Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 185811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
I kept staring at her.
They knew who I was.
They knew what I did.
And she was okay with her husband having a poster of me.
I had a variety of posters from back in my Queen of the Corvette calendar heyday.
And in most of them I was clothed.
Albeit scantily.
“Do you mind if I actually take my woman in the house?” Mo requested, sounding beleaguered. “Or does one of you wanna bring a plate of corn muffins out here?”
“Oh, right, sorry,” Lene said, then grabbed my hand, and I could do anything in heels, but I nearly tripped at the strength of her dragging me inside, inviting, “Come in, come in.” She barely got me a foot into the living room when she yelled, “Look everybody! Lottie’s here!”
There were no children, and I would realize later this was about Mo’s mom not wanting to bombard me with all that was her family.
What was in that living room was enough.
At first glance, it was innocuous. Women in lovely dresses. Men in trousers and shirts, like Mo. Classy platters of elegant-looking food. Candlelight. Sinatra on low in the background.
She’d gone all out.
The whole thing was the shit.
And every Morrison sister had the same look, so much so, they didn’t appear to be just sisters, but quadruplets.
They also had the same type.
Their men were all tall and huge (if not bald), like their brother Mo.
I met Signe, Trine, Paul, Taylor, Rick, and finally, Ingrid, Mo’s mom.
She folded my hand in both of hers and gently moved me further into the room, saying, “It’s so lovely to have you here, Lottie. Thank you for coming.”
“Really, my pleasure,” I murmured. “Thank you for asking me here.”
She nodded charmingly, giving me a graceful smile, and asked, “Now, what can Mo get you to drink?”
“I’m having a John Collins. Make her a John Collins, Mo,” Marte ordered.
“Sidecar,” Signe demanded. “Mo makes the best sidecars.”
“Singapore sling,” Lene declared. “But let Taylor make it. He’s the master of the sling.”
“Margarita,” Trine said. “I already made a pitcher, Mo.”
Mo let them all say this then looked down to me and lifted his brows.
“Margarita sounds good,” I told him.
He nodded, gave me a small smile, bent to me and touched his lips to mine.
He then walked to the bar cart.
Ingrid had an actual bar cart.
Total class.
Totally the shit.
“Can we eat now?” Taylor demanded to know.
“Yes, Taylor,” Ingrid said serenely.
Instantly Taylor, Rick and Paul fell on the hors d’oeuvres like they hadn’t eaten in a year.
I almost burst out laughing.
“Would you like me to wade in and make you a plate, Lottie?” Ingrid offered. “Before the trough expires.”
“Don’t you eat all those corn muffins, Rick!” Lene snapped at her husband before I could answer her mother. “Those are Mo’s favorites.”
“They’re mine too,” Rick retorted to his wife, mouth full of corn muffin.
“Save him five,” Lene returned sharply.
Rick gave a harassed look to Taylor.
Taylor didn’t field it. He was busy shoving a muffin in his mouth.
“Mo, now that you’re seeing someone famous, you need more shirts like that,” Trine decided, eying her brother’s awesome shirt.
She then turned to me.
“You’ll probably be doing fancy stuff and he’ll have to come along, which he won’t want to do because it’ll be stuff like book signings and movie premieres. But he’ll do it because he’s Mo and you’ll be wearing hot dresses like that one. Though probably it’ll be more because you’ll be wearing hot dresses like that one. We’ll go shopping. He looks fabulous in blue. He needs more blue. He’s always wearing black. Or gray. I blame Hawk for that.”
I didn’t tell her I didn’t attend book signings or that there hadn’t been any movie premieres.
I didn’t because I didn’t get the chance.
“Hawk doesn’t buy his clothes, Treenz,” Marte rejoined.
“He promotes an environment that’s manifestly male, Marz,” Trine shot back. “If given the choice, men would only wear black, gray and army green.”
At that, Paul looked down at his burgundy shirt before he muttered to Rick, “Could have sworn I hauled my own fuckin’ ass out to buy this.”
Rick grinned before shoving a mini-smoked salmon sandwich in his mouth.
“Speaking of that,” Signe put in, ignoring this exchange, “when is Hawk going to hire a female commando, Mo?”
Walking back to me with my margarita that was in an actual salt-rimmed, stemmed margarita glass that was the only one of the pure-class variety I’d ever seen, Mo didn’t have a chance to answer.
Lene did it before him.
“Never. He’s never gonna hire a woman. Except Elvira.”
“This is because Elvira’s more woman than fifty women,” Marte mumbled under her breath.
“That’s for certain,” Trine agreed.
“I would not wish those boys on any woman,” Marte said. “Except Elvira. She’s the only one who can handle them.”
“It’s still hardly equal opportunity,” Signe pointed out.
“Seenz, you think Hawk has ever given the concept of ‘equal opportunity’ even a second’s thought?” Lene asked.