Free Drink Deep by Chloe Neill Page B

not to be insulted by that.”
    He chuckled low in his throat. “That’s only because you haven’t had a two yet.”
    I was doubtful, but didn’t have much evidence to go on. And speaking of missing evidence . . .
    “All right, quid pro quo time. How do you know my grandfather? I know you were friends with Charlotte. You told me that before. Is that the connection?” Charlotte is my older sister. I also have a brother, Robert, who was following in my father’s property-grubbing footsteps.
    “I did and do know Charlotte,” Jonah said. “I knew you, too.”
    I was drawing a complete blank. “How did you know me?”
    “I took Charlotte to prom.”
    I froze in my seat. “You did what now?”
    “I took Charlotte to her senior college formal.”
    I closed my eyes, trying to remember. I’d been home for spring break and had been witness to Charlotte’s meltdown when she’d had a fight with her then-boyfriend and now-husband, Major Corkburger (yes, seriously). She’d gone with a guy named Joe to the formal instead.
    The lightbulb lit.
    “Oh, my God,” I exclaimed, pointing at him. “You were ‘Joe’! I didn’t even recognize you.”
    Joe had been a very short-lived rebellious phase. I saw him only a couple of times after prom. A month later, Charlotte and Major were back together, and Joe had disappeared.
    “You had a perm,” I reminded him. “And you took her to the formal in one of those hoodies made of rugs.”
    “I’d just gotten here from Kansas City.” He’d said it like that explained his ensemble, like Kansas City was a foreign country with a completely different culture. “The pace was different down there, even for vampires. A little slower.”
    “And Charlotte introduced you to my grandfather?”
    I could see Jonah’s blush even in the dark. “Yeah. To piss off Major, I think. I was finishing up one of my degrees. This gorgeous girl approached me on campus one day and asked me out.” He shrugged. “It’s not like I was going to say no. And when we met with Noah, you had no idea who I was.”
    That explained why Jonah had copped such an attitude the first night we’d met near the lake. “That’s why you were irritated with me,” I said. “Not because you thought I was like Charlotte, but because you thought I’d forgotten you.”
    “You had forgotten me, and you aren’t as unlike Charlotte as you’d like to believe.”
    I started to protest, thinking he meant to tease me about society soirees or luxury brands or winters in Palm Beach, none of which I was interested in. But instead of assuming, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and asked the question. “Why am I like Charlotte?”
    He smiled. “Because you’re loyal. Because you both value your families, even if you define them differently. Her children and Major are hers. Your House is yours.”
    It hadn’t always been that way, but I couldn’t disagree with him. “I see.”
    A few minutes later, our waitress returned with two steaming piles of noodles.
    “Nine,” she said, placing a plate in front of Jonah. “And two,” she said, dropping an identical plate in front of me.
    I removed the wrapper from a pair of chopsticks and glanced up at Jonah in anticipation. “You ready?”
    “Are you?” he asked with amusement.
    “I’ll be fine,” I assured him, plucking up a tangle of noodles and bean sprouts. My first bite was huge . . . and I regretted it immediately.
    “Two” was apparently a euphemism for “Flaming Inferno.” My eyes watered, the heat building from a slow burn at the back of my throat to a firestorm along the tip of my tongue. I would have sworn flames were actually shooting from my ears.
    “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Hot ,” I got out before grabbing my glass of water and finishing half of it in a single gulp. “That’s a two?” I hoarsely asked. “That is insane.”
    “And you wanted a seven,” Jonah nonchalantly said, eating his plate of noodles like it had been doused in nothing more