Page 97 of Hell Bent
“Was it a shell?” I asked, a little timidly. “The inside of one? It looked to me like abalone, that electric green and bright purple and all those curving lines.”
“It was,” she said, her smile blooming. “My shell series. I’d been doing a lot of ferns, so Blake took me to New Zealand, and we did some sailing and some open-water swimming and hiking and eating from roadside stands, and …” She shrugged and laughed. “I’ve kept being dragged back to shells ever since. The paua is the most beautiful abalone species, and then there are scallops in all these different colors, shading into each other in the most fascinating ways. And, of course, ferns. And birds. I love birds.”
“All her work is amazing,” Jennifer put in. “Harlan bought me a crane for our master bedroom. That curving neck and those white wings with those long, slim feathers, reflected in the water as it takes off?” She put a hand on her chest. “It just stops my heart. All that delicacy and grace. Cranes are a symbol of peace and hope. Isn’t that a wonderful thought? Exactly what I want my home to be. Exactly.” She smiled at Harlan, and he smiled back.
“Peace and hope is what we go for,” I agreed.
“Well, excitement, too,” Dakota said, and I laughed.
“How do you know each other?” I asked.
“Blake’s my boss,” Jennifer said.“Extremelydemanding.”
“You know it,” Dakota said.
“Hey,” Blake protested. He had one of those rich Southern voices, the kind where every word takes twice as long to come out, but no part of him looked slow. “I am a considerate employer.”
“Oh.” I was confused. “So you guys don’t—I mean, it’s a couples friendship? Or …” Oh, wait. This was totally tactless. My mother would be screaming inwardly about now. “I’m sorry, it’s just that you all look really comfortable together.”
The guys looked at each other, then Harlan laughed and said, “Owned. Purely owned.” And they were all chuckling, not least Blake.
“Sorry,” I said. “Have I been stupid? I mean, you don’t look young enough to—” They laughed some more, and I went on desperately, “And if you’re Jennifer’s boss, you wouldn’t—” I stopped. “Help.”
“He was the Devils quarterback until a few years ago,” Jennifer said kindly. She hadn’t laughed, but she’d looked like she wanted to. “All-Pro, Super Bowl MVP, the works. Now he just owns things, and people don’t recognize him in bars. Iused to be his assistant. That’s how I know his stats. He’d quiz me.” She sighed. “Nightmare ego.”
“I did not,” Blake said, but he was grinning hugely. “And I like to tell myself that football’s aging, is why I look older than my extremely youthful years. All that time out in the elements.”
“Ha,” Dakota said, and he said, “I heard that.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I don’t know anything about football. I knew who Harlan was, but only because he’s been in commercials. I watch college basketball. I used to, anyway. Now, of course, I do watch—when I can, that is, because—” I had to stop. I also had to put my head against Sebastian’s arm and moan.
“It could be time,” he said, “to choose some whiskey.”
“Yes. Please. Which kind?” In answer, he handed me a leather-bound book that could have held the telephone numbers for all of Portland. “You’re kidding,” I said, handing it right back. “Help. I know, uh … Laphroaig. Which I hate. Johnny Walker. That’s a whiskey, right? Jack Daniels. And I’m at the end of my list. I’m about to make as big a fool of myself ordering as I’ve done already, and we’ve barely sat down!”
“Can’t have that,” Sebastian said. “It’s Alix’s birthday,” he told the others. “Can’t embarrass a woman on her birthday.”
“Happy birthday,” Owen said. “And you order some flights, that’s all. Let the bartender choose, and you’ll get to try some new things. They feed you good here, too. Got a ribeye that’s about as good as I’ve tasted, and that’s saying something, since I like to tell myself I raise some pretty fine beef.”
“Athree-poundribeye,” Harlan said. “Watching you eat is a whole fascinating experience in itself, like studying the habits of the killer whale. Linemen. They’re another species.”
“Just because I don’t worry about my figure like some pretty people,” Owen said, “the kind that productionassistants slather baby oil onto so the water beads up on their abs for that perfume commercial. In close-up.”
“It was not a perfume commercial,” Harlan said. “It was men’s cologne. It was afragrancecommercial.”
“Oh, pardon me,” Owen said.“Fragrance.My mistake.” And everybody laughed again.
So that was fine. Until Jennifer asked the question.
Sebastian
Pure self-indulgence, was what this was. Two flights of whiskey, one of Speyside scotches, “which you may enjoy more,” the barman had said when Alix had explained her dislike of peat smoke, and the other a flight of bourbons. Half a shot in each glass, so I didn’t even have to break training to sample them, and comparing notes with Alix, passing her a glass of some spicy thing that heated your whole self going down in the best possible way, and watching her try it, her eyes opening wide in surprise and pleasure …
I was clicking my phone’s camera, capturing her favorites, thinking that a locked liquor cabinet was going to be a good idea, Ben-wise, eating pork chops with spinach, and sharing some fairly decadent tempura vegetables with Alix, listening to the trash talk around me and smiling about it, and, yes, occasionally thinking about (a) when to give Alix her birthday present, and (b) how my plan for her birthday sex was going to go over, not necessarily in that order, and also appreciating how she looked in the same outfit she’d worn last night to pick me up. I’d barely looked at it then, being mostly concerned with getting it off her. The wine-colored sweater that slipped off one shoulder, the black leather skirt that hit just below her knees, zipped from the bottom, and was tight enough that she had to walk with that scissor-movement women use. The black suede heels on bare legs, and the bedroom-tousled dark hair. She looked devastatingly offhand, effortlessly casual, and sexy to the bone, and I was having a damn good time just looking at her and feeling that whiskey go down fiery-hot and silky-smooth. That is, until Jennifer suddenly said, “Wait.”
Jennifer didn’t usually take the lead, conversation-wise, but Harlan stopped talking right away and asked, “What?”
She said, “Alix, I’m sorry, but—what was it that you do for a living?”
