Shopping for a CEO's Fiancée (Page 46)

We all do shots and the whisky goes down smooth. I think about the walk-in closet in Dec’s bedroom. Wonder if Amanda will—

“How are the bee sessions going?” Hamish asks me.

Bee sessions. BEE SESSIONS?

He gives me a wicked grin. “Vince is my trainer, too, when I’m in Boston. Remember? He asked if the bee allergy runs in the family.”

Damn it. I would fire Vince in a heartbeat if he weren’t so good.

The whole room goes quiet. Even Dad stops talking to Pam and gives me an appraising look. Every single person in the room is staring at me, so I take the only reasonable action and pour three fingers of whisky, neat, and chug.

Then I pour again.

“Bee sessions?” Amanda asks quietly, as if I’m not under a microscope.

“Wasp,” I grunt under my breath. Not that the difference matters to any of them. Bees, wasps, whatever. They’re not allergic. Except for Shannon. The difference between a bee and a wasp sting only matters when you’re allergic. Oh, man, this whisky is good.

Too good. I must have another.

“Aye! Andrew’s going outside on a regular basis and getting used to being in the sun around the bees,” Hamish helpfully explains. “He’s working with a personal trainer to get used to it.”

“Wasp,” Amanda says, correcting him.

Dec and Terry have eyebrows buried in their hair.

Dad pulls away from Pam and turns his back to me, pouring another glass of wine for himself.

“That’s wonderful,” Marie says. “Overcoming your fear.”

“It’s not fear,” I scoff. “I’m working with allergists. Medical science is catching up to anaphylaxis. Being outdoors is part of a careful, medically-supervised plan to reduce risk.”

“You’re using a personal trainer known for tying shamanic crystals to his sac to gain strength for that?” Hamish asks, genuinely confused. “How is that medical?”

Anger rushes to the edge of my skin, digging its way through my pores. I have just enough alcohol in me to start saying words I’ll regret, but not enough to stop giving a shit.

I am firmly in the danger zone.

“Did you know that when a male bee mates, his penis explodes inside the queen bee and falls off? Gone forever!” Pam announces, raising her glass of wine as if in a toast.

A toast to male bee castration.

I’m not so sure she’s mother-in-law material, after all.

“Wasps, Mom,” Amanda pipes up. “Andrew’s not allergic to bees.” Like that matters. The woman is talking about insect penises. I don’t think we need to split hairs.

Or, uh…penises.

“You always entertain me, Pam,” Dad says, raising his glass to her. “Any other strange male penis behaviors you know about?” Dad winks at her.

Pam takes him seriously, screwing up her face in concentration. “The male octopus has a detachable penis. When he wants to mate, he rips it off—”

Every guy in the room just tightened his core and bent in a little, as if we’re all Venus flytraps and Pam stuck her finger inside us.

“—and she has sex with the detached penis. He regrows a new one.”

“I had a girlfriend I wish I could have done that with,” Hamish announces. “Would have made life easier.”

Amy looks at him with disgust. “Don’t you strain under the weight of carrying that ego around?”

“What?” he says, one corner of his mouth curling up with mischief. “Imagine the convenience of a detachable penis. T’would make the morning so much easier.”

All the men in the room nod.

All the women frown in confusion.

“And if you want to talk about carrying heavy objects around, if I had a detachable penis, t’would—”

She shuts him up by walking away.

“At least the octopus can just regrow his penis. The male drone bee dies shortly after. Sexual suicide,” Pam muses. “I wonder if that behavior is found elsewhere in the animal world.”

All the men in the room flinch except for me.

“Want to give it a try?” I ask Amanda.

“Which one?” she asks in mock horror. “Detachable penis or exploding penis?”

This conversation is making me a little sick.

“Male drone bee.”

“You’re willing to have sex with me until it falls off?”

“For the sake of science.” I nuzzle her ear, a deep warmth filling me, pants getting tight, blood pumping hard.

“For the good of mankind,” she says, rubbing her ass slowly against me.

“Walk-in closet? One minute? I’ll go first, you come second.”

She tenses. “That’s not the order we usually go in.”

“I meant sneaking out of the room.”

“Oh.”

A diffuse feeling of love for every person in the room should consume me, given the amount of alcohol in my blood, but lust takes over, and thank God. Because that was close.

I grab Amanda just as Marie calls everyone to gather around. Shannon smiles at us.

“Don’t make eye contact. It just encourages them,” I tell Amanda. “We’re three seconds away from freedom.”

“Can’t wait to open your gift!” Shannon says to Amanda, reaching for her as I stare longingly at Dec’s bedroom door.

And we’re snagged.

Cockblocked by a wedding registry.

“What on earth are all these file boxes?” Marie asks my dad, who gives her a Who, me? look.

“How should I know?” Dad growls.

“Mom, those are all the cards we received. Anterdec staffers organized all the wedding gifts for us.” Shannon’s explanation doesn’t go over well with Marie.