Page 128 of Veiled in Brick

“HA!”

Luke flashed her a dazzling smile, remarking with glee, “The beard, right?”

James snorted into his whiskey. “It’s not a beard.”

“Jay’s right—beard is a loose term,” she mocked as she stood before us from behind the counter.

“Okay, I’m shaving it off,” Liam announced, throwing both of his hands in the air. “This is exactly why I always keep on top of it; I never liked my facial hair.”

I leaned toward him, close enough to whisper in his ear, “It feels good between my thighs. Keep it.”

“Never mind,” he muttered with a large grin. He spoke down to me, “I suddenly don’t give a shit.”

James groaned. “What a terrible day to have the ability to hear.”

“Oh God,” Luke murmured. “I don’t wanna know.”

“Nice to see you in your usual form, Zoey,” Claire told me with a smile, no doubt filling in the blanks for herself. I caught her eye, and she mouthed a silent, ‘You good?’

I nodded, Claire returned the gesture, and she turned to grab our usuals.

The bell chimed from above the front door, and I glanced to the noise to see Cassie waltzing in all of her jean-short, high-top wearing glory. She smiled a nose crinkling smile at me, waggling her fingers in our direction, and I couldn’t help but return it.

“You invited your sister?” I asked Liam.

He shrugged. “Nope.”

Claire slid both of our drinks—a cider for myself and an amber beer for Liam—in front of us.

“I invited her,” Claire told us, grinning as she greeted her. “Hi, Cassie.”

Cassie approached the bar on James’ left, leaning an elbow on the counter.

“Hey,” she spoke to Claire and then glanced past James to her brother. “This,” Cassie waved a hand in a circular motion in front of her face, “is not working for you.”

Liam narrowed his eyes at her. “You too?”

“Oh, good,” she quipped, asking James, “You guys already tell him that it looks like shit?”

James’ lips turned up at the corners. “Uh huh.”

“I like it,” I told her.

She laughed. “Oh, please—kaleidoscopes have less color change.”

Luke chuckled from behind the bar. “I like you here.”

Cassie continued, “Look, I get it—the scratching may feel good on your skin, but at what cost, Zo’?”

She grabbed James’ lowball glass, brought it to her lips, took a sip, and James pursed his lips.

“Hi,” he spoke to her with what sounded like concealed amusement. “I believe that’s mine.”

“Is it?” she cooed, swirling the glass in front of him.

He sighed. “Please don’t drink my whiskey, Cassie.”

“Why?” she challenged with a wide smile. “Do I have cooties?”

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