Page 8 of Crave

The remaining five of us stand there, tense.

“Sandy, I’m glad you can join us tonight. There are only so many people here under sixty.” Troy’s warm green eyes find mine briefly before he turns to his 'all of a sudden unfriendly' brother. “Jake, I’m happy to see you.” He smiles tentatively at his brother, who does not smile back.

“Speaking of people under sixty, where’s your lovely wife, brother?” Jake asks. I notice that he says the word brother with much disdain. Both parents wince at the question.

“She’ll be here. The sitter was running late.” Troy lowers his voice. “Can I talk to you alone for a minute, Jake?”

“Maybe now’s not the time for that, dear,” Mrs. Clark says to Troy.

“Can’t, Troy. I told Sandy I wouldn’t leave her side tonight. Can’t break my word. I’m loyal like that, you know. Well, actually you don’t know.” There’s so much venom in Jake’s voice that I want to take a step back, but his arm around me is like a steel vise.

“Jacob,” his father says as if he’s speaking to a child.

“It’s fine, Dad. I tried.” Troy turns and starts to walk away from us.

“Stop trying,” Jake yells back.

Troy pauses, his back still turned to us, but instead of turning around to respond, he shakes his head and continues to walk away.

“Jacob,” his father says through clenched teeth, taking a step towards his son, “I warned you, didn’t I? This is your mother’s goddamn party and I will not have you acting like a petulant child, do you hear me?”

“Josh, leave him alone,” his mother says.

“That’s the problem, Lillian. He can’t keep going on like this. Jake, the situation is what it is, Son. Let it go.”

“I’m going to keep Sandy company. Excuse us.” Jake grabs my hand and leads me away from his parents. We walk through the first floor until we reach the spacious kitchen, where he opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of water. He offers me one, but I shake my head.

“What was that all about?”

“What?” he asks before he takes the water bottle in his mouth.

“You and your brother.”

“My brother’s an asshole. End of story. I don’t want to talk about him. You know what?” He tosses the empty bottle into the trash and grabs both my hands. He intertwines our fingers together and pins his gaze on me. One look from those intense brown eyes and I feel the blood pounding between my ears and my thighs. He takes a step closer to me and my heart starts to pound. We breathe each other in. The noise from the kitchen fades away and it’s just us.

“What?” I ask, suddenly out of breath.

“Let’s eat. If I feed you, you won’t need to make your dinner date. Come on.”

“You know what? I think it’s time for me to go,” I say to him, feeling exposed and uncomfortable with the family dynamics. I remove my hands from his and start to walk away, but he grabs my wrist.

“Stay. We’ll eat, and I’d really like it if you’d dance with me. Please.” Hypnotized by his eyes, I let out a shaky breath as he runs his knuckles against my cheek. All I can do is nod at his request. He rewards me with a smile and intertwines his fingers with mine before walking us out of the kitchen.

“There you two are,” Josh Clark says upon seeing us. “Come and sit down. They’re about to serve the first course.” He looks at our joined hands and looks from me to his son. “Sit at the main table with us, Sandy. I have a feeling JD won’t be here tonight.”

“This is really a family affair, and I should go. Please thank Mrs. Clark for asking me to—” I’m interrupted before I can continue.

“We want you to stay, Sandy. You promised you would help me keep this one out of trouble,” he says pointing to Jake.

“I don’t think anybody can help you do that.”

Mr. Clark throws his head back and laughs. “You catch on quick. Come on.” We follow him into the dining room. There are many tables set up with silver tablecloths, expensive china and beautiful floral arrangements consisting of white calla lilies and purple roses. It’s simply decorated but replete with elegance and wealth.

And in the center of the room is the four-tiered cake my mother created. If anything, I will stay until the cake is served. The appeal of getting more business for my mother is too much of a draw to walk away.

We approach what must be the head table, and Jacob pulls out a chair, pointing for me to sit.

“I guess you can be a gentleman when you want to be.”

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