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“Hey,” Spence called out from his sprawl on the sofa. He was dressed in jeans and a black long-sleeved t-shirt, his booted feet up on the coffee table and a coffee cup in his hand. His dark hair was reasonably neat and his jaw was shaved clean, making the thick mustache look even more lush by comparison. “I thought what happened at Thanksgiving was supposed to stay at Thanksgiving. Or did I miss a rule change?”
“The rule has not changed,” Esme confirmed and aimed a steely look at her husband. “Tucker. Knock it off.”
“Hey, he’s the one who said it,” Tuck protested.
“And you’re the one giving him shit,” Esme replied and rose on her toes to brush a kiss over his lips. “So knock it off.”
“Fine,” Tuck grumbled, sliding an arm around her waist to hold her close. “But only if I can romance you later with my face.”
She tried to maintain a stern visage, but the giggle spoiled it. “You’re terrible,” she said affectionately, and kissed him again with enough enthusiasm that Evan wondered idly if they might just romance each other right there.
Then she turned and aimed her steely gaze at Evan. “And you. Respect the rules of the orgy, and behave.”
Properly chastised, Evan fixed an apologetic look on his face. “Sorry, E.”
Her face softened into a smile. “Apology accepted. But for penance, you have to make the mimosas.”
“Fair enough,” Evan decided, then glanced at Colin. “If Colin will trust me with them. Apparently, he’s the mimosa police.”
Colin just slid the bag off his shoulder. “Here. Shake the juice well before pouring, use equal parts Cava and OJ.”
Evan took the bag and tried to read Colin’s expression. His cheeks were still flushed, either from cold or embarrassment, and though there was a shadow of vulnerability in his soft brown eyes, his mouth was curved in a smile.
The combination made Evan wish for his coat back. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. You only get one.”
It took him a moment for the words to register; he was too busy watching Colin’s mouth move. “What? Why?”
“You’re driving.”
Though he didn’t mind playing designated driver, he scowled for form. “Says who?”
“Says me. I feel like getting a little tipsy.” Colin raised an eyebrow, the look in his eyes going from shy to smokey. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Evan stilled. Colin was trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. He opened his mouth to ask, then shut it without a word. Their friends were watching with avid interest, and the moment felt too intimate to share. Besides, he liked the idea that Colin was trying to communicate with him without speaking. It was like having a secret code, just the two of them—even if he didn’t understand it yet. So he just said, “No, I don’t mind at all,” and carried his bag of goodies into the kitchen.
He was pulling champagne flutes out of the cupboard when Spence walked into the kitchen. “Don’t make me one of those. I’m sticking with coffee.”
“Okay.” Evan put the last flute back, picked up the jug of orange juice, and began to shake.
“Don’t make one for Jude, either,” Spence continued, crossing to the coffee pot for a refill.
“He’s not coming?”
Spence shook his head. “He’s on a plane to San Jose. Got called up.”
“No shit?”
“One of Detroit’s defensemen went down yesterday, took a skate blade to the face. He’s out, Jude’s in.”
“Shit.” Evan winced. “Who got cut?”
“I dunno, I don’t follow hockey.” Spence leaned back against the counter and sipped his coffee. “According to Tuck, the guy’s gonna be fine, he just can’t play for a while. So Jude’s on a plane.”
Figuring the orange juice was sufficiently shaken, Evan twisted off the cap. “Bad break for him, lucky one for Jude.”
“It’s an opportunity,” Spence agreed. “How’d your date go?”
