Page 47 of Truth or More Truth
Melissa’s arm drops from mine, and she spins to face him.
“Just getting some fresh air,” she says as I turn to face my friend.
“Aren’t you cold?” Diego asks Melissa before shooting me anexasperated look. “Give the woman your jacket, man. What are you thinking?”
I wasn’t thinking, obviously. But I quickly shrug out of my jacket and drape it around Melissa’s shoulders.
nineteen
. . .
Bobby’s tuxedo jacket warms me instantly, and I grab the lapels to pull it more tightly around me, enveloping me not only in his body heat but also his delectable scent.
Diego and Bobby are having some sort of stare-down, and I look back and forth between the two of them.
“Any interest in saying out loud what you two seem to be saying with Jedi-like communication?” I ask.
Bobby’s hand lands on the small of my back. “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he says tersely. “Let’s get back inside where it’s warm.”
He nudges me, and I move up the steps. Diego opens the door for us to walk through, and I glance back to catch him giving Bobby a smack on the back of the head. I raise my eyebrows at Diego, who graces me with a giant smile.
When we step back into the room, Leslie and Ash are at the cake table, ready to cut it. Bobby steers me that way so we can watch them feed each other cake, and once it’s cut, he snags two plates and carries them back to the table for us. When he pulls his jacket off my shoulders and drapes it over the back of his chair, I feel a sense of loss.
Nobody else is at the table, so I ask, “You sure you’re all right?”
Bobby nods. “As long as I have something else to focus on for a while, I’ll get through it.”
“Well, in a few minutes, you’ll be able to focus on dancing.” I pause. “You are going to dance, aren’t you?”
“You think I don’t dance?” He pops a bite of cake into his mouth.
I grin at him. “You don’t really seem like a dancer.”
He says around his bite of cake, “I guess you don’t know everything about me, then.”
I laugh. “Apparently you’ve never been taught not to speak with food in your mouth.”
“Oh, I was taught.” He swallows and smirks at me. “I just chose not to listen.”
Emily’s head pops between ours. “Whatcha talkin’ about?”
Bobby scoots his chair away from mine a few inches and turns sideways in his seat so he can partly face Emily as she places her plate of cake on the table between us.
“Dancing and cake and societal rules,” he answers.
“What’s sietal rules?” Emily asks.
“Polite stuff you have to do when you’re around other people,” he responds. He’s shockingly good at speaking with a young child.
Emily nods and forks a bite of cake into her mouth before replying, “Like not picking your nose or tooting in front of other people.”
Bobby barks out a laugh before he can stop it, and I giggle.
“Yes.” Bobby ruffles her hair. “Like that.” He shoots a smile my way. “As well as not talking with your mouth full of food.”
Emily covers her mouth with her hand. “Oops!”
“It’s okay, honey,” I say. Then I whisper loudly, “Mr. Bobby just did it, too.”
