Torture.
The universe clearly had it out for Griff Ambrose. A room full of beautiful women, all of whom were completely off limits. And, as if it weren’t bad enough to be the only bachelor at a dinner party with his happily attached friends, Becca Drake had just walked in. She wasn’t dating anyone as far as Griff knew, but she was a firm no-go all the same.
Their hostess, Alia, jumped up from the dining room table to greet her sister with a big hug. “Becca! What the hell are you doing here? I thought you had a date tonight.”
Becca waved a hand airily. “Didn’t happen. And then I saw on Facebook that you guys were doing Indian tonight, so I booked it down here.”
“You drove almost five hours to have Indian?”
“I drove almost five hours to see some of my favorite people in the world,” Becca corrected.
Griff’s other friends leapt in, telling Becca how glad they were to see her, and how she had to have some of the amazing chicken. Becca greeted them all with smiles and big hugs, but she wasn’t fooling Griff with the “no biggie” hand wave or the claim that she’d made the drive just to see them. She was bummed about the date that had fallen through. What was that all about?
Becca was twenty-four and had been single for as long as Griff had known her, which made no sense, because reasons.
Guys should be falling all over themselves to date her. She was tall with pale blond hair, big blue eyes, and a sweet, wide smile. Also, she had big, perky tits, a curvy ass, and a Betty Boop–tiny waist. Despite the screaming sexiness of the package, she gave off a young, fresh, innocent vibe that slayed him.
Of course, that was also the reason he wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. He had a weakness for that type, and he knew from past, painful experience where that road led. Not that he ever planned to venture into serious relationship territory again, but if he did, it would be with someone well-seasoned.
Besides, Becca was Alia’s little sister, and Alia was married to Griff’s best friend. Nate and Alia were extra protective of Becca because she’d been hurt badly before.
If that wasn’t a flashing neon warning sign, he didn’t know what was.
As the greetings concluded, everyone returned to the dinner table. Griff had stood up when everyone else did—it would have been rude not to—but he hadn’t rushed in for the hug. For, well, reasons.
“Hey, Griff. Good to see you.”
“You, too, Bex.”
As they embraced, Griff kept himself at a respectful distance and did his best to ignore the softness of her breasts and the way her hair smelled.
Nate dragged an extra chair into the dining room and set a plate and silverware in front of Becca.
“Hit me,” Becca said, extending her plate.
Alia filled Becca’s plate to heaping with chicken tikka masala and rice. That was something else Griff appreciated about Becca: her willingness to eat. Eat-eat, not just a few nibbles here and there like she didn’t need food to sustain her.
“A beer wouldn’t go to waste, either,” Becca said, eyeing Griff’s with enough lust that he wrapped his fingers around his glass protectively. That made Becca laugh.
Nate went to the kitchen and came back with a frosted mug, which he set in front of Becca. She took a good slug, then licked her lips. A tiny speck of foam remained on her upper lip, and Griff contemplated all the ways he’d like to remove it.
Clearly, if he was paying this much attention to a woman he’d already crossed off the list, he needed to get his head in a different place. It had definitely been a while since he’d gotten laid—shit, a couple of months, maybe?—which was probably why he was such a horndog tonight. He would drive into town after everyone else went to bed, spend a couple of hours drinking and flirting, and blow off some steam afterward.
For now, though, he intended to get every last drop of pleasure out of the meal in front of him. He considered himself a simple man. Give him a plate full of home-cooked food, a decent beer, and plenty of good friends and conversation, and he’d call an evening a success.
“More bread?” Alia asked. She had her infant son, Robbie, neatly bound to her front in one of those cotton knit wrap things, and she cupped his head as she leaned over to pass Griff the basket.
“Hell yes.” Griff took another piece of the tender, buttery flatbread. So damn good.
“You guys ever think about opening a restaurant?”
That was Jake, Griff and Nate’s good friend who ran the veterans’ retreat where they all worked.
“And quit working for you? No way,” Alia said, laughing.
Her words were light, but Griff knew she meant it: Jake was a great boss, and they all had a shit-ton of respect for him. He and his wife, Mira, were regulars at Friday Night Dinner, a tradition that Nate and Alia had started after Robbie was born to make sure they still saw their friends regularly. Babies—Griff was learning from observation—fucked up your social life.
