“What’s pretty old? Over a hundred?”
He nodded.
Weird. “Over two hundred?”
He nodded.
“Over three?”
He made a face. “Really, do I look a day over two hundred and fifty?”
He didn’t look a day over thirty. Wow, what a weird concept. Suddenly she realized she was going to look exactly like she did now for all eternity.
“I really wish I was down about five more pounds,” she said, looking down at her jeans and her Abbey Road T-shirt. Who the heck wanted to go through eternity with muffin top? Not her.
“You look beautiful.”
Katie looked up from inspecting herself. Did he mean that? Or was he just trying to be comforting again? She studied him, trying to decide, but all too quickly she could feel herself getting lost in those dark eyes of his. Yet again.
“You are very beautiful,” he said, and he leaned in.
He was going to kiss her. He was going to kiss her!
“Jack and Coke. Jack and Coke.”
Cort straightened, giving the bird an eye roll.
The parrot’s interruption was probably a good thing, she told herself. Kissing Cort would only make an already complicated situation even trickier. She didn’t need that.
She glanced at Cort, taking in his mussed waves and painfully handsome face.
Of course, that didn’t stop her from wanting it.
* * *
SHIT, HAD HE really been about to kiss Katie? Yes, yes, he had.
And he’d been cock-blocked by a damned bird. That had to be a first.
Damn, she looked so pretty and vulnerable and irresistible, and he just wanted to hold her close and protect her. But given the look on her face, which was less than pleased, it was probably a good thing that the stupid parrot was fixated on Tennessee whiskey.
“Here you go.” The waitress appeared, placing their drinks on the table, making sure not to get her hand too close to the parrot.
Smart choice, that little ass really hurt when he pecked.
The little ass toddled up to his drink, actually knowing which one was his.
“So freaky,” Katie commented, voicing Cort’s exact sentiment.
She reached for her drink, but before she could even lift the glass from the table, someone said angrily, “You guys have some serious balls.”
Reluctantly, both Cort and Katie turned from their drinks. The bird, of course, kept his little red face in his glass.
Slowly, they both turned to see a tall, muscular young guy in a University of New Orleans T-shirt, who looked like he just wandered out of a fraternity house.
Shit, here we go again, and this guy was slightly more intimidating than the stocky man from the other bar. Not that Cort couldn’t kick this guy’s ass if he chose to do so. Hell, Katie could kick his ass if she wanted. That particular myth was true—vampires were super strong, but Cort never liked to draw any attention that might be unwanted and raise questions. Plus he’d done enough fighting in his mortal life. The Seven Years’ War had really been the pits. Of course, that was how he became a vampire, and how he ended up in Louisiana.
He glanced at Katie. Although he had to admit it would be fun to see her go undead ninja on this brute.
“Why is that exactly?” Cort asked, hoping maybe this time they would at least find out something about what happened last night. Although it didn’t sound like it was anything too good. Still, even knowing that, Cort wasn’t prepared for what the hulk was going to say.
“Where is my watch?”
“Your watch?”
Why on earth would he have this kid’s watch? But then again, why would this guy accuse him if he didn’t? And God knows where said watch could be now. Maybe he hocked it to buy the lovely wedding bands both he and Katie wore.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember taking your watch. But I’ll be glad to—”
“You didn’t take it,” the frat boy said, frowning as if he was surprised Cort couldn’t remember. As if this kid hadn’t had a lost night or two on Bourbon. He’d probably had a few in his own dorm room.
But what did he mean, he didn’t take it? Why was he confronting them, if Cort didn’t take it? Did that mean . . .
Cort looked to Katie. Her eyes were wide and startled. He imagined he sported the same expression.
Katie had stolen a watch? It was hard to imagine Katie stealing anything, much less from this huge kid.
“No,” the frat boy said, watching their exchanged glances. “She didn’t steal it. That damned bird of yours did.”
They turned to the parrot, which, as it seemed to be its favorite pastime, pecked at the cube of ice that floated in its drink.
“I really don’t think this is my bird,” Cort said, silently praying that was true.
“It’s not mine,” Katie stated.
“Well, I don’t care whose damned bird it is,” the kid said. “It was with you last night and it stole my watch.”
“Was it just the two of us here last night?” Cort asked, glancing at the bird again. “Well, I guess three of us.”
The guy might be a giant, and might be pissed, but maybe he could give them some insights. If he didn’t decide to punch Cort first.
“Damn, you really don’t remember?” the man said, looking at them as if they were totally mad.
Cort didn’t know about Katie, but he couldn’t disagree with the mad assessment.
“Please,” Cort said, “last night was a bit of a blur and we could really use your help.”
“Bit of a blur” was an understatement, of course.
“Damn it, I just want my watch. Or someone is going to pay,” the kid said, crossing his muscular arms across his broad chest. He probably played football, too.
“I understand,” Cort said, really hoping this guy wouldn’t take a swing. Cort didn’t want to fight. After last night, he didn’t want a brawl tonight. Hell, he’d probably gotten in a brawl last night, too, for all he knew.
“I’m truly sorry about your watch, but we’re in a little bit of a predicament here, because neither of us”—Cort nodded toward Katie—“seem to remember much about last night.”
The frat boy frowned and for a moment, Cort didn’t think he was going to say anything, then he shook his head. “You don’t even remember your own reception?”
Katie shot Cort a wide-eyed look. “Our reception?”
“You told us”—he jerked his head toward a table on the other side of the room surrounded by young guys who looked pretty much like he did—“it was your wedding reception. Even bought the whole bar a round of drinks.”