“I’m not giving you details,” I snapped. “And Priya’s at work, saving lives and shit.”
Jacks was laughing now, too. “Come on, boss. Just tell us. We’re happy for you. We just want to know how it happened.”
I looked at all three of them—Mark with his knowing smile, Benji vibrating with excitement, and Jacks looking pleased.
“He said it first,” I admitted. “After everyone left. We were cleaning up the kitchen and he just . . . said it.”
“And?” Benji prompted.
“And I said it back.”
“AHHHHH!” Benji was too loud now. “This is the most romantic thing ever! I’m crying! I’m actually crying!”
“You’re not crying.”
“I’m crying on the inside . . . where it counts most. It’s called an ingrown cry. It’s special.” He grabbed my face with both hands. “I’m so happy for you, boss. You deserve this.”
Something unexpected, something warm, spread through me. “Thanks, Benji.”
“Okay, enough emotions. Back to the important stuff,” Mark said, reaching up and freeing my facefrom Benji’s grasp. “How many times did you have sex? I need a number.”
“I’m not answering that!”
“We’ll settle for an orgasm count. Three? Four? Five?”
“Benji!”
“He’s not denying five,” Mark observed. “So probably five.”
“Or more,” Jacks added.
“In four hours?” Benji cocked his head. “That would be impressive for a porn star. My money’s on three.”
“I’m going to the office to cut my wrist now. Please clean up the mess before the health inspector comes next week.”
“That’s three,” Benji insisted, holding his palm out to Mark. “You owe me twenty bucks.”
“You gambled on—”
“You know we did.” Mark grinned. “But that wasn’t an answer. No payout yet, Benj, not until we know for sure.”
I was about to respond with something sarcastic when I felt it.
A shift in the bar’s atmosphere.
It wasn’t anything obvious. The music was still playing, and people were still talking and laughing; but there was something different, some ripple ofenergy that moved through the crowd like a wave.
I ignored my idiot friends and scanned the room.
“What?” Benji asked, following my gaze. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. Something—”
That’s when I saw them.
Three men moved through the crowd near the entrance.
The first thing I noticed was their size—all stood over six feet and were built like they were carved from marble. But it wasn’t just their physicality. They carried themselves with the kind of athletic grace that came from being very good at something—and from being used to attention.
