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As the elevator began its descent, I lean closer to Tommy. "Stick by me tonight. I mean it, even if I have to use the restroom, come with. Got it?"
He agrees, but gets even closer, his lips practically touching my ear, sending a wave of desire through me. “If I'm sticking close, can I... touch?” His gaze drops to my arm, and his finger lightly traces my skin. Everywhere he touches is like tiny explosions of color against my skin.
“I suppose that's acceptable,” I say. But the words sound all sorts of seductive. It’s not my fault, okay? The man is looking like the most delicious kind of snack, and I’m suddenly feeling starved.
His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against him. “Is this okay?”
I barely manage a nod as I lean into his touch. His face is still close enough that I feel his warm breath on my neck. Before I know it, his lips graze the soft skin under my jaw. “And this?” He kisses me gently there. My eyes close involuntarily, and I can’t contain the small whimper that slips out, practically begging for more.
Miranda scoffs loudly. “Please, for the love of God, stop. This is totally skeeving me out.”
“Fuck off, Andy,” I snap, drawing a laugh from Tommy and a fresh scowl from Miranda.
"Oh leave them alone. It's cute," Grayson says and George giggles.
Spinning around, I look at him with wide eyes. "Did Grayson Cardenas just use the word cute?"
George, playing with his father's tie, nods. "Dad, puppies." I have no idea what that means in two-year-old speak so I look to my cousin. "I often tell him the puppy show is cute."
Leaning against Tommy, I sigh. "How the mighty have fallen."
"Mighty?" Grayson asks.
I gesture at him. "Just look at you. All dolled up to match your adorable son and saying things like 'cute puppy show'. It's so…different from what you used to be."
He laughs and rubs his nose on George's cheek. "You mean an asshole that punches first?" I nod. Back in high school, he did hit the one guy I dared to date. At the time, I was livid, but looking back, it was probably good that he scared off Brian Humphries. The teenager boy-band wanna be was a total player.
"I like it," I admit.
Miranda is not as impressed. "You'd like it less if you see what kind of tail being a single dad gets him." All three adults snap to Miranda. She lifts both hands and waves us all off. "Hate the truth, fine. I'd just love to go one day without seeing some bimbo hanging around hoping for a taste."
"Hey now, little ears," Grayson says in a growl. That makes us all chuckle a bit as George obviously has no idea what we're talking about.
As the elevator doors part on the main floor, Miranda darts out, clearly done with being around any of us. I smooth my dress down before I follow behind. Tommy keeps his arm steadfastly around my hip but puts a respectable distance between us. “Ready?”
“I guess,” I say. Not like I have a choice if I'm not. So we walk down the hall, linked together. Maybe he shouldn’t have come, but I am damn glad he’s here.
Chapter fourteen
Tommy
As we enter the ballroom of the resort, I’m struck by its elegance. Burgundy drapes cascade from ceiling to floor next to the expansive windows. Every wall bears the portrait of a man who must be Tilly’s late father, each surrounded by enough flowers to suggest he was either deeply beloved or they are trying to ward off his ghost with sheer petal power.
Outside, the snow-laden forest presents a breathtaking view. The pines, burdened yet majestic under the snow's weight, are gorgeous. There's something magical about snow, the way it transforms the world into a hushed, clean landscape. It’s perfect for building forts for hiding, but maybe not for much else. The cold is something I prefer to observe from the comfort of the indoors. For a while, I was quite the snowboard fiend, but once I discovered surfing, I never looked back. Yes, snow is fun, but it’s also fucking freezing. It can’t hold a candle to white sand beaches, good waves, beers, and bonfires.
Despite the room's grandeur, my focus shifts back to the radiant figure beside me. Tilly's dress hugs her form in a way that leaves little to the imagination, compelling me to fight the urge to let my hand wander down from her waist. That ass under that thin fabric is like water in the desert. I’ll be fighting a hard-on all night if I don’t find something else to stare at. The material is practically painted on her, accentuating every curve with tantalizing precision. She can’t possibly be wearing underwear. God, that’s hot. I suddenly feel the need to splash a drink on my own face just to cool down.
The soft strains of jazz fill the air, setting a refined backdrop to the assembly of elegantly dressed guests. Yet, among the sea of tuxedos and gowns, Tilly and her sister stand out unmatched.
Now that I know she has a twin, I can see the difference. There will be no more mistaking one for the other. The two are as opposite in demeanor as a cactus and a fluffy blanket. Where Tilly is as comforting as an old sweater, Miranda has the welcoming vibe of a cactus in a hug contest. Even in the way they stand. Tilly’s posture is relaxed, inviting even. Miranda looks stiff and ready to hit anyone that comes within arm’s length.
An older man stops Miranda and she kisses his cheek. “Uncle Harold, so nice to see you,” she says and even I can tell she’s not as happy as her words suggest.
But the man only has his eyes on Tilly. “Matilda? You’re here!” he says, reaching forward. Tilly pecks his cheek exactly as Miranda did, but there’s a furrow in her brow. Whoever this guy is, Tilly does not want to be touching him.
“Miranda said she needed me and I’m not a complete monster,” she says with a wink.
Harold laughs at her words and tries to pull her into a hug. Is that his hand on her ass? Uh, dude, you’re an uncle. I don’t care how old he is, not cool, man. Sliding my hand under his, I pull her close. Uncle Pervert gives me a quick glare, his cheeks a little red. “I see you’re just as wild as ever, Matilda.”
