You’ll appreciate it more later, he said, with a wickedness in his eyes that promised delightful things to come—even if the Cubs didn’t pull out a win.
“Well, well,” Colin said, glancing at me. “That’s worth a drink on the house. You’re a gin-and-tonic girl, right?”
“I am,” I agreed. “And that sounds great.”
“Done,” he said, and looked at Ethan. “Sire?”
Ethan had gotten an upgrade, at least in title, when he became a member of the Assembly of American Masters, a newly created organization intended to give American vampires control of their futures. So far, they’d been very low-drama, which was a nice change from their predecessor.
“I’ll have what she’s having.”
“I knew you’d trust my judgment eventually.”
Catcher snorted. “About food pairings, anyway.”
“A Novitiate takes what a Novitiate can get,” Colin said with a wink. He took Catcher’s and Mallory’s orders, left us with pizza. We exchanged shrewd looks, waiting for someone to make the first move toward a slice.
“Well, I’m not waiting for your people to play supernatural rock-paper-scissors,” Mallory said, spinning the box so its maw opened toward her, and sliding a piece onto a plate.
“Which would be what, exactly?” Ethan wondered.
She paused, chewed contemplatively, then raised two fingers in a “V,” curled them into would-be claws, and wiggled them like she was sprinkling a spell over us. “Vampire-shifter-sorcerer,” she said. “You can call it ‘VSS.’”
“I think you just invented a meme,” I said, impressed.
“Of course I did. I’m awesome. Pass me the cheese.”
? ? ?
We’d nearly finished the pizza when Catcher gestured toward the pool table. “You play?” he asked Ethan.
“Every now and again.”
“You up for a match?”
Ethan glanced back at me, eyebrows lifted.
I looked at the clock. We’d eaten quickly, still had time before the game started. I would have been perfectly fine getting to the stadium early, watching players warm up and fans file in, balancing Chicago dogs and phones and beers as they did so. But when Ethan glanced longingly at the table’s immaculate green felt and curvy baroque legs, I knew I was lost.
“Go for it,” I said, then cocked my head. “Although I didn’t know you played.”
“I’m not a hustler,” he said, with a smidge of indignation. “But I play as well as I Master.”
Insecurity was not a trait Ethan was familiar with. “In that case, have fun.”
“You think he’s going to school Catcher?” Mallory asked as they made their way through the crowd to the pool table.
“I don’t know,” I said. That was true enough, although Ethan didn’t do much without a plan for victory—or at least an exit strategy.
I watched him, tall and rangy, select a pool cue, test its weight, and check its flexibility. A pair of vampires rose from their seats near the bar, wandered over to say hello. Blond hair tucked behind his ears, the cue he’d selected in hand, Ethan shook the vampires’ hands, then introduced Catcher. They chatted as Catcher racked the balls, and they prepared to play.
“Will Catcher throw a fit if he loses?” I asked. He was the generally grouchy type. I liked him very much.
“Catcher thrives on moderation and reasoned action.”
I snorted. “And Ethan is humble and operates the House as a democracy.”
“So we’re both full of shit,” she said, then cast her gaze toward her well-toned husband. “If he loses, it serves him right for challenging a vampire in his own place.”
“Maybe not the wisest move,” I agreed.
“Anyway,” she said, scooting closer, “I’m glad they’re gone. Now we can talk.”
Given the drama of the last few weeks, I assumed she had bad news about evil or magic, and prepared myself for the worst.
“I’m afraid the sex is going to become stale.”
Colin arrived with fresh drinks—a Manhattan for Mallory, another G&T for me. For one last, peaceful moment, I squeezed the lime into the glass, licked lip-puckering juice from my thumb. And then I took a drink, put the glass down on the table again, and did what I had to do. I invited her to talk to me about sex with Catcher.
“Why do you think it’s going to become stale?”
She leaned toward me, arms folded on the table. “I mean, I don’t know. We’re married, and it’s good. It’s really good. And frequent.”
I knew I’d regret it, but couldn’t help asking. “How frequent?”
“At least daily. Sometimes more so. We’re naked a lot,” she said matter-of-factly.