Page 47 of Stick to the Deal
“Gee, Nic, which one of us is which?” Asher quips.
“She’s just hungover. Here, I made you a plate.”
Her eyes light up as I hand it over. “You are forgiven.” Arms protectively holding the food, she turns and plants a loud kiss on my lips, then shoves a sausage link into her mouth with a happy sigh. Her hips regain a bit of their swagger as she heads back to the event space. “Coffee, please, and make it Irish!”
“Only if I can be Tweedledee,” Asher calls back.
Nic holds a piece of bacon aloft as her only acknowledgement of Asher’s statement. I like this side of Nic. Here in Friendship Springs, she is more relaxed. Yeah, she’s a cranky, hungover mess this morning, but she’s more genuine than I’ve seen her. Freer. More like when it’s only the two of us.
Chapter 24
Painting the Walls Pink
Grease and hair of the dog helped, but after a few hours, I’m dragging again. There’s still so much to do to transform the new space into an event hall. Bree handed out tasks to everyone—crazy bitch even has an itemized to-do list and clipboard. I got stuck with unpacking the cases of party supplies. It’s a monotonous chore, opening plastic packets and pulling out the fabric within.
Anna walks up beside me. “Hey, how are the linens going?” We opened Pop almost six years ago, and it’s been a very profitable restaurant ever since, but this expansion is her brainchild.
The boxes of napkins I’m currently sorting don’t get any emptier. It may be because I’ve been quite distracted this whole time. I sneak another peak at the scene unfolding on the other side of the room. “Ok. Why did we need so many napkins, anyway? What about the ones from the restaurant?”
“Double the space means double the linens. Get to counting.”
I groan as I toss one of the cream napkins onto the pile. “I keep losing track.”
“Can’t imagine why.” Anna plants a fist on her cocked hip.
Bree steps up on my other side, baby Nora strapped to her chest. “Oh, I can.”
Across the room, five sets of bare shoulders bunch and bulge as the men in our lives paint a wall flamingo-pink. Besides our three significant others, Asher and Johnson have joined in on the painting party.
“Why are they all shirtless?” Anna asks.
“Beats me,” Bree quips, sounding not at all concerned.
“Are you really complaining?” I ask.
Anna’s chocolate eyes turn molten as she scans her fiancé‘s tattoo covered torso. He is an arguably impressive specimen, the tallest of the group with heavy muscle from years in the Marines.
There’s not an unfortunate one in the pack, and a man for every preference. Asher’s icy looks, man-bun, and gym-hardened muscles. Or Johnson’s superman pretty boy style. Even Irish is handsome with his toned body and dimples.
My eyes keep wandering back to the same set of pink-splattered shoulders. Unmarked skin stretches across a broad back. Dark hair sprinkles his chest and arms. Somehow there is not a hair out of place on his dark head.
The bass pumps with some rock music. The volume is turned way the fuck up but you can still hear the good-natured ribbing of the men echoing through the cavernous room. When Reginald turns, I see a grin on his face. He looks completely at ease with my friends. More so than even with his own brother.
The door to the restaurant opens behind us. “Chef, table five is…holy shit.” Vicky, one of the servers, joins us on Anna’s other side. “Are we now doing thirst traps for TikTok?” We laugh at her wide-eyed expression as a blush stains her cheeks. “Please tell me the dark-haired one is single.”
A flash of unexpected possessiveness flares through me. Not an emotion I can say I’ve experienced much, and definitely not one I wish to repeat. Or dig too deeply into. Reginald chooses that moment to turn. He pulls his T-shirt from the back of his waistband and mops at his glistening brow, ignoring the beads of sweat trailing across his bare chest. Catching me staring, his lips spread into a grin and he shoots a wink my way before turning back to the wall.
“Unless you mean the one in jeans, you’re out of luck. Now what did you need, Vicky?” Anna looks amused as she talks to the younger girl.
“Huh?” Vicky turns glassy eyes to Anna, then shakes her head. “Oh. Table five is asking for you, Chef.”
“Problem?” Bree asks. Trust her to be business minded.
“Don’t think so. It’s a pretty big group and they’ve eaten pretty much everything on the menu.” Her eyes keep wandering back to the men.
“I better go see what’s up.” With a last look at her fiancé, Anna heads back to the kitchen doors. Pausing at the doorway, she turns back to the still frozen server. “Come on, Vicky.”
Bree shifts her weight from foot to foot, gently swaying as her daughter sleeps contentedly. “I will admit, I was worried when you said you got married, expecting some uptight peer of the realm, but I like the guy.”
