“Poor girl . . .” He brushes his fingers over my breasts, caressing my nipples through my blouse.
I ease out of his lap.
He grunts. “What are you doing?”
I unbutton my shirt and toss it off, exposing my black velvet bra. I unzip my skirt and kick it off. My shoes fell off earlier when he picked me up.
His chest rises as he watches me. “Is this a sex game? We only have about fifteen minutes before everyone gets here . . .”
“This won’t take long.” I sashay back, sit on top of him, and swivel my hips. “Would you like a lap dance, sir?”
“How much?”
He catches on quick.
“Twenty for the dance, fifty for a blowie, a hundred if you want to fuck, sir.”
“I have two hundred bucks in my wallet. Also, can you always call me sir?” He runs his nose up my neck, breathing deep.
My hips rub slow circles against the bulge in his slacks. “Sir, two hundred gets you dinner later. Definitely a walk with my cat,” I say as he unsnaps my bra, then throws it over his head.
A minute later, his pants are off and he’s thrusting inside me.
My hands tangle in his hair as emotion ripples over me. “I love you,” I gasp out.
He presses his forehead against mine. “My beauty. We’re gonna have the world.”
Chapter 29
RONAN
“You need more butter, Tuck. Southern women use a lot of butter, dear. It’s why those city girls are so skinny. They don’t get enough fat in their diet,” Lois explains as he stirs potatoes in a big bowl. He’s wearing one of Nova’s aprons, just like I am. His has pumpkins on it; mine has squirrels eating acorns.
Lois then goes into a spiel about how he needs to work on his running game.
It’s Thanksgiving at Nova’s. I’ve already called my mom and sisters and checked in with them. Hopefully, I’ll see them after we’ve finished the playoff games for state.
Nova stops chopping celery to peer inside Tuck’s bowl. She sticks her finger inside, then puts it in her mouth. She holds back a gag. “Did you put milk in it? No wonder it’s hard to stir!”
Tuck flashes a grin, then jogs to the fridge and grabs the milk. “Oops. Guess I should read this recipe better.”
Nova puts her hands on her hips. “Don’t be a slacker, Tuck.”
“Where’s that jelly recipe?” Lois asks as she flips the pages of the sacred cookbook.
Nova scoffs and curls her lips. “I took it out and locked it up, Lois. I’ll be making Mama’s jelly this year for the fair.”
Lois hisses. “You wouldn’t.”
Nova grins. “I might.”
Sabine comes in from the den, a serious expression on her face as she contemplates Tuck’s form in the art of mashing potatoes. She walks around him carefully. “I thought NFL players were strong. The potatoes are chunky. I like my potatoes smooth.” She looks at Nova. “What’s wrong with him? Why isn’t he using the mixer?”
“There’s a mixer?” Tuck stops and exclaims, panting slightly. He wipes his face, and a piece of potato plops on the floor. “Don’t tell me I’ve done all this for nothing!”
Lois elbows him. “The mixer is broken.”
Nova stifles a laugh. “Right.”
Bonnie giggles as she makes a chocolate pie.
Tuck cocks a hip. “Oh, I get it—be mean to the new guy. Y’all are pulling one over on me, and here I was thinking Texas women were sweet. Didn’t I help Ronan deep-fry the turkey? Didn’t I stay up all night worried about what you guys would think of me? Okay, that really didn’t happen, but for real . . . where’s this mixer at?”
“I think they just wanted to see how you moved, Tuck.” Toby chuckles from the table, where he’s been put in charge of making squash casserole. He’s taking it seriously, carefully slicing the squash, kind of like me as I break apart corn bread in a pan for the dressing.
Nova wraps a boa around Tuck’s neck, as an apology, maybe, then hands him a mixer she grabbed from the pantry. “Have you ever handled one of these?”
“Never,” he says seriously. “But I love toys. How fast does it go, and can I have fun with it?”
She gives him her teacher look. “Start on low, and work your way up to blend. And don’t get potatoes on my walls.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says as he fluffs his boa. “Tuck’s famous mashed potatoes coming up!”
I laugh under my breath. Two peas in a pod, they are, and they haven’t shut up since he showed up last night at my house. First, he wanted a minute-by-minute recounting of the night she’d burst into my birthday party; then she wanted a detailed list of every model I’d ever dated. I’m pretty sure she took notes.