A Toast to the Good Times - By Liz Reinhardt Page 0,40

started stringing popcorn. She put the bowl right in Henry’s lap, so Mila has no choice but to sit on the couch with me.

And my mom.

Mom hands us needles and we put the movie in.

Mila’s little fingers are nimble. Maybe she really is an elf. She strings popcorn and smiles when my mom starts laughing hysterically over Randy eating like a piggy.

Once in a while we snag eyes, but she looks away more quickly than I want her to. I thought this would be romantic. I thought this would be me and her.

But it’s like I have to share her with everyone in my family.

It’s bizarre how she’s wormed her way into their hearts so quickly, but, I realize, that’s so Mila. She’s just a lover. People meet her and fall head over heels in love.

Well, smart people do.

Idiots live in the same apartment with her for months on end and never try to make a move until after they almost fuck everything up for good.

I want to be alone with her. I need to be. Now.

I want to talk to her and have her look at me the way Mila always does, like I’m smart and fun and worth being around. I want her, and I really don’t feel like sharing.

Which is ironic, because, in the last few months, I’ve had countless opportunities to be with her alone, and I blew every one of them every time. And when I finally got her as close as I wanted, I stopped things and ran away.

I left her. And now I want her all to myself.

I’m an asshole. On so many levels.

“What are you brooding about?” Mila whispers as Ralphie beats the piss out of Skut Farkus.

“I’m not brooding,” I mutter.

She moves on the couch so she’s just a little closer to me. I can smell her shampoo. How is it that I spent months using her shampoo and never thought about getting her naked in the shower? Because that’s pretty much the one thought running through my head right now.

“You are brooding. Stop.” Her voice is so quiet I almost can’t hear it over the sound of Ralphie’s wailing.

“Stop snuggling up to my asshole brother,” I snap back, low and close to her ear.

She turns beet red and presses her lips together before she stands up. Everyone looks at her, blinking in the dim light of the living room.

“Excuse me. I need to, um, use the bathroom,” she says.

“It’s right down the ha—”

I cut Paisley off with an over-eager, “I’ll show her.”

I leap up and lead her down the stairs, past the guest bathroom that’s hidden from my nosey family’s view and into the room that’s been converted a million times and is currently my mother’s craft room. The only light is from the hallway, and I have to move knitting needles and rolls of yarn out of the way so I can push Mila back into the dark and wrap her in my arms.

She smells amazing. I bury my face in that perfect place at the crook of her neck, the lavender in her hair and the soft vanilla of her skin giving me an unbelievable hard on. I suck softly on that skin, along her shoulder, nosing her shirt to the side and reaching up the length of her long back under her shirt to unsnap her bra.

“Landry, no, we can’t—ooh, mmm.” She tilts her head back like she’s asking me to lick along the line of her neck. I squeeze her hip with one hand and enjoy the taste of her on my tongue.

“It’s okay. My family can’t hear us.” I manage to get the clasp of her bra undone and follow the loose line of the fabric, dipping my hands under the cups of her bra to the soft swell of her tits. I rub my thumb over her nipple and love the way she bites down hard on her bottom lip.

She rocks her hips and I slide my hand down, pressing between her thighs, ready to flip the button on her jeans and pull the zipper down. The thought of her, naked, or at least half-naked, makes all logical thoughts blur and warp in my brain.

“Landry, it isn’t your family. I mean, I don’t want them to hear us, but it’s...oh, oh yeah. Do that. More of that.” She has her hand fisted in my hair and is dragging my head down, past the bunched-up fabric of her shirt to those incredibly soft, sweet tits.