“Singapore sling,” Lene declared.“But let Taylor make it.He’s the master of the sling.”
“Margarita,” Trine said.“I already made a pitcher, Mo.”
Mo let them all say this then looked down to me and liftedhis brows.
“Margarita sounds good,” I told him.
He nodded, gave me a small smile, bent to me and touched hislips to mine.
He then walked to the bar cart.
Ingrid had an actual bar cart.
Total class.
Totallythe shit.
“Can we eat now?”Taylor demanded to know.
“Yes, Taylor,” Ingrid said serenely.
Instantly Taylor, Rick and Paul fell on the hors d’oeuvreslike they hadn’t eaten in a year.
I almost burst out laughing.
“Would you like me to wade in and make you a plate, Lottie?”Ingrid offered.“Before the trough expires.”
“Don’t you eat all those corn muffins, Rick!”Lene snappedat her husband before I could answer her mother.“Those are Mo’s favorites.”
“They’re mine too,” Rick retorted to his wife, mouth full ofcorn muffin.
“Save him five,” Lene returned sharply.
Rick gave a harassed look to Taylor.
Taylor didn’t field it.He was busy shoving a muffin in hismouth.
“Mo, now that you’re seeing someone famous, you need moreshirts like that,” Trine decided, eying her brother’s awesome shirt.
She then turned to me.
“You’ll probably be doing fancy stuff and he’ll have to comealong, which he won’t want to do because it’ll be stuff like book signings andmovie premieres.But he’ll do it because he’s Mo and you’ll be wearing hotdresses like that one.Though probably it’ll be more because you’ll be wearinghot dresses like that one.We’ll go shopping.He looksfabulousinblue.He needs more blue.He’s always wearing black.Or gray.I blame Hawk forthat.”
I didn’t tell her I didn’t attend book signings or thatthere hadn’t been any movie premieres.
I didn’t because I didn’t get the chance.
“Hawk doesn’t buy his clothes,Treenz,”Marte rejoined.
“He promotes an environment that’s manifestlymale,Marz,” Trine shot back.“If given the choice, men would only wear black, grayand army green.”
At that, Paul looked down at his burgundy shirt before hemuttered to Rick, “Could have sworn I hauled my own fuckin’ ass out to buythis.”
Rick grinned before shoving a mini-smoked salmon sandwich inhis mouth.
“Speaking of that,” Signe put in, ignoring this exchange,“when is Hawk going to hire a female commando, Mo?”
Walking back to me with my margarita that was in an actualsalt-rimmed, stemmed margarita glass that was the only one of the pure-classvariety I’d ever seen, Mo didn’t have a chance to answer.
