Page 52 of The First Spark

Once again, I got totally lost in Oriana.

Talk about some powerful magic.

“What?” I manage.

Kiki wags her finger between Ori and me. “You two. Seems you have important topics to discuss. Do you need some privacy, or would you prefer I continue to pose as a voyeur?”

My former fuck buddy is having way too much fun at my expense.

I push myself from the booth and jerk my thumbtoward the bar. “Actually, I need another drink. Ori, what’s your poison?”

“Nothing for me.”

“Not even a glass of single malt?” I tease.

“Not tonight. I’m just here to grab some food.”

Kiki pats the seat next to her. “Sit down and Ash will get the server over here. We were just discussing his new venture. Thanks to you, it’s a go for liftoff.”

Ori shoots Kiki a smile. “Happy to be of service. I’d love to join you, but my food is almost ready. We ordered it to-go.”

I stiffen when I catch her words.We? Who exactly arewe?

I don’t wait long for an answer.

“Got our food. You ready to head home, Ori?”

A male voice steps uninvited into our conversation, and I cut my gaze toward him as one thought shoots through my mind.

Who the fuck is this?

This guy’s got the whole professor vibe going—tweed jacket, glasses perched on his nose, and not a hair out of place. An Ivy League prep who likely has a deluge of initials after his name.

I hate him immediately.

Kiki extends her hand to the man while shooting me a coy side-eye. “Hi, there. I’m Kiki, the local realtor.”

Ori motions to the man at her side—a man standing entirely too close for my liking. “This is Roger. We worked together in the city.”

Which doesn’t explain what Professor Plaid Patches is doing here now. We’re ninety minutes outside of Manhattan.

Far too many miles to travel for a bite to eat.

No, this is an intentional visit and judging by the looks he’s shooting at Ori, he has plans for an all-night party.

I shake his hand, ensuring I employ my tightest ‘don’t fuck with me’ grip. “Asher Hammond.”

When he winces, I know I’ve done my job. “Hell of a grip,” he says, adjusting his glasses.

Buddy, that isn’t all I have.

Instead, I shrug and grunt. That’s about as friendly as I can manage right now.

“Here you go, handsome,” a voice says at my elbow. “I saw you were running on empty.”

Talk about perfect timing. I pivot toward the striking bartender, offering her my signature smile as I accept a fresh glass of whiskey. “You know me too well.”

“Actually, I don’t know you well enough,” she replies with a wink, planting her hand on her hip.

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