Page 32 of Rebels and Roses

“Do you want me to call it? I can be the bad guy,” Tate offered quietly. “I’ll just say that I have an early morning which actually isn’t a lie. I’m supposed to get my teeth cleaned at nine.”

“Is this evening as much of a nightmare as I think it is? Am I being over the top?”

“I would imagine it’s worse for you.” Tate turned his gaze pointedly at Fiona who was currently regaling Frankie with a story about their time in Venice about a decade ago. “I can easily pull the plug.”

“Yeah, do it. And thanks.”

Tate stood, placing his napkin on the table and clearing his throat.

“Folks, this has been a great evening, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to wrap it up. I have an early appointment tomorrow, and we’re going to need these tables as the evening rush should be arriving soon.”

Frankie yawned loudly, her hand over her mouth.

“It is getting late, isn’t it? The food was fantastic as always, big brother.”

Lucy and Jane immediately stood, gathering their purses, and saying good night. Cooper wanted to stop Jane and talk to her, but frankly, he didn’t know what to say. The entire night had been a clusterfuck of massive proportions.

Tom and his date wandered over to a quiet booth in the corner, swaying on their feet and giggling. The server began to clear the table while Tate was behind the bar checking in the bartender.

“Let’s have another drink.”

Was Fiona serious? Another drink?

“I think you’ve had enough. I know I have.”

“You’re so mean to me sometimes,” Fiona pouted, her lower lip stuck out. “I’m just trying to have some fun here. When did you become such a stick in the mud?”

“Around about the time I turned thirty. Getting so drunk I can’t walk or talk doesn’t appeal to me anymore. Not that it did all that much back then either.”

He’d drank and partied his share, but he’d never been a booze hound. He liked to stay in control as much as possible. He hadn’t really remembered how much Fiona could knock them back. She could hold her liquor, too, if she didn’t go overboard. But after six, seven, or eight drinks, just about anybody was going to feel it.

“Don’t leave me alone,” she pleaded, tugging at his shirt sleeve. “Just one more drink. Then we’ll go.”

“Fine. One more drink. Promise?”

“I promise.”

She made a show of crossing her heart, bringing attention to her blouse that now was unbuttoned even further than it had been at the beginning of the evening.

The two of them moved to another table off to the side. Fiona wanted to order more tequila shots, but Cooper immediately turned that idea down. She was welcome to, but he wasn’t going to join in.

“Doing shots alone is no fun. I’ll have another glass of merlot.”

He signaled for the server and put in their order.

“You’re mixing grain and grape tonight. You may regret it in the morning,” he warned.

I sound like someone’s dad.

“That’s what ibuprofen is for,” Fiona replied, waving away his concern. “Besides, alcohol never bothers me. You know that.”

When they’d been married, she’d shown amazing resilience after a long night of drinking and dancing.

“I guess I’m the only one getting older.”

“You look fine to me,” she said, placing her hand on his thigh and giving it a squeeze. “You look really good, babe. Really, really good. Why did we break up again? I can’t seem to remember.”

“We made each other miserable. And I remember.”

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