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“Marshmallow, really?”
He grinned. “He’d chop off his own hand before hurting you, Lottie-ho-hottie.”
Oh, seriously.
Did I just said that? I really have issues.
“Ho-hottie?” To his shock, her lips twitched. “I’m almost thinking I was just insulted.”
Huh? Oh.
“Not that kind of ho,” he said hastily. “You know, the Santa clause sort of ho, the laughter with the bowl full of jelly, not . . .”
“The prostitute kind?” she asked. Her free hand came up to cover her mouth, and he scowled at her.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“What? Me? Never. I wouldn’t be so rude.” But a small giggle erupted. “The Santa Claus kind of ho?”
“I’ve lost all cred with you, haven’t I?”
“If you hadn’t, you would have after using the word cred,” she told him seriously. But that twinkle didn’t leave her hazel eyes.
“You.” He pointed at her. “You’re trouble.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who just called me a ho.”
“Lord. My mama would twist my ears if she knew I spoke to you like that.”
“She would?” She gave him a startled look.
“Don’t worry, she’d love you. She’d fill you up on dolmas and baklava.”
“Yum. You’re close?”
He shrugged, not really wanting to answer that. “I’m the black sheep of the family.”
“You?”
“Might have caused a bit of trouble in my misspent youth.”
“That I believe.”
He put his hand on his chest. “I’m wounded.”
“Were you born in Greece?”
“No, I was born here in the states. My parents immigrated about five years before I was born when my brothers and sisters were young. We’re huge, we’re loud, and we love ouzo.”
“Really?”
“Nah, can’t stand it, to be honest. But you can’t tell anyone. Especially my mother; she’d disown me.”
She studied him. “I can’t tell when you’re joking or serious.”
