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“You know that cup of eggnog you asked Taz get for me?”
She nodded.
I told her what he had brought to me and what he had called it.
“Oh, that is fucking wrong on so many levels,” she hissed. “Come on. Let’s get you a glass of wine.”
“No wine. I need something stronger.”
She followed me into the kitchen where I put some ice in a glass and found the decanter of tequila. I poured a healthy couple of shots into the glass.
“You aren’t going to drink that straight, are you?”
“Of course not,” I replied, tossing a cut lemon wedge into it. “There.”
I chugged it down quickly, then took the lemon wedge out and sucked whatever tequila it had soaked up out of it.
“Slow down, Lindsey. I’ve seen tequila make you crazy.”
“I’m hoping it makes me homicidal tonight,” I retorted, pouring another shot over the ice.
“Seriously, Linds.”
“Okay, okay.”
I went to the fridge and got a pitcher of orange juice out, pouring a small amount into the glass.
“Happy? Now it’s a Tequila Sunrise instead of just straight tequila.”
“Come on then,” she said. “I met a couple of young cadets from Quantico. Your mom introduced me to them. I guess they were in some class on surveillance that Slate was teaching the past month. They are hot.”
Darcy had me by the hand leading into the family room towards the back of the house.
“Right there,” she nodded towards the fireplace where a couple of guys were standing, dressed casually in Dockers and sweaters.
“Am I right?”
She didn’t give me a chance to answer, dragging me over to where they were conversing.
“Darin, Patrick, this is Lindsey. Slate is her stepdad,” Darcy said, practically pushing me into them. How many eggnogs had she had?
“Hi, Lindsey, I’m Darin Murphy,” the dark-haired one with amber eyes said, holding his hand out to shake mine.
“Pleased to meet you, Darin,” I replied, shaking his strong, firm hand. He was definitely hot in a dark and dreamy sort of way.
“And that makes me Patrick Dunn,” the other one said.
Patrick was tall, slender and had a mass of dark blond tousled hair, along with big light blue, almost gray eyes. He bore a resemblance to the character Dr. Spencer Reid from the television show, “Criminal Minds.” I wondered if he watched the show.
“Merry Christmas, Patrick,” I said smiling at him.
“Has anyone ever told you-?”
“I know what you’re going to say,” he chuckled. “And yes, they do. I don’t see it, though.”
“Are you training to go into the BAU segment of the FBI?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “I have to finish my Master’s though and then on to my Doctorate. It will be awhile.”
