Heidi's Guide to Four Letter Words(51)

“That makes sense. I don’t think I could eat my own face. That would just be weird,” Aubrey states.

Jameson casually nudges me with his shoulder.

“Where’s your Princess Kay of the Milky Way sculpture, Heidi?”

“Oh no, I don’t have one of those! I’ve never been a Princess Kay. That would just be crazy.” I laugh.

“Hey, your face would look amazing in butter,” Jameson reassures me with a wink.

Brent quickly steps up and wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side.

“Heidi’s face is too beautiful. Butter could never do it justice.”

Okay, this conversation is officially weird, even for me.

Brent has been doing things like this all night whenever Jameson says something to me or pays me any kind of attention. He’ll find any opportunity he can to touch me, and one-ups any compliment Jameson might throw my way. When Aubrey and Jameson first walked into the restaurant and I gave Jameson a hug, as soon as I pulled away, Brent turned me around and kissed me, right in front of everyone. When we sat down at our table and Jameson told me the dress I was wearing was cute, Brent literally growled at him before kissing the side of my neck and whispering in my ear that my dress was “hot as hell.” When Jameson laughed at something I said, Brent laughed even louder and put his hand on my thigh under the table. It’s almost like he’s…

Oh! Is Brent jealous of Jameson?

I’ve had a few beers tonight with dinner and my judgment could be off, and honestly, the fumes from a thirty-eight-year-old butter sculpture could be killing some of my brain cells right now, but I’m pretty sure Brent is doing whatever he can to remind Jameson that I’m with him. Which is just ridiculous. For every amount of attention Jameson has shown me, he’s shown a thousand times more to Aubrey. His wife. They haven’t been able to keep their hands off each other all night.

I should be completely appalled by his behavior, shouldn’t I? I mean, I’m not his property. If another man wants to talk to me and throw me a compliment or two, it shouldn’t make him act like a caveman who wants to smack me over the head with a log and drag me by my hair back to his cave.

And now I’m thinking about Brent pulling my hair. Clearly, I like the whole caveman routine. Who knew?

As Aubrey and Jameson walk away from the freezer and back through the kitchen, I grab Brent’s hand and tug on it to stop him from following them. Walking right up to him, I push up on my toes, grab his face in my hands, and lay a hot and heavy kiss on him. A wolf-whistle from one of the kitchen workers forces us apart a few minutes later, both of us flushed and breathing heavy.

“What was that for?” Brent asks, rubbing his hands up and down my spine.

“I don’t know. I guess… butter sculptures just really, really excite me,” I tell him with a smile, pulling out of his arms, grabbing his hand, and leading him back out to the main part of the restaurant so we can finish our double date.



“Just close your eyes and relax!” I order, smacking my hands against Brent’s chest, forcing him to fall backward and onto my couch.

I start giggling like a fool and then quickly apologize. “I’m sorry! Uff da, that was a little rough. I guess I like it rough! We’re moving on to the rough stuff!”

It occurs to me that I probably shouldn’t have had another glass of beer when we got back to our table at Hopper’s. I’m not drunk, but I’m pleasantly buzzed, which makes me more word vomity than normal. I just want Brent to know that I appreciated his possessive jealousy. It was—I hate to say it, but I have to—cute. And sweet. This appreciation that’s about to happen was the reason for that last glass of beer. Liquid courage and all.

“Just close your eyes and hold on tight, big boy,” I tell him in my sultriest voice, quickly getting down on my knees on the floor, in between his legs. “Seriously. Close your eyes.”

Once Brent has done as I’ve asked, I grab onto the button of his jeans with one hand while quickly reaching under the couch with my other hand, sliding out the book I shoved under there while he was in the bathroom.

Oh no! I lost the page I had it opened to!

Brent lifts his head up from the back of the couch when my hand just sits there like a useless slug on the crotch of his jeans, while I’m frantically trying to flip through the pages of the book down on the floor next to my knees with my other hand, trying my hardest to make sure the pages don’t make any noise.

“No! Keep them closed! It will be more exciting that way!” I shout a little too forcefully, shoving against his chest again to get him to resume his previous position.

He still has an amused look on his face when he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, and I continue quietly flipping through the pages until the word blowjob catches my eye.

Eureka! I found it! Okay, let’s get this party started. First step, blow gently on his penis. Wait. That can’t be right. That can’t be the first step. I haven’t even taken his penis out yet! Where are the directions on how to take it out?

Biting my lip as I study the bulging crotch of his jeans, I just decide to go for it. With one hand reaching down and holding the place I need in the book, my other hand tugs on the button as hard as I can, forcing Brent’s hips to jerk up off the couch. And the button to stay firmly hooked.

Did he superglue these stupid things on?