“Is there anyone joining us for dinner tonight?”
“Why do you ask?”
“There’s a bottle of vodka in the freezer.” His voice had deepened from casual to curious.
The woman straightened from her hunch over the keyboard and turned in her chair to face the man by the door. He stood there, sunlight gleaming off punk blue hair, slim hip resting against the frame, smirking, daring her to deny his words.
Sydney adopted her most innocent, vapid expression. “That’s just for us, sweetie.” Even Satan wouldn’t accuse her lying, either that or award her for excellent technique. “It is Friday.”