Huxley helps me stand and places his arm over my shoulder, keeping me close to him. “I’m not sure we were expecting things to be so volatile,” Huxley says with humor in his voice.
Dave chuckles. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a string of unfortunate events before.” He smirks. “And congrats on the swear words. Quite impressive, Lottie.”
I feel my face heat up with embarrassment. I was so thrown off by Judith that I completely forgot about all decorum and the purpose of being in the damn class to begin with—to impress Dave. I really hope I didn’t just screw things up for Huxley. This deal that seems to have been dragged on forever.
“Sorry about that.” I wince. “I think I was so overcome by the smell that I lost all ability to act like a normal human.”
“No need to apologize,” Dave says. “I’m not sure I would’ve been able to hold it together if the same thing happened to me.”
“I wouldn’t have been able to,” Ellie says, resting her hand on her belly. “I’m starving. Would you guys care to join us for some dinner?”
“That would be great,” I answer for the both of us before Huxley can come up with an excuse. I think I owe it to him to give this outing one more shot.
“Wonderful,” Ellie says. “Right around the block, there’s a quaint sandwich shop I’m obsessed with. Does that sound good?”
I nod. “Lead the way.”
Dave and Ellie take off, but Huxley holds me back a few steps. Whispering into my ear, he says, “You don’t have to do this. I know you probably want to get home.” And shower. Yes, God, yes. But . . .
“I owe it to you,” I answer.
His lips run over my ear, sending chills down my arm. “You owe me nothing. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
I link my fingers with his, twining them together. “I promise, I’m okay. Let’s see if we can make a dent in this deal.” I wink and let him draw me in closer as we trail behind Ellie and Dave. He leans away suddenly and clears his throat.
“Is something wrong?”
“Yeah, um . . . I don’t think you got all the baby vomit out of your hair.”
Oh fuck.
“Don’t you just love a meaty sandwich?” Ellie asks, taking a ravenous bite of her Philly cheesesteak sandwich. Cheese drips off her chin as she smiles and chews.
Dear God.
“I love all the meat in my mouth,” I answer, causing Huxley to snort next to me. Huh, I guess that didn’t sound quite right.
“So sad that you opted for the soup. You could’ve really chowed down on this cheesesteak.”
I got the chicken noodle soup because, frankly, I had no idea what a pregnant lady could eat, and since Ellie and Dave insisted on us ordering first, I went with something neutral. Trust me, that cheesesteak looks phenomenal.
“Not sad at all,” I answer, scooping up a spoonful of the boring broth. “Love me a good soup.” I shovel the spoon into my mouth and pretend to enjoy the lackluster meal.
“Is that so?” Dave asks. “Are you a big souper?”
“She’s obsessed with soup,” Huxley steps in to say. He’s been done with his sandwich for a bit now, having opted for something small with a side salad. His arm is draped over my chair and he’s been casually twirling my hair with his finger. “Remember that barley soup you made for us that one night?”
Uhhh . . . no.
And frankly, soup is ehhh. I’m not much of a heated-liquid person. I prefer a hearty sandwich, so where is he going with this?
“Oh, yeah, the barley soup,” I answer.
“You used a whole jar of dried barley.” Huxley laughs and turns to Dave and Ellie. “I tried to be the doting fiancé and eat it, but it wasn’t swallowable.”
“Oh, I’ve had my fair share of unswallowable things,” Ellie says, looking at Dave with a certain glint in her eye. Good . . . God!
Dave raises his hand apologetically. “Not the best cook . . . in any aspect.”
Is it just me or are these two throwing down sexual innuendos?
If they are . . . gross!
“And then there was the beef and potato stew you made,” Huxley continues, being Mr. Chatty today. “Now, that was good.”
Since we’re throwing out sexual innuendos . . .
“Because I’m great at handling meat.”
Huxley’s eyes fix on mine. “You’re very good at it.”
We stare at each other, smiles playing on our lips. Is he thinking about last night? Because I am. I’m thinking about how I spent a good ten minutes handling his meat while he writhed beneath me, begging for release.