Page 92 of Interference

He had a point. Bear had the memory of a goldfish anyway, and Moose was passed out on the top tier of the cat tree. Traumatized indeed.

Anthony put the water bowls by the cat food dishes on the counter, and then he refilled Lily’s too. Once he’d finished that, he said, “Okay. Wine. You have a preference? Red or white?”

“Long as it’s not champagne.”

He made a face. “Not in this house. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared again, and it sounded like he was heading down a set of stairs between the kitchen and dining room. He’d gone down there last time he’d stepped out to get us some wine, but it hadn’t really registered where he might be going. In a house this opulent, I couldn’t say I’d be surprised to find out it really did have a subterranean wine cellar.

A moment later, Anthony returned with two bottles. As he pulled down a couple of glasses, I got up and crossed the living room to the island.

“Two?” I grinned. “Are we each killing a bottle tonight?”

He shrugged. “Eh. I’ve got tomorrow off for once, so I don’t plan on stopping at one glass. Figured I’d bring up a second bottle just in case.”

“Fair enough.” I picked one up and peered at it. “It’s a little small to do keg stands, but—”

Anthony burst out laughing, just as I’d hoped. “Oh, man.” He pulled a corkscrew out of a drawer. “I haven’t done one of those in ages.”

“Yeah? What’s your best time?”

He quirked his lips as he started opening one of the bottles. “About twenty seconds, I think.” With a challenging look, he asked, “What about you?”

“Thirty-seven.”

He blinked. “No shit?”

“Yeah. And I only stopped because it was so fucking cold, my mouth was going numb.”

“Uh-huh. Suuure you did.”

“I did!” I showed my palms. “That shit was cold! And I’ll have you know that soldiers can fucking drink.”

He laughed as he poured a generous amount of red wine into each glass. “So can hockey players.” He put the bottle down. “Ooh, you know what would be fun? Beer pong between soldiers and hockey players.”

“No way.” I took one of the two glasses. “You guys would have an unfair advantage!”

“What? No, we wouldn’t!”

“Bullshit. I’ve seen you guys maneuver pucks. We’ve got good aim, but like, at a distance. And with scopes and shit.”

He smirked, picking up the other glass. “We could have your boys stand on the other side of the yard if it makes it easier.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Hey, behave or we’ll make it on ice skates.”

“Beer pong on ice skates.” I swirled my wine. “That sounds… disastrous.”

“I know, right?” He laughed, then held up his glass. I clinked mine against his, and we both took a drink.

I didn’t know wine—like all the vintages and the flavors and whatever—but this was good. Not as dry as the red wines I’d had before, but not overly sweet either.

“Wow.” I picked up the bottle again. “This is really good.”

“Isn’t it? My mom went a little nuts when she visited and did one of the winery tours on the Eastside. She gave us, like, a dozen bottles.”

“Seriously?” I laughed and put the wine back on the counter. “My mom always says she doesn’t care if any of us drink, but she’s not paying for it.” I paused. “I mean, she gave my brother and sister-in-law a bottle of wine for their wedding, but other than that…”

“Eh, mine’s the same way.” He gestured toward the couch, and as we moved into the living room, he continued, “But she bought so damn much, it was going to be a nightmare to get it all home. So she ‘gifted’ us a bunch of it and shipped the rest.”

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