Nick grinned in response, a little relieved to get a step closer to Lincoln Mathis’s inner circle.
Of all the guys in the Oxford group, he and Lincoln were the rockiest, courtesy of the fact that Nick had temporarily held Lincoln’s job and had made a move on Lincoln’s girl—although, to be fair, he hadn’t had a clue that Daisy even knew Lincoln when he’d asked her out a couple of times.
Besides, the way Nick—and, he hoped, Lincoln—saw it, he and Daisy had only shared meals. He’d never laid a hand on her other than to help her with her coat.
Nick was glad of it. Not only because it meant that Lincoln had no reason to hate him, but because it meant he and Daisy could still be friends—truly friends. She came into the bar every so often with Brit or one of the Stiletto girls.
He liked her, a lot—enough to respect that she was obviously blissfully happy with Lincoln. And while Nick thought he was a good-looking guy, even he knew Lincoln Mathis was better suited to Hollywood than Oxford. The man was all black hair, blue eyes, and an obnoxious supply of one-liners.
Nick measured out the Cynar, rye whisky, and bitters into three shakers, then one by one added an egg white to each shaker. He shook Jackson and Hunter’s first, straining them into the glasses he’d chilled with ice, then did the same with Lincoln’s.
He didn’t bother to watch the men’s reactions as he rinsed the shakers out. Nick already knew it was a damn good drink. He didn’t put anything in front of a customer that he didn’t think was as perfect as it could be.
“Damn,” Jackson said. “I’m a pretty dedicated beer guy, but that’s fucking amazing, even if it’s served in a chick glass.”
Nick nodded in acknowledgment, not taking offense in the least. Jackson Burke was a former professional quarterback from Texas and had taken his team to several Super Bowls. Nick would accept whatever compliment he could get from the man.
“So what’s new with you guys?” Nick asked as he put the shakers back in their proper place. He glanced over to see that the ladies in the corner were still nursing the martinis he’d made earlier.
“Who cares?” Hunter said, taking a sip of the drink. “You’re the one with news.”
“Am I?” Nick raised an eyebrow.
“Dude. You moved in with Taylor Carr.”
“Hot damn,” Lincoln said in surprise. “Really? How did I not know this?”
“Because your face is always buried in Daisy’s—” Jackson glanced at the women in the corner and lowered his voice. “Flower.”
Lincoln laughed but didn’t take his attention away from Nick. “Taylor, huh? Always knew you guys had something brewing beneath all that ‘I hate you’ crap.”
“We’re roommates,” Nick said. “That’s it.”
“Really,” Hunter said. “All the available apartments in this city, and you opted for the one your worst enemy lives in?”
“I guess the idea has merit,” Lincoln said. “Keep your enemies close and all that.”
Yeah, let’s go with that.
“I guess,” Hunter muttered, hazel eyes studying Nick. “Sort of thought it might be something else.”
“I’m not hooking up with Taylor,” Nick ground out. No matter how fantastic she looks in her gym clothes. Her pajamas. Her brunch clothes. Her work clothes.
Shit.
“Nah, I was hoping it had more to do with sticking it to Bradley,” Hunter said.
Nick glanced at the other man in surprise. “Aren’t you and Calloway friends?”
“Sure,” Hunter said cautiously. “Doesn’t mean I like the way he treats women.”
“Women. As in more than Taylor?” Jackson asked. “Heard he left her high and dry the day he was supposed to move in. Fucking shitty.”
“Well said, man,” Lincoln said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “And yeah, I heard that too. Anyone else getting the impression our office’s even more gossipy than Stiletto? But for real, what’s the story?”
“Not mine to tell,” Nick said, pouring them each a water so that he could avoid their eyes.
“He went from Jess Hayes to Taylor, and now back to Jessica,” Hunter said, his disdain clear. “Wouldn’t bug me so much if the timeline wasn’t too damn close to being overlapping.”
Nick’s head shot up at that. It was bad enough that Calloway had hurt both women. If he’d cheated on each of them with the other…
Jackson made a snorting noise. “Moron. He couldn’t have picked a worse woman to double-cross. I’m pretty sure Taylor Carr could kick all our asses. At the same time.”
“She is pretty fierce,” Lincoln said, picking up his water glass. “Very tigress. But, you know…hot.”
“I don’t think you have to speculate that tigresses are hot,” Hunter mused. “It’s implied, right?”
Lincoln seemed to consider this and opened his mouth to reply, but Jackson held up a hand. “Cross, do not get Lincoln started on this shit. He’ll take it to a weird Animal Planet place, and we’ll never hear the end of it.”
Lincoln lifted a shoulder as though to say, True.
“Okay, but really,” Lincoln said, shifting attention back to Nick. “Daisy’ll kill me if I don’t get the lowdown. Are you and Taylor a thing now?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Nick said, jerking his chin toward Hunter. “He and Taylor share a best friend.”
Hunter gazed back at Nick in amusement. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
“What?” Nick asked irritably.
Hunter merely grinned. “Fishing to figure out what Taylor’s told Brit about you.”
The observation was so dead on that Nick barely withheld a wince at being so transparent and girly.
Okay, so maybe he was aware that Hunter’s best friend was none other than Brit Robbins. And maybe he’d been curious what Taylor and Brit had been talking about when he’d walked in on their conversation the other night.
God knew he couldn’t ask Taylor. They were back on speaking terms, but not of the civil variety. The past few days, their animosity had been kicked up to DEFCON 1 levels.
“Make me another of these and I’ll give you something to work with,” Hunter said.
Nick glared. “Great. And then we can paint each other’s nails after?”
Lincoln raised his hand. “I’m in.”
Jackson punched Lincoln’s hand down with more force than necessary. “No.”
“Okay,” Hunter was saying as Nick began mixing the drinks. “So, girl talk time for real. According to Brit, she thinks the perfect thing to help Taylor see that Bradley’s a douchebag not worth dwelling on is a good shag.”
Lincoln, Jackson, and Nick all stared at him.
“Shag?” Nick said.
Hunter shrugged. “I have English relatives.”
“Explains the Prince Harry ginger hair,” Jackson muttered.
“How’d you know who Prince Harry is? You sound like Mathis. And my hair’s brown,” Hunter said, a bit testily.
“Reddish brown,” Lincoln argued.
“It’s fucking brown—”
“Guys,” Nick cut in. “Don’t make me throw you out of here for annoying the hell out of me.”
“So, what do you think, Ballantine?” Hunter said, with a warning glare at the other guys. “Taylor up for a rebound fling?”