“Hey, fellas,” I teased them, looking sideways at Lance’s profile. “You guys all done barfing?” “No,” he whined, his head on my shoulder. “Tell me what we have to eat for dinner.” “Liver and onions,” I cackled evilly. “Oh screw you,” he retched, leaning over to lie down on the couch. The leather had to be cool on his hot face. “Liver, my ass.” “Alex.” I called his name softly. “Mmmm.” He barely made a noise, his forehead against the back of my neck. “Do your eyelids hurt?”
