Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

I forgot that while Ronny has been a sore on my ass for the last two years, everyone else at Sal’s loves him. He’s acted shockingly perfect in every regard so far. Quiet but polite and, dare I say, charming, whenever someone speaks to him. Maybe he has experience with apology dates.

Yeah. That tracks.

“So, you said the two of you work together?” Mom calls from across the dinner table. “How come I never heard you mention him before?”

Shit. Are we busted already? At least Trent is out of earshot.

Ronny’s shoulder bumps into mine, playfully. “Marshall was a tough one to figure out. I was done for the first time I saw him, but he didn’t know I existed.”

“Oh, I find that hard to believe,” Mom reassures him.

“No, it’s true.” He chuckles at her coy approval. “He made me work for it.”

“Shame on you, Marshall. Ronny’s so sweet.”

Right now , he’s sweet. Because it’s fake .

Great. Everyone is looking at me like I’d have to be daft to reject this Italian god.

“No, it’s okay,” Ronny soothes, covering my hand with his and giving it a squeeze. “I admire a man who doesn’t settle for less than he deserves. The wait was well worth it.”

I think my heart just did a somersault. Maybe it’s from the shock of hearing something so flattering from him. Or maybe it’s the bashful smile he gives me before he slowly releases my hand.

Geez. He’s good. Really good.

An hour later, after everyone has left the table, I find a quiet spot by the entryway to the living room. Drink in hand, it feels like I’m in an alternate universe, spying Ronny across the room, chatting up my aunt and uncle.

It’s unbelievable that I’m not worried about whatever’s being said. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this relaxed at a family function. Who would’ve thought I’d be able to shut off my defense mechanisms because Ronny can handle the conversation? Everything has gone so well, and this sensation of being at ease is… nice. Is this what it would feel like to be a couple with someone?

“Marshall!” comes a horridly chipper call. “Your mom was just telling me how you got stranded at a cabin and had to be rescued. Oh, my word. How awful!”

Fucking. Trent.

Goodbye, glorious peace.

He can drop the faux concern. What’s the point of pretending to care if you have malice in your eyes and a grin on your face?

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a rescue. We just had to wait for the roads to be plowed.”

“Chet and I keep a winter emergency kit in the trunk for whenever we come home this time of year,” he boasts.

Of course, they do. I hope, for Chet’s sake, their kit includes earplugs.

Ronny appears at my side, making me panic on his behalf. He volunteered for this. Why am I cringing at the thought of him being subjected to my cousin? That was the point.

“Oh! So, this is your date?” Trent enthuses like a carnie spotting a new game contestant.

“ Boyfriend ,” Ronny corrects, extending his hand to shake. “And you must be Trey. Good to meet you.”

Satan’s face falls, and he clarifies, “ Trent .”

It’s all I can do not to snort. Ten points to Ronny.

“Oh, sorry. I thought someone said Trey.” Ronny wraps an arm around my waist, pressing me close to his side. It makes me momentarily mute, gaping as he moves in and nuzzles my ear “I guess I was distracted.”

His lips brush against my skin, stirring all kinds of sleeping bag memories. If I pop a hard-on in front of my cousin, I’ll never forgive him.

Seeing Trent gawk in disbelief that someone would want to be affectionate with me is enough to draw me out of the haze of Ronny’s intoxicating scent. I even smile. Happy couples smile, right?

“So, Ronny, what do you do?”

“I’m a carpenter. Met this cutie at work, actually. Best job I ever had.”

“Really? Doesn’t the whole working together thing worry you? I mean, if things don’t work out, won’t that make the workplace a little awkward?”

For real? Fuck him. Already dooming my fake relationship. I open my mouth to refute his cynicism, but Ronny’s quicker.

“Are you kidding me? No, we love it. We get to see each other all the time, and he’s a damn fine carpenter, the best one at the company.”

I am?

Bullshit, Marshall. Try to remember this is all bullshit.

My perfect ‘boyfriend’ releases his hold on me and shifts toward Trent, giving him a slap to the shoulder. Damn. That looked like it hurt, but the way Trent flinches is priceless .

“Plus, I’ve had my eye on him since I started,” Ronny whispers to him conspiratorially. “So, I’m not about to let this one get away. When you know, you know, right?”

My jaw hangs open along with my wretched cousin’s. Get it together, Marshall. This is why you brought Ronny, even if you didn’t know he’d actually deliver.

“Wow, Marshall,” Trent finally speaks, looking like he just lost a thousand followers. “Sounds like you found yourself a keeper.”

My word. I’ve just witnessed my cousin eating crow.

“You know,” he continues. “Chet likes to do woodworking, too, when he’s home from one of his work trips. He started the cutest little birdhouse before we went to Bali for our anniversary. I think it’s admirable that people still work with their hands.”

And up came the crow. Bali dropping. Ugh.

“Well, it sure beats the city,” Ronny laments.

“Oh, which one?” Trent challenges like the nosey, one-upping bastard that he is.

“Denver.”

“You left Denver for here?” Trent laughs. “I’d think there’d be more carpentry work there.”

