The Worst Best Man(63)

As soon as she glanced down at her plate, six middle fingers shot up.





Chapter Thirty-Three


When all was said and done, Frankie had to drive Aiden to her place in his car because he’d had one or three too many with her dad and idiot brothers. He was a sweet drunk, complimenting her on her braking and turn signals the whole eight blocks back to her place.

Frankie slid the key in the lock and gave him a push into her apartment. She dropped her keys on the kitchen counter and kicked off her shoes. “Well, that was eventful,” she announced.

“I couldn’t tell. Did I pass?” he asked, sliding out of his coat and hanging it neatly on the dubious coat rack that leaned like the tower of Pisa.

“Pass what?” Frankie asked, fishing two glasses out of the cabinet in her kitchen.

“Your parents’ inspection.”

She laughed. “My mother hit you upside the head. That’s a gold star seal of approval if there ever was one.”

“That’s not what it sounded like from the kitchen.”

Frankie handed him a glass of water and some ibuprofen. “You heard that, huh?” She curled up on the couch, tucking her feet beneath her.

Aiden flopped down next to her and stared at the pills in his hand.

“Go on. They always give me a headache,” Frankie joked.

“You’re very thoughtful,” Aiden said, smiling sweetly at her.

She indulged herself and ran the fingers of one hand through his thick hair.

He leaned back against the couch cushion and closed his eyes. “Feels good,” he murmured.

There was something irresistible about tipsy, vulnerable Aiden.

“Do you really care if they like you?” she asked, wondering if he could be playing her.

“Of course I do,” he said, lolling his head to one side to study her. “If they’re important to you, they’re important to me.”

“Did you and my dad sneak into the bourbon?” Frankie asked.

“Only one or two times,” Aiden said, listing toward her. “Hey, you know what I heard some people do on Sunday afternoons?”

“Buy small countries?” Frankie offered. His head hit her in the chest and she continued the slow stroke of her fingers through his hair.

“Ha. You’re funny. I heard some people nap.”

She closed her fist in his hair and gave a tug until he was looking at her. “Have you never had a Sunday afternoon nap?”

“Sure. When I was like three,” he smirked.

“Sunday afternoon naps are the best. And if rich people can’t take them, I don’t ever want to be rich.”

Aiden nestled into her, his face pressed against her breast. “Will you take a nap with me?”

“Take your shoes off, Aide,” she told him.

“’K.” He shoved his Ferragamo loafers off, and they hit the floor one at a time.

“Are you always this adorable when you drink?” she teased, tugging the blanket off the back of the couch to cover him.

“I drink too much,” he murmured. His eyes were closed.

“You do?”

“Self-medication.”

“I’ve never seen you drunk before,” Frankie pointed out as she adjusted the pillow behind her.

“I don’t like to get sloppy,” he yawned.

“You’re not a sloppy person,” she agreed.

“Hey, will you come to a dinner with me this week?”

“Where?” she hedged.

“At some museum. It’s a reception for a nonprofit. My mom is on the board.”

“Your family will be there?”

“Mmm-hmm. Everybody. Even that asshole Elliot.”

Frankie laughed softly. “I’m gonna have to pass.”

“Why?” he sounded disgruntled.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Aiden. It’s better if we keep our relationship… private.”

He lifted his head and looked at her frowning. “But I just met your family,” he pointed out.

“I know. But that’s different. I don’t think I should dabble in your world. Okay?”

It was all temporary, and she didn’t want either one of them to forget that. Meeting her family was one thing. It drove her mother batty. Mission accomplished. If she met Aiden’s family, it would be making a statement. And she wasn’t really a statement kind of woman.

“I wish you would. I liked meeting your family, and mine doesn’t hit as much.”

Frankie laughed again. “That just means Ma really liked you.”

“Even though I’m a trillionaire?”

“She wouldn’t have smacked you if she didn’t like you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Despite her better judgment, Frankie dropped a kiss to the top of his head. His hair was soft, silky to the touch.

“What do you use on your hair?” she asked.

“Mmm, stuff. Can we sleep now?”

“Yeah, we can sleep now.”

His arms came around her waist, and he was out like a light in seconds.

Frankie tried not to think about how good this felt. A Sunday nap on the couch with her sexy boyfriend. It wasn’t real, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t feel damn good.