“He’s in a sorry state, but I think he’ll live.” Trick looked around, his expression softening. “Did she go back to bed like I told her to?”
“No, she didn’t, because she’s an adult who makes her own decisions,” Jen sing-songed from behind Declan. “Bring him into the kitchen.”
“Guess that answers that question,” Rory said to Trick with a sudden goofy grin. “Did you know I’m the one who told her that threesomes were a good idea? Isn’t it ironic?” He paused expectantly, looking them both in the eye. “Don’t you think?”
“Don’t even go there, Alanis Morissette,” Trick warned dryly.
“What? It’s a classic at the club.”
Declan sniffed. “You’re not old enough to know the meaning of the word.”
Rory didn’t point out that Jen was younger than he was as Declan stepped over a small baby gate and set the energetic puppies on the floor. Trick hoisted Rory over it to join them and Declan raised his eyebrows. “Am I missing something? How is it ironic?”
Jen appeared beside him, her strawberry hair tangled and her body hidden by the large white shirt that belonged to one of her men. “I think it’s because we’ve worked out our issues, thanks partly to his and Noah’s advice, but Rory is still in a pickle with two guys of his own.”
Rory frowned at her suspiciously while Trick steadied him on a stool at the kitchen island and groaned. “That’s why we’re out of bed? No emergency? No one’s sick? Rory Finn has a three-pickle problem and we’re his drunk dial?”
Declan chuckled. “The three-pickle problem. I need to add that to my syllabus next semester.”
Rory glared at the man he’d thought was handsome five seconds ago but Jen took his hand and pushed his shaggy hair out of his eyes, distracting him. “Have some coffee, Rory. Rig’s worried you drank too much because he upset you.”
He wanted to laugh at that. Rig had sent him into shock. He’d treated enough accident victims to recognize the symptoms. That had to be why he was sitting in his cousin’s kitchen looking from her baby blues to a plate of bleeding eggs at two-something in the morning.
“Upset me?” The smell of the hot sauce was burning his eyes, making him wish he’d had enough sense to pass out in the bushes by the bar like a normal lush. That sounded better than these eggs smelled. “You could say that, yeah. You could also say betrayed. Maybe sabotaged. Sabotage. Like the Beastie Boys.” Rory raised his voice for Declan’s sake. “Another classic, Professor.”
“Betrayed? Rory, tell me,” Jen urged, shocking him when she added, “Rig hinted this was about David. How would talking about him be… Oh. Oh, I see.”
If she did, college had made her scary smart. Perpetual geek that he was, David would say Skynet smart. Or maybe Cylons. Either way…it didn’t bode well for him.
“Rig says he’s…” His throat closed and he shook his head. “That they’ve already—and they’re probably going to...” Jealousy ate at his vocal chords. “There were rules for a reason,” he rasped miserably, no longer able to complete a sentence.
“Wow.” Trick leaned his inked forearms on the island bar. “I’m usually fluent in drunk ass, but I feel like I’m missing some critical information.”
Jen seemed more than happy to fill him in. “David Mills is the cute, straight friend from high school Rory kissed under the mistletoe at Owen’s wedding to piss off his father. David’s sister, Essie, actually gave us Duck and Goose.” She pointed over to the odd-looking troublemakers that were shredding their stuffed chew toys with adorably blissful snarls. “Rig is the not-so-straight friend who was with them at the reception.”
“Oh yes,” Declan said, snapping his fingers as it came to him. “The one who described himself as pansexual, which is a fascinating distinction because it’s basically just enhanced bisexuality, acknowledging a willingness for sexual relations with people who define themselves as androgynous or transgender for example. I wanted to talk to hi—”
“Declan, focus,” Jen demanded softly, making him blush.
“Anthony Rigatelli?” Trick broke in, his eyebrows up to his hairline. “He was the hot as fuck Jersey Shore extra with the Italian horn necklace, right? The guy who looked like he spent ten hours a day in the gym? Why do you call him Rig instead of Tony?”
“Hot as fuck?” Declan growled.
“Short for Rigatoni, a nickname he couldn’t shake until we met in college. And he only works out four hours a day,” Rory corrected Trick glumly. “MMA fighting and gratuitous nudity are a few of his hobbies, so he has to stay fit. The rest of the time he creates recipes with Nonna Gina for his family’s catering business, dabbles in online trading and works at getting himself into trouble.”
With his mouth.
And his dick.
Sometimes both at the same time.
Jen laughed. “Okay then. So Rory had a kinky fling with Rig the multitasker in college and once in a blue moon they tag team some curious bar patron when my cousin’s feeling nostalgic or competitive.”