The baby in question cried out and squirmed under Alia’s wrap. “Uh-oh,” she said, touching her lips to his fuzzy head. “You were supposed to sleep till dinner was done.”
Griff eyed the fussy lump on Alia’s chest. He was Robbie’s number one fan, and not at all ashamed to admit it. “I could take Robbie,” he offered, reaching his arms out. He loved holding the kid, with his warm heaviness and clean baby scent—except when Robbie had one of those not-so-fresh moments. Then Griff was more than happy to return him to his parents.
Alia began unwrapping the baby from her chest. “I think I need to feed him first or he’s not going to be a whole lot of fun.”
“I could hold him till you finish eating?”
She laughed at the eagerness in Griff’s voice. “Are you sure you want to be a bachelor?” Untangling Robbie, she handed him to Griff. Robbie’s fat face was creased with lines from Alia’s shirt. He looked up at Griff, then broke out beaming.
“Well, hello to you, too, little dude. You and me, bro. We’re the last single guys on the planet.” He lifted Robbie up so their faces were level. “Batching it with Uncle Griff,” he told the baby, who gave him another big, open-mouthed smile, then farted. Griff grinned. “That’s right, that’s how it’s done, Robbie boy. What are you doing?” he demanded of Alia, who was photographing him.
“I’m taking a picture of you and Robbie in case you want it for your online dating profile.”
“I don’t have an online dating profile,” Griff said. He preferred the old-school techniques. Buy a girl a drink. Make a lot of eye contact. Say the right things.
Tell her up front you don’t do relationships.
One thing that had surprised him was how many women were just fine and dandy with that. Maybe even preferred it that way. That had been a pleasant revelation after his marriage had ended.
Every once in a while, though, you could see the disappointment on a woman’s face, and that was the best reason to steer wide clear.
“Well. If you ever decide to, you would clean up with this profile pic.” Alia held out her phone.
Griff winced. “God! Do I really look that goofy?”
“You look like a happy uncle,” Becca said, taking the phone from her sister and studying the picture.
“That’s right. I’m happy. As an uncle. No need for the rest of it.”
Alia and Mira exchanged an eye roll.
“Speaking of dating, I’ve been meaning to ask you—” began Mira.
Griff eyed Mira suspiciously. He was pretty sure he knew where this was going. His female friends were determined to matchmake.
“I have a friend—”
Alia broke in. “It’s hopeless, Mir. He’s not fixable.” She shot Griff an apologetic glance. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
He shrugged. It took more than that to hurt his feelings. “I didn’t take it that way. And I’m not opposed to being fixed up, it just never works out.”
Alia gave him a sharp look. “Because you dump anyone who starts to get serious.”
He shrugged. “Guilty as charged.”
The truth was, he hadn’t met anyone he wanted to get serious with. Not since Marina. And he really, really didn’t want to think about Marina right now.
Or ever.
Alia took the last few bites of her dinner, then reached for Robbie. “I’ll feed him—oh, for Christ’s sake, Griff, I’m going to give him back! You are so full of it. You are so daddy material.”
“Nope.”
Once upon a time, he’d thought he was daddy material. It was just that a lot of shit had gone down since then.
He handed Robbie back to Alia, ignoring the ache of that particular memory. That was the good thing about other people’s babies. You could return them when you were done.
“Hey, you guys,” Becca said. “What do you say we clean up and play a game of Taboo? My roommate Jenina and I have been playing it with our friends in Seattle and it’s super fun. I brought my set.”
Griff raised an eyebrow. “Taboo?” he leered.
Becca gave him a look. “Not like that. You pick a word and then try to get your teammate to say it, but there are lots of ‘taboo’ words you can’t say. Like—for ‘Easter,’ Jenina did, ‘when an oversized long-eared rodent puts oval baby-makers in woven bowls.’ Because she couldn’t say ‘holiday’ or ‘bunny’ or ‘egg.’”
“Wow,” said Griff. “I’m going to suck at that game.” He cast a glance in Becca’s direction.
Her lips curved. “Sorry it’s not dirty. Guess that would be more up your alley, huh?”
A flash of heat knocked into him. The half-smile, maybe. Or the tease she’d packed into the question. Or just the word, dirty, on her full lips. For whatever reason, it caught him off guard. Becca wasn’t supposed to be able to get that reaction out of him. Becca was—well, she was just Becca.
