“We could go skinny-dipping,” Anna suggested. I looked at her in disbelief, but she was giving Santino that challenging smile she’d adopted around him. He downed his beer. “Clothes stay on, and you two won’t behave like bickering toddlers.” “I’m not a kid, Sonny,” Anna muttered. His eyes flashed. I wasn’t sure why Anna loved to piss him off by using that stupid nickname, or pretty much anything else she did. It had become her favorite pastime.
