“Not to mention the bloating. Gluten does that,” Red added.
“Do you have a degree in nutrition or something?” I asked, wondering what made them decide to give me unsolicited advice on my food choices. Weirdly enough, they didn’t sound judgmental. Just really concerned, which was bizarre and awkward. I couldn’t even get angry with them, even though I had every intention of ignoring their advice.
Pink made a small I can’t believe this sound in her throat. “You don’t need to go to college to know. It’s common sense.”
“I like women with hearty appetites,” Killian cut in before more unasked-for comments could come my way. “And I love eating carbs with Emily. She makes the best shrimp scampi.”
I smiled. The remaining five girls looked at Killian and me as though we’d just announced we performed sacrifices of jelly-filled human biscuits and ate the remains afterward every full moon.
Purple returned to the table with a book in her hand. It was mine—The Very Bossy Engagement that I’d let Killian borrow. “I didn’t know you read, Killian,” she said, sitting down with the book with a small frown.
“In fact, I can,” he said dryly. “Count pretty well, too.”
I smothered a laugh, as it hadn’t been that long since he’d equated watching TV shows and movies based on books to reading. He’d come a long way. He actually changed in order to read my stuff. Thinking about that sent a curl of warmth around my heart. No other boyfriend had expressed enough interest to read my stories until Killian.
“Is it good?” She flipped through a bit. “It has a lot of words.”
“It’s amazing.” If Killian were a peacock, his chest would be puffed out and tail feathers fully fanned. “I loved it. Emily wrote it. She’s an amazing writer. A bestseller.”
“How many do you have to sell to make it?” Blondie said.
“A lot,” Killian said before I could. “Readers love her work. The only way her books could be better was if they were longer.”
I patted his hand. A lot of my readers said that, but if my books were actually longer, the stories would drag with filler.
Red frowned like she couldn’t understand him, then turned to me. “You should turn them into books with fancy photos. You’ll sell more. People love visuals. And they like to show off books like that on coffee tables.”
I almost laughed. One of my novels as a giant coffee table book. I could just imagine the kind of photos required for the sex scenes.
“She doesn’t write that kind of book. Besides, you’re supposed to use your imagination,” Mir cut in, her tone snotty.
“Pictures help,” Red said. “Nobody wants to read this much text.”
“Her books are perfect the way they are,” Killian said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “If you disagree, you’re wrong, and that’s that.”
Mom beamed.
I finished my coffee, heart fluttering, and used the mug to hide a smile I couldn’t suppress. I loved it that Killian was defending my writing—and praising my career. Not to mention it was sexy as hell. The modern-day equivalent of a knight defending his lady’s honor.
Killian stole a quick look at me, and I grinned. He smiled back, his blue eyes shining with something I couldn’t quite decipher. But it didn’t matter because, oh God, he was gorgeous.
As our gazes fused and the moment lengthened, I sensed a new emotion welling up inside. It was so sweet and warm that I wanted to hold on to it. And share it with Killian, because I knew he was the reason I was feeling this…this…whatever it was. The people around us receded into the background, and I reached over and brushed my fingertips along the corner of his mouth. His eyes followed the movement, then lifted back to mine. He looked at me like I was the only person on the planet who mattered, like I was the sun in his life.
He held my hand, his thumb stroking my pulse. My mouth dried, the air in my lungs hot.
“Stop it!” Red screeched.
I started, and the moment was broken. But that didn’t lessen the impact of what I’d felt.
The Sextet squabbled, then started to take selfies with my book. If their followers were curious enough to check the book out, I hoped their heads didn’t implode from the excessive number of words between the cov
ers.
Mom watched Killian, her eyes bright with celebrity love, and got up to help him clean up afterward. I let her have some time with her favorite rock star, since that was an order of magnitude better than her thinking about Dad and the new assistant he was banging. I stayed in the dining room, while the babes from Spain and Mir argued over what to watch on TV. The Sextet had wanted to go into the kitchen with Killian, but he’d told them, rather firmly, that they should stay out for everyone’s safety.
Devlin, who’d been four seats away, moved over and sat right next to me, taking Killian’s chair. “Hey. Is it okay if we start over?”
“Do you want to, for real?” I asked, surprised.