Page 58 of Drive Me Wild
The warm woodfloors and sleek lighting of the restaurant make me feel like I’m at a spa. A spa that just so happens to serve spicy salmon on crispy rice and steamed dim sum with a garlic-infused vinegar dipping sauce. Given its close proximity to Josie’s apartment, she meets us for a quick drink before our dinner reservation. I spot her sitting at the large central bar, seated on one of the stools as she chats with the bartender. No surprise she’s first to arrive.
“‘Ello, princess,” I greet her. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Josie’s eyes light up as she looks at me, a heart-melting smile traveling across her lips. Before she can give me a proper hello—one that I wish involved a lingering kiss—Charlotte squeals and throws her arms around Josie’s neck.
Over the years, the two of them have developed a friendship completely devoid of my existence. They text frequently and comment on one another’s Instagram posts more than they comment on mine. Granted, I have millions of followers while they don’t, but whatever.
“Thank God you’re here,” Josie says conspiratorially as we settle into the two seats next to her. “Do either of you know what the bloody hell a dynamic low-intervention wine is?”
Charlotte picks up the drink menu, scanning it quickly although we both know she’s going to order wine. “No idea about that, but their cocktails have house shrubs in them…which sounds rather interesting, eh?”
The bartender hands over two glasses of wine and a cosmo—obviously mine—and we do a quick toast to Charlotte’s visit.
I intertwine my free hand with Josie’s under the table, desperate to feel her. To be close. We haven’t seen each other much over the past few weeks due to busy schedules and free time that doesn’t overlap. She came to Rosalie’s birthday party but spent more time doing somersaults and cartwheels with the four-year-olds than hanging out with me. I miss her… way more than a friend should. This weekend is the Hungarian Grand Prix and after that is summer break, so I’ll be in Australia for the month. Four weeks without Josie; four weeks with Richard. Worst fucking trade off of the century.
“Sorry I can’t stay for dinner,” Josie says with an apologetic smile. She’s going to a comedy show with some friends later and, while it’s great that she’s spending more time with them, I selfishly wish she could stay the whole night.
“I’m glad you could at least make drinks,” Charlotte reassures her. “Have you been here before?”
“No.” Josie shakes her head. “But I’ve had their ginger carrot soup, and it’s to die for.”
She rests her hand on my thigh under the table and gives it a quick squeeze. Her nails are painted light pink, the color of ballet slippers. I wonder when she got them done, considering they were lavender the last time we saw one another.
“To die for because it’s so horrible,” I correct her. “Highlydon’trecommend.”
“You got Theo to try a soup?” Charlotte asks bewilderedly. “Did you hold a gun to his head?”
No, but she did promise to let me see the Buzz Lightyear vibrator. And hinted that she’d let us introduce it in the bedroom.
“I just asked nicely,” Josie says. “I was sick, so he felt bad saying no. He was a very good nurse.”
Charlotte’s drink lands on the table with such a loudthumpthat I flinch. “You’re telling me that you got Theo toeatsoup with you while you weresick?”
I mumble under my breath that you can’t eat soup as Josie nods with a laugh. Charlotte—being the ever so subtle sister she is—gapes at me with her mouth slightly ajar. She attempts to pry for more details, but Josie changes the topic of conversation. I’m sure my sister will hit me with an M16-level interrogation the moment Josie leaves.
The two of them chat as if I’m not there, but I don’t mind. I’m too distracted, anyway. The way Josie’s rubbing her thumb over my knuckles is getting me worked up. I want her hands all over me. Gripping my thighs as she swirls her tongue around me. Pressed against my chest as she rides me. Hands in my hair as she kisses me.
The bartender approaches us, but rather than ask us if we want another round, he hands Josie a new glass of wine. “From the gentleman over there,” he says, nodding to a bloke at the other end of the bar.
“Oh, um, thanks.” Josie gives the fucker a small smile and a quick wave. “Cheers.”
Fuck no.Hell fucking no.I know this move. I’ve done this move plenty of times before. I don’t realize how tightly my fingers are gripping her thigh until she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. The bloke may be wearing a green shirt, but I’ve turned into the green-eyed-monster.
Thankfully, the glass remains untouched for the duration of Josie’s time with us. The moment she leaves, I wave over thebartender. “Can you please tell thegentlemanthat sent over this drink that myfriendis allergic to grapes and can’t drink wine?”
He looks down at the empty wineglass Josie had spent drinking the past hour. Didn’t really think that excuse through, but instead of trying to back it up, I push the glass forward, indicating that he should take it.
“Theodore.” Charlotte giggles and waves off the server, taking the glass of wine for herself. “Stop glowering at the poor man.”
“I’m not glowering,” I huff, averting my death-stare from the man in question. “Blake glowers; I glow. I’m like a damn Coppertone sunscreen or some shit. Stop being dramatic.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re dramatic, I’m… cinematic.”
I snort. “More like problematic.”
She sticks her tongue out before taking a sip of her drink. “All I’m saying is that I’ve never seen you jealous over a woman. It’s endearing, big bro.”
“It’s not a woman,” I argue. “It’s Josie.”
