“Whatever,” he gripes, surveying the bottles of alcohol. “We’re doing shots.”
“No,” Landon and I clip out while both Kaplan and Luca respond with a resounding, “Yes!”
“Two each,” Kaplan demands. “Landon has no Stella tonight since she’s staying at a friend’s house and none of us are driving. You have a cleaning crew coming in the morning to take care of this disaster, so there is no sensible reason why you can’t.”
“What’s your excuse for drinking like a college kid, Baby Face Nelson?” I throw back.
Kaplan rolls his eyes at me, having heard every nickname under the sun for his baby-faced appearance. The eldest of us most definitely looks the like the youngest with his clean-shaven face, lighter hair, and bright green eyes. I’m the only one in my family to have gotten our father’s darker features.
“I don’t have any of the love woes you poor bastards do, and I intend to keep it that way.”
“Goodie on you,” Landon snaps at Kaplan. “What are we drinking?”
As fucked up as Oliver’s past with love is, Landon’s is worse. Worse than all of ours combined times ten. It’s why he is the cantankerous, miserable bastard he is. Except when it comes to the gooey, soft heart he has for Stella. Well, and the rest of his family of course.
Kaplan pours all of us a round of tequila shots because that seems to be what everyone here tonight is drinking the most of.
“Oliver!” Kaplan shouts in my ear. “Shots, baby brother. Get your pussy-whipped ass over here.”
“Dick,” I hear Oliver mutter, but he crosses the room and joins us anyway, perched against the island on the opposite side. “Love what you’ve done to the place since I moved out, Carter. It looks like a frat house in here.”
“Smells better though.”
“Can’t argue that.”
“Rina, you too,” Kaplan yells right beside my ear. Again. This time I punch him in the shoulder. “Sibling shots, princess.”
Rina groans but drags herself up and off the couch. “Shots? Aren’t you a little old for that?”
“No,” we all say in unison, and she laughs, resting her forearms on the counter and managing to shove some of the food aside to make room beside Oliver. He straightens, tossing his arm over her shoulder.
“Damn, I think we overdid it with the food,” she muses, surveying the massive buffet.
“Yes,” I agree. “You’re all taking stuff home. I have no room for all of this.”
“We’re keeping my cake,” Grace announces as she skips over, wiggling herself in between Luca and me, her soft, full breasts rubbing against my arm as she does. “I have to keep my cake and eat it slowly all week.”
Luca smirks smugly at me, bouncing his eyebrows up and down suggestively, and I narrow my eyes in return. “Carter likes to eat it slowly too, I’ve been told. If you like it that way.”
Grace turns quickly, her eyebrows pinched in at him in confusion.
“No one is taking your cake,” I promise her.
“But I know someone who might want to eat your pie. Slowly, of course.”
Jesus. Fucking Luca. I reach behind Grace and punch him in the shoulder. Hard. He grunts, shutting his mouth for once and taking the shot Kaplan hands him.
“Don’t be a crude fuck,” Kaplan snaps at him. “You want one of these too, birthday girl?”
I watch as Grace deliberates having a shot, but she nods after a half-second, a smile erupting across her face. “Sure. Let’s do it. Only one for me though. I’m officially approaching my limit.”
In the next second, we all have glasses in hand filled with tequila. “Happy birthday, my beautiful Grace,” Oliver toasts. “May twenty-nine be better than twenty-eight and all the years before it.”
“Yes,” Rina agrees. “To an amazing last year in your twenties.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Grace asserts, bringing the glass to her lips, but just before she swallows it down, our eyes meet, along with a simmering heat that rolls through me like a wave. I take my shot, she does the same, our eyes holding.
And when she’s done, she smiles up at me.
“Thank you,” she whispers and now I know what that look was. It wasn’t heat; it was gratitude. Bliss. She’s a little drunk and we’re making a fuss over her and yeah. That’s all that is. Fuck.
“You’re welcome.”
A second later, Oliver calls her attention back to him and the moment is over.
But still, I meant it.
I’m not giving up. Not this time.
It just means I’m willing to bide my time. She has to be ready. Her eyes have to be opened to the possibility. The possibility of us. Even if she’s not there yet, I know how to be patient. I’m an OB-GYN for Christ’s sake. We invented the damn term. Babies don’t come on our schedules, they come on theirs.
And Grace, it seems, is no different for me.
But she’s here. And she gives me looks.
Looks that tell me not pursuing her would be the mistake of a lifetime.
17
I’m a little drunk. One margarita. One of Rina’s crazy martinis—though she swore it was a weak one—and two shots and I’m rocking a buzz like a college freshman pledging for a sorority. Tonight was everything I hadn’t realized I truly needed.
I will admit, I was not looking forward to this birthday. Tony, being a lying, cheating swine of a man sort of put the damper on that. He sent me a ring for my birthday. A diamond eternity band that looks damn similar to a wedding band. Especially when my engagement ring was nestled in the same box.
The card and texts and phone messages were nothing short of adoring and forlorn.
But the party tonight turned it all around.
It’s somewhere close to 1 a.m. when the crowd finally leaves, many with a Tupperware of food in their hands. Everyone went all out. For me. Drinks and more food and desserts than I could consume in twenty lifetimes. Presents and fun. So much fun.
Now it’s just me and Carter staring around at the mess that is his kitchen and great room.
“Leave it,” he says just as I go to pick up a random glass. “I have people coming to clean this all up tomorrow. It was more the food and that’s either all put away or sent off with others.”
“Carter—”
“Did you have a good night?”
I beam at him. “I had the best night. Thank you.”
“Did you have enough dessert?”
“I had too much dessert.”
He smiles at that, walking around the island until he’s directly before me. “Perfect. Then you can come and see your presents.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything. This party was already more than enough.”
“I know I didn’t have to. I never have to. I wanted to.”
Oh. Okay then.
Without another word or objection on my part, he takes my hand, intertwining our fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world for us to do—hold hands—and then leads me down the hall in the direction of my room. My heart starts to thunder in my chest. Is he… is he taking me to bed? Is that his present to me? I know he teased me that I needed a good meal or whatever euphemism he used for orgasm, but this feels a bit… I don’t know, out of left field? Unexpected? Strange? Exciting?