I snarl as the wee plates are set before us. The brains have an even tinier piece of toast sticking out of it.
“C’mon, Brody. You wanted to be my first the other day.” Justice lifts the tiny toast Vic called a crostini and dips it into the goop.
“Och, I did. I was,” I grit.
“Well, let the first experiences continue.” She lifts the tiny bite of toast, narrow eyeing me. “Do it.”
“I’d rather eat yer pussy out on this table for Vic to see than eat this shite. Remember, I forgot the other laddies’ names.”
“Oh, yes, progress.” She smiles. “Vic, Brody referred to our masseuses as servants.”
With a smile, Vic tops off our wine glasses. “Please enjoy.”
“Yes, enjoy.” Justice continues to hold up her food. “Alright, we’re calling each other’s bluff. Good evening, Mr. MacKenzie.”
“Awight,” I growl, scooping the food up. “If I get food poisoning. . . I’ll have ye naked and taking care of me.” I shove the piece into my mouth.
“Your thoughts?” She hesitates.
I nod.
“Brody?” Her nose wrinkles as she scrutinizes me, still saluting me with her wee bit of food. One of those useless words I’ve never thought of pings in my brain. Adorable. I’ve never used that shite in a sentence, but Justice Flowers looks so fecking adorable right now.
“I’m not saying Twigs picked this meal as a last snub to me before burying the hatchet, but this is some good shite.” I’m on my second bite when Justice takes a tiny nibble.
“Och, lass. Yer mouth opens way wider than that for this here dick.” I reach under the table to grab myself.
“Brody.”
“The laddie has seen it all.”
“Yes, I have. Mr. MacKenzie, get comfortable,” Vic clears our plates. “Now, for your second course . . .”
An hour later, Justice shivers from a cool breeze. With it dark out, the firelight glows across her face. I shrug out of my jacket. As I help her into it, she whispers, “You’re treating Vic much better than Paul and—”
“Och, those wee feckers from the spa. That guy had his hands all over ye.”
“That was his job.” She laughs softly. I grip the column of Justice’s neck, mouth seeking hers. “Wait, Brody.”
“Nae,” I groan. “That fecking Camdyn was right.”
“About?” Her eyebrow draws upward.
“Torture and pussy.”
A peel of nervous laughter exits Justice’s mouth. “Forgive me for asking.”
Running my hand over her pant leg, I groan. “It’s been almost two weeks, Justice.”
“You haven’t had sex in—”
“Have ye?” I growl.
“No. No!” She’s laughing again.
“How’s this funny?”
“I’m sorry. The look on your face. It’s . . . I suppose whatever Camdyn suggested is correct. You look tortured. Brody, be honest. Dinner has been amazing, but there’s still an elephant between us. How can we take the next step while you’re engaged?”