‘Give it up, Kit,’ scorns Fin. ‘That’d be Bernie,’ scorns Fin. ‘And shedoes notlook like a Bernie, does she?’
‘Beatrix?’ My insides take a tumble as he rolls ther,drawing out thexover several sexy syllables.
‘Bellatrix!’ says a still amused Fin. ‘I could get with that!’
‘Why? Because I’m a bit of a witch?’
‘Because you’re a lil’ bit kickass.’ She holds her forefinger and thumb together, but I have no idea whether she’s signifying the amount of my witchy-ness or my kickass.
‘Do you know?’ Kit questions his brother, though his eyes don’t leave my face. I sense rather than see Rory’s replying shrug.
‘Phoebe?’ His grey eyes are so mesmerising and his gruff tone divine. ‘Ruby?’
‘Didn’t you once date a Ruby and a Phoebe, Rory? Probably both at the same time.’
‘Now, you ‘ken there’s only one girl for me.’
The pair begins to gently bicker and coo, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes from the man sitting next to me. I prop my elbow on the table and my chin against my fist, almost slipping as he rumbles in a low tone, ‘I’ll find out.’
‘That sounds like a threat.’ Actually, it sounds more like a warning—the definite note of caution heats and knots my insides.
‘I love it when you’re tipsy, titch.’ Rory’s whisper is audible from across the table.
‘Try saying that three times fast,’ Fin titters, rubbing her cheek against his. ‘Tipsy titch, tipsy tich, titsy tush.’
‘It’d be much easier if you told me.’ My eyes follow the sound of Kit’s sexy rumble almost instinctively.
‘Easier on who?’ I answer a touch haughtily.
‘Probably us both.’ He seems almost surprised by his words. ‘But until then, I’m going to call you honey bee.’
I open my mouth to respond, a touch indignant and a touch turned on because no one has ever presumed to give me a nickname, other than the one I gave myself. When I was five. You see, my name isn’t Bea. It’s not even close.
‘Come on, tittsie tush, let’s get you home,’ whispers Rory.
‘No way! It’s Friday night, and this tush wants to dance! You’ll come, won’t you, Bea?’ she says, grabbing my hand. ‘Busy Bea, you’re always so busy. Busy-bizzy-bizzy! But you’re here!’ she says, opening her arms wide.
‘I am here, you’re right, but I’m also not dressed for dancing.’ I’m still surprised I was let in the restaurant tonight.
‘Pssht! You wore that sweater a week ago with thick tights instead of skinny jeans. You could whip off your jeans and look totally sexy!’ Her head comically disappears down the side of the table. ‘Yep,’ she says, suddenly appearing again. ‘Cute boots, sexy sweater dress, miles of leg, andtotes gorg, as Savannah would say.’
‘Never use that accent again,’ Rory says with a shudder. He mustn’t be a fan of posh girls. I can’t think why...
‘Please,’ she says again, bringing my hand to her chest. And me almost across the table. ‘Pleeeeease!’
‘How could you say no to that face?’ Kit’s tone is hard to pinpoint. Is he trying to goad or encourage me?
‘And you always have your legs shaved, so don’t say you can’t because of that!’
I close my eyes as Kit begins to laugh.
‘Okay. I’ll come dancing until the early hours with you, you bossy thing. And when I’m hungover in the morning, I expect coffee and something sugary delivered from the French bakery.’ It’s not like I need to go home . . . It’s not like I’m waiting to hear from anyone.
‘Girls Scouts honour,’ she says, solemnly, releasing my hand. ‘Now get to the bathroom and strip!’
