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I smile sweetly. “How was the game?”

“We won.”

“I know.”

Something changes in his expression. “You watched?”

“Checked the score.” Not the same thing. We both know it.

Mercer appears beside him. “Cole.”

Avery blinks. “Mercer.”

Interesting. I file that away for when the room stops moving quite so enthusiastically.

Bishop finally allows his gaze to drop.

Once.

Slowly.

Then back up.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

“Literature.” I put one hand on his chest to steady myself.

Mercer coughs into his fist.

Bishop looks at the corset. “That’s literature?”

“Elizabeth Bennet. You like?”

“That doesn’t look like the Elizabeth Bennet costume you wore in junior high.”

My foggy brain is typing to wrap around the fact that he remembers that.

“Maybe that’s because I’m all grown up now, Bish-op.” I let the “p” pop and lean into him trying to be sexy, but I think it comes across as tipsy.

Because suddenly his big hands are wrapped around my waist to steady me. “How much have you had?”

I sigh. “You ruin everything.”

“How much?”

“Three.”

Avery holds up four fingers beside me.

“Four what?” Bishop says.

“Drinks. Plus half a pitcher of margaritas. But I made sure she ate something and drank water.” Avery confesses.

I turn too quickly making the room spin like a merry go round. “Seriously?”

Avery winces. “Sorry.”

“You’re both terrible.”