Only that ICEE machine blended a different kind of frozen beverage. Because without the margaritas, M&M night was just a run of the mill movie night, and according to Diaz, “We were better than that.”
He had always taken his movie watching experiences seriously, but this was downright extra, even for him.
I sank deeper into the leather recliner, margarita sweating in my hand. “No Matty tonight?”
“That stomach bug finally got him,” Soren said, feet kicked up on an ottoman like he paid the mortgage. “Last I heard, he was camping out on his bathroom floor, praying to the porcelain gods.”
The flu had been tearing through the clubhouse over the past week, and from the sound of it, Matty was its latest victim.
At least he had Mo by his side.
“That thing was no joke,” Pink added. He was perched on the arm of a chair, his drink balanced dangerously on his knee. “It got Nessa worse than it got me, though. And I don’t know how the fuck Bennett escaped it; we share a kitchen.”
“Don’t be jealous,” I teased. “I can’t help it if my immune system’s superior.”
“Don’t forget which of us is the one with the poison garden, Benny boy.”
He wasn’t kidding. Pink’s poison garden was a sight to be seen, though never touched. Rows of flowers that looked soft and harmless, all bright petals and delicate stems, while quietly being toxic as hell to anything that didn’t know better.
Beautiful, but deadly.
Something told me Pink probably didn’t have any actual plans to murder anyone anytime soon. But if he ever got a glimpse into the dirty, depraved thoughts I’d had about his sister, hisvirginsister, I had a feeling I might be fertilizer.
I could practically hear theDatelinetheme song now.
The thought was enough to make my grip tighten around the margarita glass.
“Who’s got Valentine’s Day plans?” Diaz asked, smiling when a collective groan rang out. “C’mon, think of your single friends. We need to live vicariously through you.”
“Clarke and I are locking the doors all weekend,” Soren said, stretching his arms behind his head like a man who had absolutely won at life. “Picnic on the living room floor, fireplace on, that red lipstick she knows drives me crazy. Don’t plan on hearing from me until at least Tuesday.”
“Proud of you, old man.” Pink held up his hand for a high five, but Soren slapped it away. “Nessa and I are heading to the coast. I booked a suite with a jetted tubinthe bedroom. Ocean view, no interruptions.”
“A little cold for the coast, don’t you think?” I asked.
“Like I said,jetted tub.”
Tucker snorted from the corner. “Brock and I have reservations at La Vache Belle.”
Brock Heller, acclaimed sports reporter turned podcaster turned bestselling queer romance author, had been Tucker’s boyfriend for over a year now. The two of them had made it official during the Buns & Roses auction—the same night I’d met Bella—back when Brock had still been known for his hard-hitting interviews and hot takes instead of books that made half the internet feral.
“Seven-course tasting menu, wine pairings, candlelight. Romantic as fuck.”
“Bougie as fuck,” Roman corrected.
Tucker grabbed a throw pillow and nailed him square in the chest. “And what about you, Roman?”
He shrugged, catching the pillow and tossing it back with a lazy grin.
For as long as I’d known Roman, I’d never seen him with the same man or woman twice. The guy loved sex of all kinds, the kinkier the better. We had all heard countless stories about threesomes, bondage, sex clubs, or whatever wild adventure he’d stumbled into the night before, always told with amused detachment, like relationships were a foreign language he had no interest in learning.
“Two dates,” he answered finally, stretching out on the floor like a cat. “Seven o’clock dinner with this redhead from the gym who has a breeding kink. Eleven o’clock drinks with that guy I met at a club downtown last weekend. Should be a full night.”
Soren whistled low. “I’m exhausted just listening to you.”
Roman smirked. “Jealous?”
“Terrified,” Soren said, shaking his head. “One woman keeps me plenty busy.”
