Page 48 of Misrule
“Yeah, Mortician,” Roxanne added. “All damn day, Knox has been doing romantic gestures. He sent me beautiful roses. Why would I think Knox is up to no good because he planned our menu?”
“You know why, Roxanne. The motherfucker think he better than us. He planned it because he didn’t think I’d know how the fuck to act.”
“Oh, please,” Knox scoffed, refusing to admit that Mortician was correct. “I don’t have time for those silly games.”
Mortician scowled at him.
“Can you two please get the fuck alone?” Roxanne bit out. “If your ass wouldn’t be a fucking Pussy Patrol, Mortician, you wouldn’t be such a grouchy motherfucker.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Harrington?”
Knox looked toward the sound of the voice and saw several staff members standing in their private room, carrying trays of appetizers, plates, glasses, and a silver wine bucket with the champagne. Wondering how much these young people heard, Knox pasted a smile on his face.
“Come on,” he instructed. “Foie gras,” he announced when a waitress placed the first silver tray on the table. “Jamon Iberico. Iberian ham produced in Spain and Portugal.” He sidled a smug glance at Mortician. “We’ll eat it with toasted baguettes, garlic, tomatoes, and olive oil.” He pointed to the last dish. “Caviar tartlet. A Beluga hybrid with crème fraiche.”
Leaning back in his seat, Mortician folded his arms, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“Knox—” Roxanne started with disapproval.
“One moment, my love,” he interrupted a waiter handed him a champagne glass filled with a taste of the Armand de Brignac. “Very good. You may pour a glass for each of us.” He gave Mortician a polite smile. “We have beer if you’d prefer.”
“Knox,” Bailey chided.
“It’s okay, pretty girl. We not going to be at the fucking restaurant all night.”
“Knox, stop being an uppity motherfucker,” Roxanne demanded, not caring that employees were in their midst. “I’m sick of your bullshit. Don’t fuck up everything you’ve done for me today by ruining our date.”
“Thank you,” Knox responded as he accepted his glass of champagne and sipped to get control of his temper.
When the workers all cleared out, Knox and Mortician drank their champagne in silence. Roxanne and Bailey kept up small talk between swallows from their glasses and tastes of the food. Somehow, Mortician inserted himself into the conversation by commenting on whatever the women discussed. After draining his glass and pouring himself another one, Knox decided to join in.
“I don’t know, man,” Mortician was saying. “I’m with Outlaw. He don’t want Meggie girl with a tattoo. I don’t want you with one, Bailey. Your skin so gorgeous on its own.”
“Not even a tramp stamp?” she asked, blinking her eyelids in an exaggerated manner.
Mortician grinned, then leaned over and kissed her. “Maybe, you can convince me of that.”
“What would you think if I got a tramp stamp?” Roxanne asked.
“Even if I knew what the hell that is, which I don’t, why would you want anything associated with the word tramp?”
Roxanne’s saucy smile made Knox laugh. “Me talking about being a tramp benefits you.”
He gave Bailey an uncomfortable look, but the girl’s attention was on her husband and whatever he was whispering to her.
Knox gave Roxanne a wolfish smile. “I’m listening, sweetheart.
“Why we never went on a double date before?” Mortician’s timing with that question was so precise, Knox swore he did it on purpose. “We family. We should’ve been getting to know each other on a one-on-one basis months ago.”
“Yeah,” Bailey said in agreement. “Outlaw, Meggie, Johnnie, and Kendall used to have a double date once a month like Lucas and me, and Digger and Bunny.”
“An oversight on our part, sugar,” Roxanne answered. “We’re going to make up for that.”
“We go out with Cam and Jordan a couple of times a month, love,” Knox reminded her. “I have to share you then and also at the weekly family dinners. I don’t think I could bare to cut into our couple’s time with anymore double dates.”
“Of course you can, Knox. We won’t bring Mortician and Bailey home with us. We’ll still get to fuck.”
Mortician frowned at Roxanne.
