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It would mean that company was officially half mine.
But for now, that company had only one president’s name on the door.
Ezra Lowe.
Yeah, the same Ezra throwing me the weird once-over from down the bar. Even a couple of twice-overs.
Dammit, Ezra.
What the hell was he up to? Those glances weren’t flirty but Ez had something on his mind…something making him laser his baby blues right into me.
I had to get to the bottom of this.
And probably, if my bladder had any say in the matter, before I got to the bottom of my next drink.
Uggghhh.
At least Father Gravity and Mother Tequila played nice, allowing me a graceful twirl to wrap up the celebration spin with Gervase. I landed in the perfect position to sweep a saucy bow to the crowd. “And now, the principé’s new wench must pee.”
Everybody laughed—except Mom. She rolled eyes so closely matching my own in color, their tiny gold flecks were apparent even in the bar’s dim light. “Lucina Louise. Must you be so crude?”
“Antonia Marie,”—yeah, the first name-middle name hookup was our snarky subtext for affection—“must you be your daughter’s damn shadow?”
“Only when I’m her designated driver.” She smirked and folded her arms.
My mother.
Smirked at me.
In a damn bar.
“Okay, okay. Break it up, hussies.”
Dammit. Ezra needed to be renamed the happy hour ninja. Five seconds of distraction and the man had slipped all the way over here without detection. No way not to notice him now. His strong fingers curled over Mom’s shoulders, his Charlie Hunnam scruff resting atop her poofy-styled head. Sometimes I wondered if the man’s looks had gotten matched to the wrong destiny. With that lumberjack jaw and cascading Thor hair, he should’ve been a pussy-chasing demon with a guitar or a Harley (or both), not a bisexual Jewish wedding planner with a natural talent for crazy centerpieces, perfect photo ops, and awful phallic jokes.
Not that I had a chance to hear a single phallic funny now, thanks-no-thanks to Mom. “Who you calling hussy?” she bantered, adding a girlish giggle.
“You.” Ezra smacked a kiss to her cheek. “Hussy.”
“Gahhhh.” I slashed a hand through the air. “Stop.”
“Pssshhh,” Mom snickered.
“I love it when we make her do that,” Ez chuckled.
Pinched glower. “Excuse me. You two are already making me want to puke, and I’m only down by one Gervase special.”
“Lucina Maria. Did I raise you in a barn?”
I stopped. Damn near pivoted back around, the Uber app open on my phone, to flash at her. Maybe it was time her grand mission came to an end. It had been three months since she’d married Ben, giving her more than enough time to make up for her scarcity in my teens, and it had been pedal-to-the-metal on the mommy-daughter time since then. But hanging at the bar for my Farewell-to-Fantasy-Island party, even in the name of letting me get as plowed as I wanted? It was time to land the helicopter.
I marched away, into the bathroom. Thank the Good Virgin, the human helicopter didn’t follow.
She let Ezra do the dirty work, instead.
Even more funny? I wasn’t surprised by the stunt in the least. I was, however, torqued as hell—especially as the man pushed the door shut then locked it.
“Are you kidding?”
