Page 57 of My Worst Pucking Enemy

“I am absolutely not saying that to the lady bartender. She’ll slap me,” Paxton protests. “Or take me up on it.”

“No, she won’t. It is a legitimate drink. It is a scewdriver, with Southern Comfort, Galliano, and sloe gin.”

Paxton rolls his eyes at me and raises his voice to be heard over the banging, thumping music. “For God’s sake, I know what a slow comfortable screw is, Ruby!” he shouts.

As luck would have it, right before he said that, the song ended and there was a beautiful, glorious moment of silence. Just about everyone in the club hears him.

His teammates heard him. The girls dancing with his teammates heard him. My sister, her husband, and everyone in creation heard him. The DJ no doubt heard him.

All eyes are on Paxton Saul.

His cheeks turn red. He actually blushes. This is the most glorious moment in the history of ever.

“The drink! I know the drink ingredients!” Pax yells, but it’s too late, because the next song is blaring from the loudspeakers, and now nobody who’s more than three feet away can hear him.

I smile at Paxton. “Serendipity,” I tell him. “It’s when all the elements in the universe align in exactly the right way.”

He glares. “I know what serendipity is too.”

The bartender puts a drink down in front of me. It’s a slow comfortable screw up against a wall.

“Does he need me to write down instructions?” the bartender asks.

Paxton glares at him.

“I mean ingredients,” the bartender says. “For the drink.”

“Please give the man a very generous tip, sweetie,” I say to Paxton. Paxton shoots me a murderous look and drops several twenties on the bar. The bartender grabs them, grins at me, and hurries off to take another drink order.

I hold up the drink to toast Paxton and take a sip, blinking innocently. He shakes his head at me and nurses his beer.

Rowan leans over and arches an eyebrow. “So, everything okay in, uh, all areas of your relationship? They have books about it, you know. I could order you one. With pictures and diagrams.” But she’s got a huge grin on her face.

“I was talking about the drink! Ruby wanted me to order her a drink!” Paxton protests loudly.

“The drink. Of course, he was definitely talking about the drink,” Rowan nods, with a skeptical look on her face. “Was he talking about the drink, Ruby?”

“If he says so,” I say, shaking my head no vigorously.

“How long are you going to hold a grudge about that TV interview?” Paxton demands of Rowan.

She shrugs. “How long is a piece of string? I don’t know, Paxton. You have a lot of making up to do.”

“Fine,” he huffs. “What can I do to make this up to you?”

My sister fixes Paxton with a death glare. “Treat my sister like gold and do not give me any cause to come after you with a pair of neutering shears.”

Paxton blinks.

“Your wife doesn’t play,” he says to Mason.

Mason nods somberly. “Nope. Neither do I.”

“And with that, and with your promise to consult me before you talk to the press ever again, we will back off,” Rowan says. “You’re young, you’re free—do what you want to do and just use some common sense and birth control. The end. Carry on.”

“Words of wisdom from the Greatest Generation,” I tell Paxton somberly. “They suffered so much in the war. We have to give the oldsters some slack. Things were done differently back in their time. Why, they’ve even had to get used to horseless carriages.”

“How dare you! I’m Gen Z!” Rowan elbows me.

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