The Boyfriend Zone by Jillian Quinn
After the hostess shows us to the private room, Bex slides into the massive booth next to me. Her bare leg brush against mine, and I can’t help but touch her. Tiny bumps dot her legs, so responsive, as always.
She scans the large room. There’s a long oak bar on one wall, more tables and booths on the other side. Our table is lit by candlelight and the dim chandelier hanging above us. My parents love this restaurant. It’s their spot. And I thought, with Bex, that maybe it could be ours too. I want to have things with her, things we share. She makes it so easy to be with her, yet still so difficult with her dad not knowing about us.
“I can’t believe you did all this for our first date.”
“It’s a special occasion.” I press my lips to hers. “And I wanted privacy.” I squeeze her knee, my fingers traveling up her inner thigh. “We could have sex in this room, and no one would even know. No one would care, even if they caught us.”
She smiles. “Maybe we should eat dinner first before we christen this room.”
I run my hand through her hair and kiss her lips. “Or I could make you the meal instead.”
“You’re such a bad boy.” Bex grabs my growing erection. “And so are you,” she tells my dick. “Both of you need to settle down.”
I laugh at her comments.
Our waitress enters the room through the French doors, breaking up our conversation. Familiar with the menu, I order for both of us. Bex doesn’t protest.
After the waitress leaves, Bex says, “I’ve never had someone order for me.”
“My parents get the chicken parmigiana family style every time we come here. I’m a creature of habit.”
“Or you just don’t like change,” she counters.
“Maybe.” I shrug. “But if that were true, we wouldn’t be here. I’ve never kept a girl around for more than a few days before I met you, and with some, even that was too long.”
“I wish I could say I’m surprised.”
“I was a walking stereotype before we met, huh?”
She nods. “You bet your ass you were. When I ran into you, I thought you were such a pig.”
“I still am.”
I slip my hand into her panties, and she moans.
“You know what I mean,” she whispers.
“Always so wet for me.” I dip my head down to kiss her neck as I fuck her with my fingers.
“Preston,” she moans.
“That’s it, baby.”
She tightens her grip on my fingers, holding them in a vise as she comes all over them. I raise them to my mouth to suck her juices. And in record time. Because the second I lick my fingers clean, the waitress strolls into the room with our salads.
She sets our salads in front of us, refills our wine glasses, and then disappears once more.
“That was a close call,” Bex says, out of breath. “How awkward would that have been if I was in the middle of coming when she opened the door?”
“It would have given her something to think about later.” I wink. “Because I wouldn’t have stopped trying to make you come.”
“You have no problem doing that.” Bex lifts her fork and digs into her salad, speaking between bites. “What time do your parents want my dad and me to come over for Thanksgiving?”
“Before the kickoff of the first game.”
She nods. “Who’s playing this year?”
“Bears and Lions, Redskins and Cowboys—”
“Ugh, I hate the Cowboys,” she interrupts.
“As any self-respecting Philadelphian should.”
She laughs. “You sound like my dad.”
“Falcons and Saints are the late-night game,” I add. “I don’t know if you guys will want to stick around for that, but it’s a house rule. No one leaves until the games are over.”
“I have to spend twelve hours at your parents’ house?” She stuffs her mouth with lettuce. “That’s a long-ass time. Turkey dinner with my dad is usually comprised takeout meals from the supermarket, followed by football and pumpkin pie. The night usually ends with him passed out on the couch, snoring.”
“Has it always been the two of you?”
“Pretty much. I can’t even remember what it’s like to have my mom around. Not like I would want her there. My parents are both only children, and so am I, so I never had aunts or uncles around. Grams passed away a few years ago. She would come over and help me cook until she got too sick to stand in the kitchen.”
“I’m glad you’re spending the day with us.” I cup her knee with my hand. “My family will ask you tons of questions, probably hug the shit out of you. There might even be some kissing from my aunts who will die when they see you.”
“You never had a girlfriend in high school?”
I shake my head. “Just girls I hung out with. Nothing serious. Hockey has always been my number one priority. Every coach I ever had told me to focus on being the best and not to worry about settling down with a girl. My dad also drilled it into my head.”
“I can see that,” she mutters. “Your schedule is so hectic. It doesn’t leave much time to date.”
“If anyone gets it, you do. That’s why this works so well with us.”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “Our schedules are so similar. I wish I could see more of your games.”
“I’m coming to your game against Villanova. We don’t have a game that weekend, and my mom is going since that’s her alma mater.”
She bites her lip. “Your entire family will be at my game?”
“Pretty much. No pressure.”