Page 23 of Champagne Fizz

“I know who Ned is.”

“Well, that’s his best friend, Mason,” Simon continues. “I’m sure he’s in the wedding party. If Connor wasn’t the best man, then Mason definitely would be.”

Simon sits back like he just served me the ace up his sleeve.

“And?” I shake my head at him. “I should be thanking you for this grand revelation of information?”

Simon grins. “If you think Arie’s going to be a challenge, well, Mason’s the”—Simon pauses to point at the tiki drink menu again—“Mason’s the guy who will happily name a drink The Give Me Head Hunter.”

“Oh.” I frown, taking his meaning.

“Yeah, oh isn’t even the beginning of it.” Simon waves to Mason, calling out his name and motioning for him to join us. Recognition flits through the man’s eyes, and he indicates he’ll be over in a second.

“I thought you were supposed to be helping me with Arie,” I say, not sure if Simon’s about to feed me to the wolves.

“I am,” Simon asserts. “Arie and Mason hate each other. If you can get Arie to focus all her flame and anger in that direction”—he motions to Mason—“then you might stand a chance.”

“That’s not reassuring,” I grumble.

“Quick, this is a test.” Simon points to the chalkboard menu. “Pick a drink. Whatever you order is going to tell me everything I need to know about you.”

“Is that so?” I ask with an edge to my tone. “Those blasphemous drinks are the magical key to my personality and how I’m going to survive your best friend?”

“Well, it would be a more accurate assessment if you picked a drink at Flambé,” Simon admits. “But Mason’s tiki drinks are surprisingly telling.”

“Are they?”

“Read the titles and pick one.”

Begrudgingly, I eye the menu’s colorful names: Rum Away With Me, The Pink Pussy Pounder, The Sa-Moan-Baby-Moan Typhoon.

Naughty. But I’ll admit, the names are also clever.

“This test,” I say, narrowing my eyes at Simon, “seems more like a thinly veiled attempt to ask what my favorite sexual position is.”

OMG, Kendall! Did you just say that out loud?

An amused smile teases Simon’s lips as heat roars across my collarbone. This is not a date. I can’t say flirty things like that—even if Simon’s eyes are skipping over my throat and cleavage.

“You’ve met Arie, haven’t you?” Simon replies, unfazed by my question. “If you haven’t noticed, there’s a sexual undertone to everything she says and does.”

“And what exactly is my drink choice going to reveal that will help this wedding go off without a hitch?”

“I won’t know until you pick one, now will I, Hart?”

I narrow my eyes at him again, especially at the playful way in which he used my last name like it’s a new toy he wants to play with.

I look back at the menu. Test, huh? Yeah, this is a test to see if I’m kinky, or boring, or the perfect scoop of ice cream he’d like to spend the evening devouring.

I scan the naughty names again, and the dancing queen between my legs instructs me to keep my eyes off the drink titled The Virgin’s Lament. Lady Hoo-Ha is definitely hoping I’ll pick something far more promising like the Mai I Tai You Up.

How about a Virgin Mai I Tai You Up?

Lady Hoo-Ha doesn’t like that suggestion. Instead, she aches like a whiny child, preferring the oh-so-obvious Pina Goes In Your Lada. Only the bartender, Mason, walks up before I have time to properly plan my strategy for Simon’s double-entendre repartee.

“Simon!” Mason says, leaning over the bar and fist bumping Simon like he’s his homie. “What’s your poison? And—” The bartender’s attention falls on me. “What’s your friend with the good tits drinking?”

Both men’s eyes look at said “good tits” and my chest flushes like a volcano.

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