He reached out, took my hand, brought it to his thigh, and left it there before he returned to the steering wheel.
“They’re good people. Friendly. And they already dig you,” he assured.
“I’ve never really had a serious relationship.”
That bought me another quick glance. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Bashful,” he murmured, but there was a nuance to that word that was almost a purr, so I felt that word trail across the small of my back.
I ignored the sensation at my back and said, “Something like that. Outside of guys in high school, which don’t count, because that wasn’t anything real, I’ve only met one boyfriend’s parents. And they weren’t that fond of me.”
Another glance, this time with brows furrowed. “Why the fuck not?”
He wasn’t dim, but that was a silly question.
“Because I’m not chatty and animated? Bubbly and googly-eyed?”
Brow furrow gone, now he was amused.
“Googly-eyed?”
“You know what I mean,” I huffed, moving my stare out the windshield.
“My mom would puke at googly-eyed.”
That was good.
“My dad talks enough, he won’t even notice you don’t do it much. Then again, he talks so much, you won’t get a chance to do it.”
Well, that was a relief.
“All right.”
He squeezed my hand on his thigh and released it.
“Babe, chill. It’s gonna be good.”
“Okay.”
“Really.”
“I hear you.”
“We’ll just say, they both like Kurt Russell. Why do you think I’m a fan?”
That made a surprised laugh escape me.
“Well then, we have common ground,” I joked.
He wasn’t joking, his voice was low when he replied, “You totally do.”
Mm.
“And they have good taste,” I added.
“Yup, and I totally do.”
Oh my.
“You’re really going to have to stop being so awesome or we’re going to have to take a side trip somewhere private so I can blow you to show my appreciation,” I warned.
“Fuckin’ hell, now I gotta fight wood before I see my parents.”
“Now you know how I feel when you’re being awesome.”
“Make no mistake, beautiful, I pretty much am fighting wood anytime I look at you,” pause, then, “or think of you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t exaggerate.”
He moved my hand.
Oh my.
He moved it again, to my thigh.
“Let’s get there safe so I don’t have to explain a hard-on to paramedics,” he suggested.
At that, I busted out laughing.
I also felt tons better.
And such was Rix’s magic, I continued to feel this way after we hit Flagstaff proper, then eventually entered an older, established neighborhood that sat among a ton of trees, the lots very large, most of the landscaping entirely natural, so it was really beautiful.
Rix pulled into a long, windy, paved drive at the end of which had a lovely large home built of wood and stone, with green trim and a matching garage door.
I was good through that too.
Through him parking alongside a big, white Range Rover.
Through me jumping out after he did.
It all fell apart when the front door opened and people piled out.
The rundown:
Rix’s mom?
Ex-Sports Illustrated supermodel.
Rix’s dad?
Rix, thirty-some years ago.
Rix’s brother?
Rix, except with some of his mom’s more refined features, not his dad’s fully rugged ones.
Rix’s sister-in-law?
Totally cover material.
Seeing Hailey’s easy-breezy chic in dark jeans, a cream, double-pocket shirt, a fantastic belt and high-heeled booties, I mentally scanned my outfit.
Nice jeans with purposeful fading. Ivory shell with lace trim. Long, pink cardigan. Rosy-taupe, suede, low-heeled booties with a smart leather tote in almost the same shade. Drop necklace ending in a marbly, polished, pink-and-brown stone and a gold tassel. And it was the plain truth, I had on kickass shades.
I still didn’t stand a chance.
This vanished from my mind as I was suddenly colliding with Rix’s side, my shoulder slamming into him and remaining wedged there as he clamped on to me.
What on…?
I didn’t ask.
His entire family was heading our way, and each and every one of them had a reaction to Rix claiming me almost violently.
Head jerks. Stutter steps. Widened eyes.
Rix moved us forward in our nearly fused-together state, and we all met in the middle.
His dad got there first.
“Son,” he greeted hesitantly.
“Dad. Mom. Josh. Hails,” Rix grunted.
I looked up at him, now shocked by his ominous tone.
His arm tightened, and I feared he might dislocate my shoulder.
He also kept talking.
“This is Alexandra. She’s shy. She doesn’t talk much. She can get uncomfortable around people she doesn’t know, until she’s comfortable around them. So be cool with her.”
The last was voiced almost like a threat.
“You want to, I don’t know, give them hugs or something first, honey?” I suggested. “That is, before you go into detail about the consequences of your family not being nice to me when you just told me in the truck how nice your family will be because they’re nice.”
He looked down at me. “I just don’t want you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not sure this was the way to go,” I remarked.
“We lay it out in my family,” he explained.
“I’m getting that,” I replied.
“You were worried in the truck,” he reminded me.