Shut Up And Kiss Me (gxg)

29. Thanks-f*cking-giving

      SEXUAL TENSION WAS A FUNNY THING.

      If anyone had asked me if I'd ever experienced it before I met Monroe, I would've said of course I had. 

      Obviously, all the movies were an exaggeration: people didn't actually feel electricity when their skin brushed, and they didn't look up at each other over the dinner table with barely hidden longing. People didn't fantasize about the girl sitting across from them, tempting and intoxicating and irresistible, the touch of a smirk on that wicked, wicked mouth. 

      People didn't fantasize about precisely that same mouth, trailing over their thighs, and spreading their legs on that very dinner table. 

      People did not have detailed daydreams of getting fucked in the kitchen, shoving away all the dishes because why bother with food when there was a personal feast laid out right before you?

       No, before I met Monroe—Monroe fucking Kingston—I would've said that was just dramatic acting.

       But I didn't think so anymore.

       Now, I clutched a bouquet of violets with a white-knuckled grip. 

       "Thank you for the flowers," Mom said, pulling in Monroe for an awkward hug with roses in one hand. "Oh, these are so lovely."

       The problem was this: I had opened the door for Monroe.

       She had apparently been sent over earlier than Aaron and his dad, because she was carrying two bouquets and a ceramic tray of mashed potatoes.

       Opening the door became the least of my problems when I realized that one of the bouquets was for my parents . . . and one was for me. 

       She had gotten flowers for me.

       She had . . . actually brought a bouquet. For me.

       Even as I clutched it tightly, I really, really wanted to bring the flowers to my nose and inhale the violet scent.

       "How'd you know these were my favourite?" I hissed at her.

       It might have been a friendly question, if it weren't for my accusing tone. 

       As Mom started preparing the table, taking out the turkey from the oven with sunny-yellow mitts, Monroe leaned in close to me and whispered, "Your sister told me."

       Claudia. I couldn't wait to make her baby duck an orphan when I murdered her.

      "Don't blame her," Monroe added. "I forced it out of her."

       Mom was still facing the oven, so I quietly growled, "No, you didn't."

       Damn it. I should have known. It seemed Claudia had a grand plan for me to bing-bang-bong Monroe.

       Fuck. Had I really just thought the word bing-bang-bong? 

       "Celia, honey!" Dad called. "Aaron and Mr. Andersen have arrived!"

       I heard Mr. Andersen's warm, booming voice, and what I assumed was him and Dad clapping each other on the backs. A strange, manly kind of hug. And . . .

       Aaron. As soon as I thought his name, I felt his arms snake around my waist, wrapping around me. He pulled me against his chest and kissed the top of my chest.

       "Hi, babe," he said.

       "Stop calling me babe or I'll choke you."

       I realized my mistake as soon as Monroe smirked at me, and I felt my cheeks flush hot.