Midnight Marked (Chicagoland Vampires 12)

“Every now and again.”

“You up for a match?”

Ethan glanced back at me, eyebrows lifted.

I looked at the clock. We’d eaten quickly, still had time before the game started. I would have been perfectly fine getting to the stadium early, watching players warm up and fans file in, balancing Chicago dogs and phones and beers as they did so. But when Ethan glanced longingly at the table’s immaculate green felt and curvy baroque legs, I knew I was lost.

“Go for it,” I said, then cocked my head. “Although I didn’t know you played.”

“I’m not a hustler,” he said, with a smidge of indignation. “But I play as well as I Master.”

Insecurity was not a trait Ethan was familiar with. “In that case, have fun.”

“You think he’s going to school Catcher?” Mallory asked as they made their way through the crowd to the pool table.

“I don’t know,” I said. That was true enough, although Ethan didn’t do much without a plan for victory—or at least an exit strategy.

I watched him, tall and rangy, select a pool cue, test its weight, and check its flexibility. A pair of vampires rose from their seats near the bar, wandered over to say hello. Blond hair tucked behind his ears, the cue he’d selected in hand, Ethan shook the vampires’ hands, then introduced Catcher. They chatted as Catcher racked the balls, and they prepared to play.

“Will Catcher throw a fit if he loses?” I asked. He was the generally grouchy type. I liked him very much.

“Catcher thrives on moderation and reasoned action.”

I snorted. “And Ethan is humble and operates the House as a democracy.”

“So we’re both full of shit,” she said, then cast her gaze toward her well-toned husband. “If he loses, it serves him right for challenging a vampire in his own place.”

“Maybe not the wisest move,” I agreed.

“Anyway,” she said, scooting closer, “I’m glad they’re gone. Now we can talk.”

Given the drama of the last few weeks, I assumed she had bad news about evil or magic, and prepared myself for the worst.

“I’m afraid the sex is going to become stale.”

Colin arrived with fresh drinks—a Manhattan for Mallory, another G&T for me. For one last, peaceful moment, I squeezed the lime into the glass, licked lip-puckering juice from my thumb. And then I took a drink, put the glass down on the table again, and did what I had to do. I invited her to talk to me about sex with Catcher.

“Why do you think it’s going to become stale?”

She leaned toward me, arms folded on the table. “I mean, I don’t know. We’re married, and it’s good. It’s really good. And frequent.”

I knew I’d regret it, but couldn’t help asking. “How frequent?”

“At least daily. Sometimes more so. We’re naked a lot,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I would guess so.” And I was doubly glad I didn’t share her town house anymore. Mallory owned the place, and I’d been her roommate before I moved into Cadogan House. When Catcher moved in, there’d been a lot of naked canoodling in the public areas, including the kitchen. I, for one, hadn’t needed to see Omelet à la Catcher’s Naked Ass. “So, it sounds like things are fine right now?”

“They totally are. I guess that’s the part that worries me. It’s just, I love who we are right now. And I know part of being married is becoming ‘comfortable’ with each other. I just don’t want us to become so comfortable that we’re basically just roommates or something. I want to keep that spark alive.” She looked over at him, her eyes shining with love—and a little glazed with lust. And Catcher was alpha male in and out, front and back, and all the way through to the other side.

aded to a four-top. Sean’s brother, Colin, came around the bar, white towel slung over his shoulder. Sean was younger than his brother, but both looked as if they’d stepped out of an Irish travel brochure: tall and lanky, with red hair, blue eyes, and ruddy complexions.

“Liege,” Colin said, giving Ethan a little bow, then smiling at me. “It’s been too long,” he added, playfully squeezing my shoulder. “What’s the occasion?”

“Merit’s first post-fang game at Wrigley,” Sean said, setting a pizza box, paper plates, and napkins in the middle of the table. The scents of spicy sauce, smoky bacon, and cheese filled the air, and the box had one of my favorite words printed across it in bold red letters—SAUL’S. Not just my favorite kind of pizza, but from my favorite pizza place in Chicago. Ethan had really gone above and beyond.

Thank you, I said silently, activating the telepathic link between us. I appreciate the effort.

You’ll appreciate it more later, he said, with a wickedness in his eyes that promised delightful things to come—even if the Cubs didn’t pull out a win.