Christmas Day. I look at it like the final boss battle in a video game, or the last obstacle on American Gladiators. If my whole family in one small house doesn’t send Dean running for the hills, I can start getting used to the idea that maybe nothing will.

They converge on us in the foyer—taking our coats, enveloping us in hugs and kissing our cheeks. Jason gets swallowed up in a sea of my nieces and nephew.

“Lainey!” My sister Linda squawks, looking at Dean. “You didn’t tell me he was hot! He’s like a life-size Ken doll!” Her gaze drops appraisingly to his crotch. “An anatomically blessed Ken doll.”

Oh boy.

I wedge myself between them. “Yes, Linda, he’s hot.”

“I like this sister,” Dean says, his lips close to my ear, making me shiver. “She seems like the smart one.”

“I’m the gay one,” Linda volunteers with a wink. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a fine-looking specimen such as yourself.” She lifts her glass of my mother’s homemade eggnog. “Cheers!”

Next, Judith approaches. “That’s what you two should’ve been for Halloween—Baby Daddy Ken and knocked-up Barbie.” Judith snaps her fingers. “Missed opportunity for a great costume.”

“I’ll make a note for next year.”

Judith shakes Dean’s hand, her eyes reserved and slightly judgmental.

Brooke steps forward and introduces her brood—perfectly polite as always.

Then Erin appears, bracing her shoulder against the doorway and waving standoffishly. “Good to see you again, drummer-guy.”

Dean nods—calm, cool, and devastatingly sexy.

“Nice to see you too, Erin.”

My mother gives Dean a hug—the only member of my family to accept him fully, right off the bat—unless he gives her a reason not to. It’s just how she is.

Unlike my dad.

He introduces himself to Grams, being all old-school sweet and Jimmy Stewart charming. My mom leads Grams into the kitchen, asking if she wants a glass of sherry.

Grams replies, “That would be lovely, Desiree. I always like to get drunk on Christmas.”

Then Dean introduces himself to my father, holding out his hand and delivering the perfect “meeting the parents for the first time” greeting.

“Mr. Burrows, sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

And my dad looks at his hand the same way he looked at the stinkbug infestation he found last year in an antique hatbox I had stored in the basement.

“Is this the guy?” he asks, turning to me.

“Yes, Dad, this is Dean—he just told you that. Be nice please.”

My dad kisses my cheek and pats my head, and chooses to completely ignore my new boyfriend. “How are you feeling, pumpkin?”

“I’m good.” I rub my belly. “We’re both good.”

“I’m glad.”

Then he rakes his gaze over Dean one last time. And a “hmph” is all he gives, before he walks away.

I stroke my hand down Dean’s arm. “Don’t mind him. He’s just mad that you had sex with me.”

“Okay, great.” Dean smacks his lips together. “Gonna be a fun day.”

Jack walks into the foyer and taps Dean’s back. This time, when Dean holds out his hand, it gets shaken.

“Jack, right?” Dean greets. “Good to see you again.”

“Same, dude. Congrats on the baby—hit the bullseye on the first night, huh?”

“I always had good aim.”

Jack greets me with a kiss on the cheek, then says to Dean, “And don’t worry about the old man—he’s hated me for years too—on account of me and Erin living in sin and everything. But now you’re here, so at least my life is about to get easier. Welcome to the Burrows jungle. Want a beer?”

~ ~ ~

My mom makes roast beef for dinner and we all eat together in the long, extended table in the dining room. Jay doesn’t complain, but I can tell he’s bummed that once again he’s relegated to the kiddie table in the basement—and I promise him this will be the last year. After dessert, we all squeeze into the living room to open presents.

My sisters seem happy with their gifts—mosaic glass picture frames and knit hats. And I get some great maternity clothes and a few baby items—a memory book and an antique rocking horse for the nursery, and a bib that says, “My mom is hotter than your mom.”

While the room