With that in mind, he grabbed a wineglass and a bottle of the best Shiraz they had. For whatever freaky-ass reason, Griffin despised beer and preferred the grape instead. After dispensing the wine, he gathered the ingredients to make Jemma a nonalcoholic daiquiri. By the time he’d finished blending the drink, the lovebirds had worked their way through the majority of well-wishers and finally reached the bar.
With a little finagling, he convinced Tully to take over for a few. Ducking out the pass-through, he squeezed Jemma in a hug, his grin prompted as much by Griffin’s narrow-eyed stare as it was by Jemma’s sweet giggle. Yeah, it was juvenile on his part, but he still got a charge from getting Catman’s whiskers in a twist on occasion. Some habits were just too hard to break.
Releasing Jemma, he offered Griffin his hand in a celebratory shake for his upcoming nuptials. He didn’t fail to notice his former rival put a little extra crunching power behind his end of the handshake. Neither did Jemma. Rolling her eyes, she stepped between them and pried Griffin’s fingers away. “Any possible chance you both can behave tonight?”
“Ah, shug. You know we’re just messin’ with ya. Right, Catman?”
“Yeah.” Griffin’s chipper tone stood in direct opposition to the death-ray glare he shot at Logan behind Jemma’s back.
Logan smothered his laugh. Shit. Oddly enough, he’d really missed the verbal punches and thinly veiled death threats he and Griffin used to exchange. Man, good times.
Jemma winced suddenly and made a shuffling two-step. “Crap, the ladies’ restroom is calling me. I swear, just looking at a glass of water is all it takes to torture my bladder these days.” She slid her purse from her shoulder and shoved it at Griffin before dashing off.
Looking perfectly comfortable with Jemma’s bright pink purse dangling from his wrist, Griffin snagged the nearby stool with his loafer and parked his butt. “How’s business been?”
“Steady. Hopefully all these damn friends and relatives of yours are good tippers. Which reminds me—you ready for that wine I poured you?” After receiving Griffin’s nod, Logan returned behind the bar long enough to fetch the drinks and carry them to the corner where Griffin waited. “So you’re really gonna tie the knot, huh? Can’t believe Jemma’s settlin’ for your ass.”
“Most of the time I can’t believe it either. There’s not a day goes by that I don’t realize I’m the luckiest bastard on earth.” Griffin swirled the wine in his glass before taking a sniff. Apparently deciding it passed muster, he took a swig. “Not bad.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it since that shit gives me heartburn.”
Griffin took another sip and glanced toward the restrooms. Lowering his glass, he shifted his focus back to Logan. “While Jemma’s gone, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
The faint edge in Griffin’s voice gave Logan pause. Shit. He hoped like hell Catman wasn’t about to bring up the threesome thing again. To be on the safe side, it was probably best to diffuse the potential fireworks now. “I already told you fifty million times you don’t hafta worry about me sniffin’ around Jemma. The hug was purely innocent.” Mostly. He’d enjoyed Griffin’s reaction a little too much to rate the gesture one hundred percent innocuous.
“I’m not talking about any of that.” Griffin’s eyes became hooded again. “But while we’re on the subject, let me remind you that I’ll use the bloody stump of your leg for batting practice if you don’t keep your word.”
“Duly noted.” Logan leaned his hip against the bar. “Now that we have that outta the way, what’s got your tail all tweaked?”
“Clarissa. She’s been putting off a strange vibe lately. Has she mentioned anything to you that might shed some light on what’s going on with her?”
There was no way in hell he was coming clean about sleeping with Clarissa. Besides his firm belief in not kissing and telling, Clarissa’s behavior earlier pretty much verified that she’d blow a gasket if he blabbed. Sure, Constance already knew—and would likely spill the beans. In which case, it’d be her neck on the chopping block and not his. A much better outcome, in his estimation of things. His and Clarissa’s relationship teetered on too delicate a thread to risk her anger. He’d already pushed his luck to the limit with the attempted mating. Though he didn’t regret initiating what amounted to his most primal, natural instinct, he knew he needed to handle Clarissa with all the cautious patience he’d bestow on a wounded bird that was ready to take flight at the slightest provocation.
“Damn it, have you listened to a single word I’ve said?”
Logan crashed back to the present and noticed that Griffin was glaring at him. “I heard ya. But I don’t think we need to worry about Clarissa.” He tried for a casual shrug. “More than likely, she’s just got a lot on her mind. Particularly with your weddin’ comin’ up. You know how she is about makin’ sure everything runs like clockwork.”
“Yeah, too well.” Griffin scratched the back of his head, the lines bracketing his mouth softening. “You’re probably right. The prospect of one hundred and fifty plus wedding guests descending on the coven house is bound to test even the most stalwart of us. Hell knows it’s got me tempted to slam that entire bottle of wine.”
He slapped his palm on Griffin’s shoulder. “Just fortify yourself thinking of all the raunchy fun you’re gonna have on your honeymoon.”
Griffin rumbled a purr, his pupils going glassy as his mind apparently traveled to some naughty place that likely involved Jemma wearing nothing but a smile and strategically placed whipped cream. Jemma chose that moment to reappear. She relieved her bridegroom of her purse before plopping onto the stool next to him. “Okay, what’d I miss?”
“Other than Catman havin’ dirty thoughts about you? Not much.”
Her lips taking on a wry twist, Jemma rubbed her belly. “Pretty soon I’m going to look like I’m hiding a watermelon in here. Then the dirty thoughts will just be a distant dream.”
“Not hardly, baby.” His growl suitably territorial, Griffin leaned into Jemma and kissed her with enough emphasis—and tongue, from the looks of it—to steal Jemma’s breath and bring a rosy flush to her cheeks. When he was done, he splayed his hand over the one Jemma still had pressed to her stomach. “There’s not one damn thing I don’t find incredibly sexy about you. And that includes seeing you carrying our child.”
Jemma sniffled. “You are so getting nookie tonight.”
Logan watched the lovebirds for a moment, his mind superimposing his and Clarissa’s images over Griffin and Jemma’s. He could easily imagine his Rissa’s belly growing bigger and bigger with his babies.
Yeah, babies. He wanted to give her an entire brood of them. They’d be the perfect balance of parenting, the way he saw it. She with her sensibility and discipline. He with his…
Uh…
Okay, clearly Clarissa brought more to the table than he did, unless spoiling their kids rotten counted for something. Most likely though, he’d have to become a real pro at diaper changing and hope it made up for his deficiencies.
He tried not to think about how far away he was from making the fantasy he’d spun into a reality. Better to have faith that he’d break down Clarissa’s defenses and win the key to her heart. Because the alternative—losing her—was unfathomable. Fortunately, she seemed more than willing to share her body in every wicked, delicious way he wanted. If the only path to wearing her down was through plenty of hot lovin’, so be it.