Page 53 of Some Like It Hot

“I guess that is also true. My mom never remarried or anything. She never even really dated. Too busy, she said.”

The server sets down Aidan’s beer and my whiskey. I raise the rocks glass and take a sip. “Well, my parents are still married, but they despise each other, so that’s not a great thing, either.”

“Why don’t they get divorced?”

That makes me smile. I’m too old for the relationship to be anything but an irritation now. I mostly see them separately unless it’s for large family gatherings. “Ah, that would require compromise and they are both terrible at that. My childhood home was a battleground. I was thrilled to go away to school.”

“For college?”

“Year three. When I was eight.”

Aidan chokes on his beer. “Eight? Jesus.”

“Trust me, it was preferable to rattling around in a drafty old manor house in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a suit of armor to play with. My sister is eight years younger than me. So I was happy to escape and gain the companionship of my schoolmates.”

“When you put it that way, that is an improvement. So how did you end up in Chicago?”

“My family has an American branch of the company. My cousin runs it. He also owns the Racketeers. Nathan Armstrong.”

“No kidding? Is that how you met Elise?”

“Elise used to work for me. She was my assistant’s assistant, and according to her, she was rubbish at it. She quit over a year ago. I ran into her two nights ago at the Racketeers game, and well, here we are.”

He nods. Then he pauses with his beer to his lips, lifting his eyebrows. “Was she rubbish at it?”

I pretend to glance around the empty restaurant and put my finger to my lips. “She wasn’t the best at it. But that’s our little secret.”

Aidan laughs warmly, and it washes over me. “I won’t tell a soul. I’m a steel fucking trap.”

“I bet you are.”

“I’m going to ask a stupid question,” he says.

“Anything.”

“What the hell is neat whiskey? I’ve always wondered that but not enough to look it up.”

It’s such an innocuous question I laugh. I thought he was going to ask me something difficult to answer. “It just means it’s served room temperature, with no ice, no mixers. Just straight whiskey from bottle to glass. It makes the flavor bolder. Hotter.”

“You like it hotter?”

Now he’s flirting.

A warm feeling settles into my stomach, and it’s not the whiskey.

“I do. I take it you know all about heat.”

“I know how to put out fires, that is true. Do you want to order now?”

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

He grins. But then he looks at the table. “I don’t see a menu.”

“You can order anything you want and they’ll make it for you.”

His jaw drops. “Oh, come on, that is just too much pressure. I need options at least.”

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