Page 86 of Café Diablo

“Ned!”

Too late.

Arie saunters up to the hostess desk in a red slinky dress that looks like it will fall off if

I sneeze near it.

“Are you harassing the hostess? Do I need to call security? Maybe make you two a special strawberry tart?”

“She is my girlfriend,” I gripe, ignoring her whole tart comment. Only, Arie gives me a finger wag that matches the whole sway of her dress.

“Put a ring on it,” Arie sasses, Beyoncé style. “Otherwise, it’s only temporary!”

“Really? Is that what you’ve been telling Connor?” I ask, surprised at her swagger.

“Oh, hell no!” Arie shoots back. “Marriage means we’ll stop having hot sex and turn into fossils.”

“So, it’s only temporary then?” I ask, throwing her words back at her. “Hot sex with a shelf-life? That is unless you two decide to get married, turn into fossils, and watch your vagina dry up like you’ve been buried with King Tut. That it?”

Arie narrows her eyes at me. “You know,” she snips. “Olivia has been way too good for you. I’m not sure I approve of this whole loose-lipped sassy attitude. You used to just frown at me and make nasty comments under your breath.”

“I guess we all grow up at some point,” I toss back, and Arie rolls her eyes like she’s not impressed.

“Speak for yourself,” she says, turning to Olivia and addressing her. “I don’t know how you deal with this one.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so fast to judge,” Olivia sasses to her boss. “He is part of the Voss gene pool. I’m sure some of Connor’s magical wonders are just as applicable to older brothers.”

Arie turns to me with a raised eyebrow like that’s a hot suggestion she’s never previously considered. “Indeed,” she says, eyeing me provocatively.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” I say loudly, walking right past the two of them and into the dining room. I’m not spending the next ten minutes being treated like a piece of meat, especially when that meat’s going to be compared to my younger brother.

In the main dining room are two of Olivia’s pieces, both on prominent display. They flank the bar. One is tall with long abstract shapes of ebony and gold, and the second is reminiscent of a red fire, looking like it should permanently be a part of Flambé’s interior. Before looking for the final piece in the back hall, I walk up to the bar and flag down Connor.

“Whiskey. Rocks. I know,” Connor says dryly, walking up and throwing an empty glass in front of me. “Unless you’re in the mood for a Café Diablo?” he chides, giving me an incendiary glare. Somehow, in the middle of the last few months, someone—and I’m guessing it was Olivia—let the whole birthday, Café Diablo, unzipping my pants on the patio secret slip. And yes, it’s been Connor’s second-favorite topic ever since, after the handcuff incident, of course.

“Not drinking,” I say, pushing the empty glass back at him.

“What? Because Olivia’s working?” Connor teases. “I’m sure Arie will let Olivia take a break and you can zip her out to the back patio for a little—”

“Water,” I clip out. “All I want to know is if we’re still on for tomorrow morning?” I flip my glass over when Connor walks back up to me with the bottle of whiskey.

“One drink. It’s Friday,” he prods.

“Nope.” I shake my head. “I came to see Olivia’s art, not get trashed with the masses.”

“Getting trashed has worked out very well for you lately.”

“One incident does not constitute—”

“Exactly! Throw your appeal to ignorance logical fallacy right out the window, thank-you. You have to actually drinkmoreto test your theory.”

“Tomorrow?” I respond, ignoring his tirade. “Are you coming or not?”

Connor puts the bottle down and shakes his head at me. “You’re actually serious about this?” he asks, retrieving the empty glass and tossing it in the sink.

“Do I ever joke about anything that’s serious?” I throw back at him.

“Actually, now that you’re with Olivia, sometimes yes, you actually do!”

---