Chapter Twenty-Two

Georgie was still suppressing her tears when the doorbell rang. Right in the nick of time.

“I’ll get it, honey,” James said.

Georgie was so awkward with confessionals, but she appreciated her cousin’s candor. “Thanks, Marc. I know it wasn’t easy for you to say those things to me, and I am grateful that you mustered up the courage.”

Marcy waved her hand. “It was high time I did and I apologize for taking so long.” She wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “Here—help me carry this stuff into the dining room.” She handed her a big bowl of pasta tossed with shrimp and flecks of lemon and arugula and she carried the tray of garlic bread.

“Looks fantastic.”

“Thanks! I was hoping you two would like it.”

They walked into the dining room as James and Spencer turned the corner and entered the room. Georgie’s eyes opened wider than one of those rain forest tree frogs. What the hell was he doing here?

“Georgie, I think you know Spencer, right? We saw you two talking at the wedding, and it looked like you were having a good time.” Marcy extended her hands out to indicate the newest arrival. “And Spencer, you remember Georgie, right?”

If only they knew that she did indeed know Spencer, in the biblical sense, at least. You could safely say they were quite biblically acquainted. Although one would wonder how the bible became linked with knowing someone sexually. Ugh, she had to stop thinking about sex when she thought of him. Because she started getting that tingly feeling there, and she knew what followed that. Before the salad course was done, her panties would be soaked. Which made her think about how he lapped her up the last time he made her so wet. She almost groaned, but luckily, she caught herself before doing that out loud, which would have been super embarrassing.

She nodded and placed the bowl of pasta on the table. “Oh, hey, Spencer.” She hoped that would suffice, but hell, no. Spencer had to come over and reach out and give her a hug. A damned hug. So that their bodies were touching.

“It’s great to see you, Georgie.” He fixed his hazel eyes on hers and it was as though some laser had homed in on her soul. She mentally squirmed beneath his undivided attention.

“Um, yeah. This is quite a surprise to see you here.” She paused, debating whether to get a dig in, then decided, what the hell. It was the holiday season, after all. The season for giving. She wondered if that also included giving someone crap. “I hadn’t expected to see you ever again.”

Spencer grinned. “Touché. But surely you didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, now did you?”

She knit her brow. “Oh, I know perfectly well how to get rid of you in one fell swoop.” All she had to do was sleep with him and express a hint of affection. That was all it took for him to vamoose out of there faster than a firewalker on flaming coals.

“Although more than likely there were extenuating circumstances that led you to make presumptions.”

“Spence, how about I get you a glass of wine before we sit down?”

“Sure, that would be great.”

Georgie was confused and feeling off-balance. First she came here for “true confessions” with Marcy, which was, after all, kind of nice and soul cleansing, and then he shows up? She couldn’t figure out if this was some joke or a weird attempt at matchmaking after Marcy and James saw the two of them together at the wedding.

Marcy offered them each a seat across from one another, and it seemed almost like a showdown—as if she should be preparing for the gunfight with him at the O.K. Corral. Well, she was going to have to presume the best of everyone here—with, perhaps, the exception of Spencer—and proceed with dinner like a normal person. With no preconceived notions. And hope she wasn’t being set up for some type of joke. But even that—Spencer might be a jerk, but he wasn’t a mean person. So, no. That couldn’t be what was behind this. Maybe it was simply four adults enjoying a dinner party?

James brought in the wine bottle and poured some for Spence and refilled Georgie’s glass, then gave his bride some more sparkling water.

“Big downside to pregnancy—wine withdrawals,” she said, looking down at her stomach. “This baby best appreciate the sacrifices I’m making on his or her behalf. Oh, and no sushi for the duration. Not to mention no hair highlights. The things we do for our children.” She winked at her cousin. “Or to our children, as the case may be.” They both laughed at that.

James held up his wineglass. “I just wanted to say we’re excited to have you both here for dinner—you’re our first since we got married. We’re so happy you could join us and here’s to friends”—he nodded at Spencer—“family”—he tipped his head to Georgie”—and a wonderful holiday.”

They raised their glasses and toasted.

James rubbed his hands together. “Now let’s eat!” He passed the pasta to Georgie first, who gave herself a generous portion. She thought to apologize for it but then figured, fuck it. She was hungry. She handed it down to Marcy, and James passed the sautéed French green beans to her.

“So, I have to admit I was intrigued when I saw Spencer at work after we returned from the honeymoon, and he told me how you two had originally met.”

