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“Fionna.”
“Occupation?”
“Didn’t ask.”
“Didn’t care?”
“Nope.” His shrug is innocent and indifferent. “We both just wanted to get laid with no strings attached.”
“Been there.” My glass is tipped in his direction. “Approve that.”
Puppet Boy grabs his freshly made drink during his explanation, “Life’s…kind of…insane at the moment. There’s the merger, the app, the off-quarter sales figures…not to mention what we’ve got going on personally with the recovery, the family uniting episode next week, and the wedding.” The beverage is given an adjustment in his grasp. “I don’t have time or the capacity to date right now.”
“Just to get your dick touched.” An enthusiastic nod is attached to my exclaiming. “I get it.”
Wes’s frame presses itself against mine again. “You get it because you’ve lived it, I’m assuming.”
“One hundred percent.”
Both men lightly chuckle, although Puppet Boy’s is short-lived courtesy of his sudden gagging. “What’s wrong with this drink?!”
“It’s non-alcoholic,” the bartender professionally informs from the other side of counter.
“Why?!”
“Pregnant.” I gesture inward to my well-hidden stomach and then outward to my fiancé. “Recovering.”
“Supportive,” adds the male whose signature blue shade is being worn only in the form of a pocket square this evening as he lifts the glass in a cheers fashion. “Perhaps we should look into the non-alcoholic beverage industry next year. I wonder if it’s a lucrative avenue or if maybe one that could be more lucrative in the coming years.”
“See,” I mockingly tease, “Batman and Robin really do share one mind.”
“Nightwing,” Puppet Boy playfully bites. “I am Nightwing in the analogy.”
“Who was originally Robin,” Wes points out on an amused beam.
“Which makes me Captain Rightcard.”
“Speaking of the best franchise to ever exist,” he smoothly segues while motioning us to make room for others to order drinks, “they’re auctioning off a pair of five-day, all-inclusive passes to Talk Trekky to Me, the annual Star Trek convention held on South Haven Island every summer.”
My blue drink being housed in a martini glass is carelessly splashed around. “What?!”
“Yeah, I’m already bidding on it – because I have to bid on something for the company’s sake-”
“Do you?” Wes effortlessly pokes.
“-but I need you to swear, Uhura, that when I win them, you’ll go with me.”
“Absolutely!”
“You mean if,” the man with his arm nestled around my lower back poorly tries to correct.
“No, I mean when.” Puppet Boy shoots him a wink. “Those passes are mine.”
“Ours.”
He nods in agreement and tips his head at me. “Ours.”
“And does my opinion regarding you whisking what will be my wife away for a five-day romantic nerdy vacation hold any sort of weight?”
