Page 79 of Whiskey Wednesdays
I added a cup of soup to my order.
When the server left, Titus stared at me. “You have a food budget?”
“Of course. I have a budget for everything. I’ve been a struggling student for almost six years.”
Titus pointed at me. “She’s a fucking unicorn, McCoy. No one I know has a budget. But watch your fries around her. I keep trying to tell her, there is no ‘we’ in fries.”
Connor hooked his arm around my neck and kissed my temple. “You can steal all the fries you want from me, but there’ll be consequences later.”
I squeezed his thigh under the table. I knew what kind of consequences he was talking about.
When the food came, Connor cut off a large piece of chicken and set it on my salad plate without saying a word. For some reason, the gesture caught me off guard. It was something my dad or my brother would have done. Or my mom when she’d been alive.
I set my fork down and wiped my lips with my napkin to give myself a minute.
“Thank you.”
He glanced over and smiled, but he and Titus were deep in discussion about the Seattle team and how they were doing this season. I was glad he didn’t notice how much his small kindness affected me.
Zeke answered the door at Laurel’s house. When he saw who I’d brought, a big grin spread across his face. “Hey, Bells. I see you brought The HammerandThe Spartan.”
I’d learned during the season opener that Titus’s nickname was The Spartan. When he made a goal, the crowd chanted “Spar-tan, Spar-tan.” The nickname fit him.
And of course, Connor was known as The Hammer. And now I knew what Wyatt had been talking about when he’d said the nickname referred to him off the rink too.
Titus shook Zeke’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet a Californian who knows shit about hockey.”
When we walked into Laurel’s kitchen, Harley and Damien sat at the bar. Martina stood across from them, and a huge man with a craggy, arresting face stood behind her. His name was Iz, and he owned The Cockpit.
Laurel waved from the kitchen sink. “We’re making Manhattans if anyone wants one.”
Connor nodded at Sebastian and Damien. “Hey.”
Sebastian grunted back. He was one of the coaches on Elodie’s soccer team, and I noticed he was even a little gruff with the five-year-old kids. But they seemed to eat it up, and Elodie loved him.
Martina smirked. “Titus thinks you know ‘shit’ about hockey, Zeke. Are you going to give them your philosophy about the amazing versatility of the word ‘shit’?”
Damien groaned and Harley started laughing.
Zeke rubbed his hands together. “These guys give me a hard time because I believe the word ‘shit’ is the most versatile word in the English language.”
Martina nodded. “And we’ve had a ‘shitload’ of conversations about it too.”
“For the love of God,” Damien pleaded. “Don’t get him started, or they’ll be at it all night.”
Titus shook his head. “I think the word ‘fuck’ is more versatile, and it has an interesting history.”
“What’s the history?” Zeke asked.
Sebastian slid a perfectly prepared Manhattan over to me. I noticed a bottle of Angostura bitters on the counter next to the whiskey, and my drink was garnished with a dark, fragrant Luxardo cherry. I didn’t like whiskey, but even I could appreciate a sip or two of a perfectly prepared Manhattan. The man took his bartending seriously.
“This should be interesting,” Sebastian muttered.
I snickered and held up my drink in thanks.
Titus started in. “Some historians think the word originated from the term ‘Fornication Under the Consent of the King,’ giving us the acronym F.U.C.K. And that’s where the word fuck came from. Some historians think the fornication rule started after the plague to try and control the population.”
Iz spoke up. “I heard it was based on the medieval law ‘For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge’ or something like that. Either way, I’d rather be doing it than talking about it.”
