Page 6 of The Naughty List

He wasn’t adjusting or anything. He literally touched my leg on purpose with the intent to make me feel it, to feel him.

I grab the glass of ice water on the table and take a quick drink.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, turning his head toward me slightly.

I nod without saying a word.

Then he slides his knuckles slowly up my thigh until they are as high as they will go without anyone noticing, not that anyone is looking at us. They're all so deep in conversation, and my mother is so taken by her new man that she’s not showing me an ounce of attention.

We won’t do anything here, we can’t. It’s too close to others, and it would be far too obvious, so I know what he’s doing is distracting me. He’s toying with me, playing a cruel game that makes me want to drag him to the bathroom and have my way with him.

He turns to look at me, and I glance up into his eyes for a split second. I want to get lost in his stare.

“Audrey is going to be a great lawyer. She sure knows how to argue,” my mother says to Roger, and I look up when I catch my name. She sends me a quick wink like that was somehow funny.

“Yeah, your mom’s been telling me that you are going to Northwestern for Pre-law. That’s very impressive.”

I nod obediently, but inside I’m shutting down. I’ll just ignore it for now. I don't care what they think.

“Actually, have you seen Audrey’s drawings? She’s a very talented artist.” Grant’s voice seems to hush the whole table, and my mother looks almost offended as I watch her chew on her inner lip.

“Well, that is a great hobby to have,” she says flatly toward Grant.

“Sure, but with her talent it could be much more than a hobby,” he says, his fingers are touching my leg under the table again. I nearly melt.

My mother laughs, and it shreds a small piece of my soul. Rather than let it break me down, I push my fingers into Grant’s hand under the table. He responds by quickly squeezing them, and the connection is so strong, I can hardly breathe. We’re not looking at each other or even speaking, but right now I feel closer to him than I’ve ever felt to anyone.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Without taking his hand from mine, he replies, “You’re welcome.”

Grant

What am I doing?

What the fuck am I doing?

All rational thought has left the building. I don’t even care how old she is or that she’s almost, kind of family. When I saw Audrey walk out of that bathroom looking hotter than any woman I’ve ever laid eyes on before, I knew I was in trouble.

Then she pulled that shit in the truck.

I was perfectly fine knowing that I had a crush on her as long as she continued to look at me as some old guy and had absolutely no interest in me. It would have been way easier that way. But then she burst that theory wide open when she acknowledged this chemistry between us and how I probably shouldn’t be telling her how beautiful she is, but doing it anyway. And then she looked at me with those please fuck me eyes in the truck, and I was done. The only one getting fucked here is me because if I lay one hand on that girl, my brother is going to have my ass.

And here I am, at the table, sitting right across from him with my hand against her leg and her fingers in mine. In my defense, I could feel the hurt radiating off of her with the way her mother was treating her. Dismissing her art as a useless hobby, talking about her in the third person like she’s not right here. I wanted to pull Audrey away from this table and take her far away.

Does Mel not see how brilliant her daughter is? Does she not see that while other girls her age are petty, flippant, and immature, Audrey is bright, confident, and brilliant. I just wish she wouldn’t hold back when she wants to say something. Twice today I’ve caught her holding her tongue.

When the food comes out, we have to pull our hands away from each other, and I instantly hate it. Holding her hand was an instant bond between us. Now it just feels cold. While we eat, everyone carries on with normal conversation that Audrey and I barely participate in.

“So, Grant, tell us about your resort,” one of Audrey’s brothers says over his glass of red wine. I was the only guy at the table to order a beer, but hey, it was on the menu, and I’m sure as hell not drinking merlot.

“Well, resort is a fancy word. It’s a dozen small cabins on the lake. We rent them out to mostly fishermen in the summertime.”

“We?” Audrey says, trying to look nonchalant.

“Well…just me really. I hire a few people to help when it gets busy.”

“Sounds fun,” she replies, and suddenly it feels like we’re the only two people in the room. One of her brothers is going on and on about a boat he owns, but I’m not paying attention.