But there she was, giving him a quizzical look, like he’d held her gaze too long, so he turned away and shook it off.
“I think it sounds like a blast,” Mira said, and jumped up to clear the table. They all chipped in, and when the kitchen was mostly clean, Becca brought out the game. She pulled out cards, two card holders, and a buzzer.
She looked around the table. “Um, Griff, you’ll be my teammate, I guess?”
They were the only non-couple in the room. He shrugged. “Sure.”
“Jake, you go first. Griff, you can buzz for them,” Becca instructed.
He took the pink and purple buzzer from her. “What do I do?”
“You stand behind Jake, and if he says any of the words on the card, you hit the buzzer.”
Griff jammed the buzzer threateningly up against Jake’s neck like he was the thug in a stickup.
Jake took a card from the deck. “Um, so, um, this is when you make a really super big deal out of something in order to get all the potential buyers or fans excited about it ahead of time.”
“Advertising.”
“More general, and bigger,” Jake said.
“Billboard. TV commercial.”
“No, more general. Not just that first thing you said, but it could be on social media, like if a movie’s coming out and everyone’s super jazzed up about it . . .”
“Star Wars,” Mira hazarded.
“No, like any movie, not a specific movie, and if you do too much of this then everyone’s expectations are way up and people get super disappointed and say it was ‘over—’”
Mira clapped. “Hyped!”
“Ding, ding, ding!” Jake said, pulling another card. “This is a thing that you put in your mouth . . . it’s oval-shaped and really small and you swallow it to kill the things growing in your body that you don’t want—”
“Antibiotic!” cried Mira, just as time ran out.
On Nate and Alia’s turn, Alia sailed through jingle, fortune cookie, Rollerblade, and gremlin.
“We’re going to get clobbered,” Griff told Becca.
She shook her head. “Have some faith, Griff. I had trouble reading all the way through school. You get really good at slinging the BS when you take all your tests orally.”
Heh. Heh. She said orally.
Grow up, Griff.
She pulled a card. “This is something you eat.”
Dirty Taboo would be a really fun game, Griff thought suddenly, and then had trouble putting the idea away so he could concentrate on what Becca was saying.
“It’s a miniature of something that you would have at a party . . . you can put twelve of them in one baking tin.”
“Cupcake.”
“Yes!” Becca said, grinning like mad. It was a lot like having Robbie beam at him—he instantly felt like a champ. It wasn’t like he’d never seen her smile, but it was different to be on the receiving end. Like stepping into the sun out of shadow. She had a great smile—straight white teeth brilliant in contrast to her red lips.
She pulled another card. “You ride in this on the water to get from one place to another, and you can put a car in it, on the bottom deck—”
“Ferry,” Griff said, stupidly pleased with himself and rewarded with another Becca smile.
“All green growing things start out as one of these—”
“Seed.”
They were on a roll. He was totally tuned in to her. He grinned at her, not consciously trying to eke another smile out of her, but getting one anyway.
“This is a baby version of the thing that gives us beef.”
“Calf.”
“No, the baby version of the actual beef. Animal rights activists hate this—”
“Veal.”
“Yup. Okay, um, let’s see . . . this is the opposite of rigid, it’s like—”
Her face got pink.
“—when something is, um, just hanging down instead of being stiff.”
Griff’s mind had veered way off track, as had, apparently, Becca’s. Which was . . .
Fucking hot.
She peeked up from the card and caught him staring at her, probably open-mouthed, and the flush in her cheeks deepened. And—
Damn. His something was not so much hanging down any more. More . . . well, not quite stiff, not quite yet, but well on its way.
“Time!” Jake cried.
Griff’s jeans were too tight.
“What was the word?”
“Floppy,” Jake announced, waggling his eyebrows.
Griff snuck another look at Becca. She was biting her lower lip. White tooth, plump red flesh.
Not. At. All. Floppy.
Mira grabbed a card, and the game sailed on. Thankfully.
But he couldn’t help himself; he chanced another look at Becca.
She returned his glance. Raised an eyebrow. And smirked.
Well, fuck.
It was good that he had a solid plan to de-frustrate himself after this dinner, otherwise he’d be tempted to initiate some taboo of his own.
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