someone who could prattle on the way Alex could. When her nose wasn’t buried in a book, she was talking. And given his love for peace and quiet, he found it fascinating that he never tired of listening to her.
Or maybe he just found her fascinating.
Ya-huh, that was probably it.
Okay, that was definitely it.
Deciding there was no time like the present to change the subject once and for all, he seized on the Bloody Mary lifted to Wolf’s lips. “It’s not even oh-seven-thirty. Kinda early to start drinking.”
Wolf popped an olive into his mouth and grinned around it. “Start? What makes you think I ever stopped? That was some party last night. LT and Olivia sure know how to celebrate.”
Mason thought back on the ripper from the night before when their former commanding officer, Leo “The Lion” Anderson, otherwise known as LT, had leg-shackled himself to an ex-CIA officer. Actually, LT and Olivia had gone to a justice of the peace weeks before to do the deed, but last night they’d finally bowed to pressure and had a reception.
“You thought about how with Olivia and LT off to Greece, and with Bran in Houston, there’ll be no one around to do the cookin’?” Wolf gave him the once-over.
After leaving the CIA, Olivia Mortier had found a new passion in baking. She’d traded dropping bombs for whipping up brownies—much to Mason’s delight because, number one, he had himself a pretty large sweet tooth, and number two, he also suffered from hollow-leg syndrome. Then there was Brando “Bran” Pallidino. Bran was the only one of their former SEAL team members/current partners in Deep Six Salvage who could navigate his way around a stove. And since plans to continue the search for the Santa Cristina had been put on hold while LT and Olivia celebrated their honeymoon, Bran had decided to bite the bullet and use the downtime to finally go face the music—“the music” being an introduction to his girlfriend’s four older brothers and oil tycoon of a father.
Mason did not envy poor Bran the experience. But more than that, he didn’t envy the piss-poor state of his stomach in the coming week.
“Been trying my best not to think about it,” he admitted testily.
“Guess it’ll be PB and J’s and strawberry Pop-Tarts for us all.” Wolf shrugged.
Pop-Tarts… Mason gritted his jaw. The sugary breakfast treats were Alex’s standard go-to.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. But his view was blocked by the wide chest of Spiro “Romeo” Delgado.
“G’morning, assholes!” Romeo boomed their standard a.m. greeting before snagging a stool on the other side of Wolf and quickly ordering a coffee from the bartender. “Make it so strong it walks into the cup on its own, eh?”
Like so many from East LA, Romeo retained a trace of his homeboy accent. And when he got worked up? There was more than just a trace.
Wolf took one look at Romeo’s face and whistled. “Man, you look like warmed-over cow pies.”
Romeo’s grin was downright devilish. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Wolf nodded in understanding. “Did she do all the things you wanted?”
“And came up with a few others I didn’t even know I liked.” Romeo waggled his eyebrows. Then he pretended to pout. “Alas, she left me early this morning to catch a flight to Miami. No note. No number. Just a love bite above my left nipple to remember her by.”
Wolf winked. “What happens in Key West stays in Key West, am I right?”
Romeo’s coffee arrived, and he lifted his steaming mug in salute before returning Wolf’s wink. “Carpe diem, my friends.”
Wolf laughed and clinked his Bloody Mary against Romeo’s mug.
“What are we lifting a glass to?” Alex asked, having walked up behind them.
Mason instantly lost the ability to breathe.
It happened when she got within three feet. Up close, he could count the freckles across the bridge of her nose. He could smell her clean, no-nonsense soap-and-deodorant scent. And for some inexplicable reason, both things paralyzed his lungs.
He took a swift sip of his own coffee to disguise his discomfort.
“Celebratin’ life and seizin’ the day and all that jazz,” Wolf told her.
“Ah.” Alex nodded in understanding. “So just a regular day in Key West.”
A small smile played on her face. The woman had one of those damn Kewpie doll mouths, where her top lip formed a near-perfect heart shape. Mason had to look away or risk doing something stupendously dumb. You know, like rubbing his thumb over that lip to see if it was as