T-7 Days

“No strippers, I promise.”

Julio groaned a little. “No strippers? Come on.”

“Beer,” Jackson told them resolutely. “Beer and dead cow. That’s what Alec wants.”

Miguel laughed. “That’s way kinkier than chicks in g-strings.”

Derek shot him a look—a pissy, I-know-you’re-sleeping-with-my-baby-cousin look that promised imminent violence almost as effectively as the words that followed. “You are far too invested in strippers. Do I need to beat some sense into you?”

Pointing out that Julio had been the most vocal proponent of burlesque entertainment would do no good. Jackson sighed and tried to pull their attention back to the subject at hand. “John said we could rent out his place for the night, and he’ll even man the grill himself.”

At least Derek was easily distracted. “John Gravois? Is he still running that bar down near the French Market?”

“He is. And since the ladies have Mahalia’s for the night, I think it’s our best bet.”

Julio grabbed another slice of pizza. “If it’s what Alec wants. But I bet Nick and Mackenzie are getting Carmen a stripper.”

“Doubt it,” Derek countered at once. “I know my wife, thanks. If there are strippers, there’ll be two. Minimum.”

“See?” Miguel pointed at Derek with his beer bottle. “Carmen’s going to be knee-deep in man titty, and Alec’ll just have to squint and drink until one of us starts to look good.”

“I’m nominating you,” Julio managed through a laugh.

“Seconded,” Derek agreed. “Man up and take one for the team, Miguel.”

“Hey, if anyone’s taking anything here—”

“So,” Jackson interjected. “With that taken care of—” His phone vibrated, and he checked the display to find a text message from Kat. Is Derek giving Miguel a hard time? Punch him. “Damn it.”

Guilt flashed across Derek’s face, like he knew who the message was from. “Trouble?”

“Sort of.” With an apologetic look, he punched Derek on the shoulder. “Your cousin’s orders.”

Grumbling, Derek pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. “He started it.”

“I fear for your future children.”

Julio crowed with triumphant laughter and waved his own phone in the air. “Carmen says she’s okay with Alec having strippers.”

“Oh my God.” Jackson dragged a hand through his hair. “Will you shut up about the fucking strippers?”

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