Save Me from Dangerous Men (Nikki Griffin #1)(30)

“What can I offer you to drink, Nikki?” Lawrence asked. “We’ll have a few cocktails here and then we can drive over to the Fox Theater.”

I sat. Conscious of my motorcycle boots on the hardwood floor. I hadn’t known what to wear and had settled on jeans and a conservative turtleneck sweater for the chilly October evening. I ran a hand through my hair, hoping the helmet hadn’t mussed it too badly. “As long as it doesn’t come out of a blender, I’m hard to disappoint.”

“No blenders allowed in this house, I assure you,” said Lawrence. “We’ve had a round of Negronis to start and were debating the prospect of a second.”

“A Negroni works fine, thank you.”

“Excellent. And please, help yourself.” There was a large wooden board covered with cheeses and meats and expensive-looking crackers. Even a small silver bowl of black caviar with a small porcelain spoon. The Walkers knew how to entertain, and they had the means to do so. Lawrence moved off to a wet bar in the corner of the living room. He poured Campari, gin, and sweet vermouth into a glass beaker and stirred vigorously with a long bartender’s spoon. A picture on the opposite wall caught my eye. Lawrence, wearing blue headgear and a pair of blue boxing gloves that looked about sixteen or eighteen ounces. Too large a size for him to have been pro, at least based on that photograph. “Where did you box?” I asked.

“You are observant. Just some amateur stuff back East. When I was too young to know any better.”

“Lawrence is being modest,” Katherine said. “At Princeton he was in the New Jersey Golden Gloves three years running.”

“You must take me for a terrible barbarian, Nikki. We didn’t use cestuses, I assure you.”

“Cestuses?” Ethan asked. He sat next to me. Close, his leg touching mine.

“Spiked leather straps,” I explained. “The Greeks and Romans wrapped them around their hands. Turned what passed for boxing back then into blood sport.”

“How do you know all that?” Ethan wanted to know. “At first I thought Golden Gloves was an a cappella group.”

“Someone taught me how to box. Ages ago. I guess a little stuck.”

“He had something against soccer?” Ethan teased.

I smiled back. “He just didn’t want me beating up the boys anymore.”

Lawrence came over with two Negronis, on the rocks, the color of the drinks a deep ruby. He handed a glass to me, a twist of orange bent carefully around the rim. He gave the second drink absently to Ethan, eyes still on me. “Boxing and bookstores? Nikki, you continue to impress.”

“I think I lucked out,” Ethan agreed.

I squeezed his knee affectionately but didn’t answer. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done something like that. Like squeezing someone’s knee. Some casual affectionate touch. It felt good. Natural. “What do you both do?” I asked.

“I teach in the Cal history department. Katherine is in French. Still scratching our heads wondering how we ended up three thousand miles west of where we began.”

“I blame the Cambridge winters,” Katherine said.

Lawrence smiled. “Indeed. The chill winds of New England practically sailed us across the country.”

“Harvard? Grad school? You met there?” They had just told me that, loud and clear. Humanities plus Cambridge equaled Harvard. They just hadn’t told me. An East Coast tendency, I’d noticed.

They exchanged a glance. Nodded. “Exactly. And how about you, Nikki?”

“Nikki runs a bookstore,” Ethan said proudly. “Owns a bookstore. The Brimstone Magpie, over on Telegraph.”

“Did you ever consider the academic life?” Katherine wanted to know.

I finished my Negroni. “I think at some point I’ve considered everything.”

“Is your family from California originally?”

I shook the ice around in my glass and nodded vaguely, wondering how to change the subject. Lawrence saw my empty glass. “Another one, coming up.”

I nodded in relief. As if sensing my reluctance, Katherine sipped her drink and shifted the conversation. “So where did you two meet, anyway?”

“Over breakfast,” I answered.

“How charming! Such a pleasure to hear a story other than ‘online.’ Lawrence and I were together before the whole eHarmony craze, or whatever those things are called. Thank goodness. The thought of swiping frantically through all those random faces strikes me as such a dismal way to spend one’s time.”

One of them had to come from money, I was thinking. Maybe both. The apartment was too expensively furnished. And they were too young to be tenured. I wondered if they owned the apartment or rented. I would have bet owned. Lawrence was speaking. “We’ve been trying our best to civilize Ethan here from the wilds of Montana.”

“Hence the tennis,” I said.

I didn’t love the comment. A little patronizing. I glanced at Ethan. He seemed fine with it. Maybe—I had to smile at the thought—I was feeling protective.

“Indeed,” Lawrence agreed. “Hence the tennis.”

There was another round of drinks. A bottle of wine was opened, then another. At some point Lawrence, with a mischievous grin, opened a carved wooden box and took out a small joint. “Does anyone indulge? After all, it’s in the spirit of musical appreciation.”