Ahhh… so that was the connection. She didn’t realize the two of them worked together.

She smiled one of those smiles you have to paste on your face when you’d rather spit on the ground. At Spencer. “Yeah, sort of a silly little accident.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t there to witness that because I suspect I would have seen a grown man cry. He loved that board so much.”

“Yeah, well, the only crying that went on was poor Georgie.”

“Georgie never met an occasion she didn’t want to cry at,” Marcy said. “Amiright?”

Georgie winced. “Okay, so it’s true. I get a little emotional.”

Spence arched his brow. “A little?”

Marcy and James gave each other a knowing look.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Georgie said.

Spencer shrugged. “It’s only that I’ve seen you break down a couple of times and it can get traumatic pretty quickly.”

“Fine, so I’m an ugly crier.”

“I think you’re an adorable crier.”

Georgie frowned. He wasn’t entitled to think she cried adorably. He wasn’t entitled to think anything about her whatsoever!

Out of nowhere, she felt something on her sandaled foot. She threw a subtle glance to the right and the left. Surely it wasn’t one of them, trying to play footsies with each other and finding the wrong foot under the table.

She would simply ignore it and hope it would stop.

But it didn’t. Five minutes later, as she was taking another bite of her shrimp, she felt the sock-clad foot slide up her shin, slip beneath her dress, and settle smack-dab between her legs, right there. He wouldn’t.

He would.

She looked at him, but he didn’t even glance her way. He was busily discussing some zoning issue with his boss while Marcy got up to replenish the pasta.

His toes insinuated their way along her center, and sure enough, that damned tingling sensation started up again, and moisture flooded her panties. Soon his toe was focusing its efforts on her clit, pressing and circling, and she had no choice but to spread her legs even more, because, well it felt pretty damned amazing. Before she knew it, his toes were insinuating their way beneath the edge of the leg of her panties, which meant there was no way he wouldn’t realize the effect he was having on her, she was so wet. She tried to discreetly press herself against him, hoping her hosts hadn’t a clue what was going on right beneath their dinner table. Even though at this point she could hardly care.

Except this was Spencer doing this and she’d washed her hands of him.

“Oh, Marcy, this pasta is amazing,” Spencer said, not giving any indication of his other preoccupation down below.

“I’d love to get the recipe.” Georgie was proud that she could focus enough to continue a conversation when in fact her body was screaming, “Recipe, schmecipe!”

“Of course, I’ll email it to you.”

“So, anyone have any big plans for the holidays?” James asked.

Georgie shook her head. “I don’t really do Christmas, so I’ll lay low, maybe do Chinese carryout.”

“Georgie, you’re welcome to come to our place,” Marcy said. “Though on second thought, my mother isn’t particularly gracious toward you, so I can’t see why you would want that.”

“It’s fine. I’m happy pretending it’s just another day.” And even more fine pretending that Spencer wasn’t trying to bring her to climax with his foot. Which he was having great success at attempting to do. Her breathing became sharper and her senses more acute. All the focus was on that place where he was applying the perfect amount of pressure. God, she wished his fingers were there as well. His mouth, for that matter.

“Spence, what about you?”

He poured some more wine into his glass, adding a splash more to both Georgie’s and James’s as well.

“I’m in the Georgie corner on this. I don’t get into Christmas too much. After I moved away from home, well, it wasn’t anything that came up in my day-to-day life.”

James pointed at each of them and then crisscrossed his hands. “You two should spend it together. Sounds like you have the same attitude about it.

“What a great idea,” Spencer said, finally making eye contact with her. His eyes twinkled, and he winked at her. She wasn’t sure if that was a wink of collusion about what was happening beneath the table or sloughing off the Christmas suggestion. But she was sure she needed to stop this autoerotic manipulation that was happening. It was unseemly. Here her cousin was trying to be a nice hostess and she was busily trying to suppress any signs of an imminent orgasm.

Georgie wiped her mouth with a napkin. “If you’ll excuse me for a second.”

“Powder room is out of commission because it has a coat of fresh paint on it. Go on up the stairs and you’ll find another bathroom, second door on the right,” Marcy said.

As Georgie climbed the stairs, her legs rubbed together, and she feared she’d come right then and there from the delicious friction. She was going to take care of matters upstairs and get past it so she could proceed with her dinner in peace. All she needed was about thirty seconds and she’d be right back at the dinner table.