“Maybe.” Ronny shrugs, casually rubbing my back, making it difficult to focus on his tall tale. “I know the architect firm I worked for contracted out plenty.”

“ You were an architect?”

“Yeah.”

He was? Somehow, I don’t think he’s lying. Ronny doesn’t seem like a liar, plus it tracks with his unnervingly stellar understanding of blueprints.

Trent lets out a sputtering sound. “Why are you working as a carpenter, then?”

How am I related to such a snob? He belongs on Downton Abbey , I swear.

“I got sick of designing restaurants and commercial properties. I decided I’d rather build something from the ground up with my bare hands or fix something that’s been forgotten and just needs a little love. My family’s here too, so it was a win-win.”

I nearly jump, realizing Mom has joined our bubble, too entranced by Ronny’s wholesome tale now woven around my heart. “Oh, I bet they appreciate having you home. Is Marshall going to your family’s Christmas dinner?”

“Mom,” I scold, even though I know we don’t have to live a lie if he feels obligated to answer in the affirmative.

“What? It’s a perfectly innocent question.”

Ronny shifts, looking uncomfortable. “Uh, well, theirs is actually tonight too, but I told them I had other plans.”

Is that true?

“Oh, that is so sweet. You missed your own dinner for Marshall.”

“There isn’t anywhere I’d have rather been,” he assures, not looking at me.

Why do I want him to look at me? Do I want it to be true or do I just want confirmation that it’s not?

He excuses himself to use the restroom, so I fetch another drink to escape Trent. My aunt calls us all to find a spot in the living room for our gift exchange, so I make feet to claim a safe space for Ronny and myself on the couch.

“No, over here, honey. Let’s sit by Marshall. I never get to see him!” Trent badgers his husband, plopping down next to me.

This is a four-seater sofa. He totally double-parked on two cushions to ensure I’d be stuck next to him solo without my date.

When Ronny saunters in, he’s instantly attuned that there isn’t enough room. I send him what I hope is an apologetic look for leaving him in the lurch amongst strangers, but he keeps making his way toward us.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Trent coos making no effort to shift over. “Did you want to sit by Marshall?”

“No, I’m good.”

Ouch. Thanks for that, Ronny.

“I’ll just pop a squat here on the floor.” He turns around and settles down in the space between my feet. One of his firm asscheeks lands on my foot, forcing me to spread my legs wider. I suspect that was his plan, judging by the way he leans back against the couch between my knees.

Wow. This is… cozy.

Without a word, he slings his arm over my knee closest to Trent. Once again, I can’t question his gestures, too distracted by my dear cousin’s ever-watchful eye. Right now, he looks like a villain whose plan has been foiled.

Damn. Ronny really knows what he’s doing.

My aunt distributes cards and gifts, but most of my brain cells are zeroed in on the body heat pouring off Ronny right in front of my crotch. I’ve never cuddled with anyone in front of my family. This is an odd sensation, and I hate that it’s all fake. It feels so dishonest to fool my mother just for Trent’s sake, but I’m too grateful about not feeling like a life failure for once.

Stranger than that, I find myself wanting to thank Ronny. It’s like he read the room and knew exactly what I needed. Maybe he’s… not so bad after all. I’m sure he had twenty other things he could have done tonight that were more appealing than this. I wish I could talk to him without Trent lurking.

Reaching out, I give his arm a squeeze as a silent expression of my gratitude. I can feel Trent eyeballing us, so I leave my hand where it is. Ronny shouldn’t have to do all the work. He’s certainly done plenty of touching tonight, so I doubt he’ll mind, even if it does make me feel like I’m wearing a scarlet letter after how I behaved at the cabin.

I have the perfect view of the back of his thick head of pitch-black hair. It looks soft, making me remember his fingers in my curls. I didn’t imagine that. I know I didn’t. The memory combined with how thoughtful he’s been this entire evening, has my body growing warm. I’m sure he’s bored as hell and the way his fingers are stroking the side of my calf can be chalked up to restlessness. I blame the rising instinct to reciprocate the affectionate touch on my need to show up Trent and Chet. My fingers gently stroke a lock of his hair. When I continue, I know that’s bullshit. I am running on full narcissism now. How can it be so rewarding to run your fingers through someone’s hair? I feel whole. And blushing be damned. In the grand scheme of things, is it honestly so wrong to enjoy it while I have the opportunity?

His head tilts to the side, making my self-preservation kick in. Shit. He must be sick of being petted like a cat.

Before I can pull my hand away, he leans into my touch. Is he… giving me the green light? Breath in my throat, a wise voice tells me to stop, but I ignore it and flex my fingers, slowly stroking his scalp.

Oh, God. Was that…

I shift my gaze to gauge Trent’s reaction. He looks horrified. Yeah. It was definitely a moan.

Geez. Ronny’s really going overboard.

I count my good fortune and retract my hand. Trent has officially been shocked and awed tonight, and I am dangerously close to unleashing my lumberjack desires on Ronny’s pretense of being willing. It’s time to stop and call this a victory.