"My mama raised me right," he laughed, handing her the bottle.
A crafty smile stretched over her pout. "And how is your mother? I trust our wedding plans are progressing nicely," she teased, turning her attention back to the pots on the stove.
He leaned against the counter and smirked down at her, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath about her being evil. "Your name is now Jewish Alisha just, so you know. The ol' yenta called me this morning to natter on about seeing you in the parade. She thought you were wonderful—though not as wonderful as you could have been had you sang a Jewish song."
Alisha laughed and picked up her glass of wine. "You shouldn't talk about your mother that way."
"Whatever. She's bat shit crazy. I'm sure you have a nice normal mother. Me, I've got Rosemary Biggerman." He noticed the smile on her face falter and a hint of sadness ghost in those brown eyes of hers. Shit.
"I don't have a mother," she told him simply.
"Shit. I'm sorry," he offered lamely," running a hand over the back of his head.
Her smile returned, and she shifted to look at him. "Don't be. That's just a fact of my life—I don't have a mother and I never have. Well, I mean she gave birth to me of course, but she never took care of me outside the womb. I have two amazing dads though."
Big's brows furrowed together. "You have two…" then he remembered the picture in her room. Oh. Oooooh. "Hey, right on," he shrugged. "That's two more than I've got," he told her flippantly, scratching his eyebrow and grabbing a beer.
The corners of her mouth turned down as she stared at his back. "I'm—"
"Don't say sorry," he told her flatly, turning back towards her. "Because I'm not. Mitch Biggerman is a worthless piece of shit that was a drunk on the good days and liked to slap his wife and kids around on the bad. I'm not the least bit sorry dear old Dad's not around anymore." The muscles in his jaw clenched tightly and he wasn't sure why the hell that had just come pouring out. He hadn't talked or thought about his sperm donor in a long time.
"Jake," Alisha said softly, laying her hand gently on his arm.
The use of his first name hadn't gone unheard. If it wasn't used under these circumstances, he might have enjoyed the sound of it on her lips. "Alisha, seriously, he's not worth the oxygen," he insisted. He brought the can to his lips and took a big gulp, ending his participation in this particular conversation.
With a slight nod, she turned her attention back to cooking. She knew better than to press when family issues were involved.
"And what's with the Jake business?" he asked lightly, leaning back against the counter again.
Deflection it is, she thought, her lips twitching from his statement. She slanted her eyes towards the door before sliding them back in his direction. "I can't call you Jake?" she asked coyly. His full lips pursed, making the sexy chin dimple pop. Her head cocked to the side and she looked up at him under lowered lashes. "You put your dick in me on a regular basis—I think I can use your given name from time to time." She smiled kittenishly when his eyebrow quirked up in surprise. Light and fun—those were their terms—and so far, they'd served them both very, very well. He chuckled and twisted a lock of long, dark hair around his finger briefly, bringing the beer to his lips once again, not taking his eyes off hers.
"Touché, Alisha."
The front door opened, and Russell's voice called throughout the apartment. Alisha gave Big one last knowing smile before moving around the kitchen to grab the remaining ingredients for her dish.
"Happy eat yourself into a coma day," Russell called happily, breezing into the kitchen, his boyfriend, Adam, close behind.
Alisha popped the baking dish into the oven and set the timer. "Happy Thanksgiving!"
Big nodded at both of the men and muttered a few words before brushing past them on his way to the living room.
Russell and Adam both angled their heads and watched him go, appreciating that fine male specimen.
"I saw that," Alisha called in a sing-song voice.
"Well, Lisha, just because we're happy and committed, doesn't mean we're blind or dead," Adam said with a wry grin, making Alisha chuckle. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Happy Turkey Day, doll face."
"Same to you, buddy," Alisha said warmly.
"Where's Q?" Russell asked.
"She and James are talking somewhere—probably professing their love to one another," she smiled. "They're so sweet." Alisha gathered all the plates and silverware that she needed and headed for the dining room.
Russell waited until she was out of earshot and gave Adam a pointed look. "Well?"
Adam shook his head as he poured them each a glass of wine. "I think you're reaching—I don't see it."
"Pfft! I stand by what I told you last week," he said, lowering his voice. "Alisha and Big are totally doing it. I'm now 99% sure."
Laughing, he took a sip of his wine, handed a glass to Russell. "Okay, you've now gone up two percentage points from last week. What brought that on?"
"His cologne," he nodded seriously. Adam snorted into his glass. "You laugh now, mister sister, but I'm willing to bet my new Gucci loafers that those two are a making the beast with two backs at every available opportunity."
"What does his cologne have to do with it?"
"The cologne he's wearing today? I smelled it on Alisha last week when I was at her apartment. She took forever to open the door and she looked, for lack of a better word, thoroughly had, when she finally did."
"Why don't you just ask her? Have you said anything to Maggie?"
Russell gave his boyfriend his best withering bitch, please look. "Of course not. Hello! Please keep up." Adam rolled his eyes. "We can't tell Maggie because she still doesn't like Big much
