“Apologies all round,” Tor says through a chuckle. “Skyler fell over. She says her heel got caught in the patio slats,” he says as he brushes his lips over her hair, “but I say she’s had one too many dirty martinis.” With a giggle, Skyler wobbles off in the direction of a bathroom, and Tor sinks back down in his seat. “Skyler,” Dante mutters darkly into the bottom of his glass. “Gesù Cristo. That’s a stripper name if I’ve ever heard one.” He glances to the swing doors. “She’s been to the bathroom three times and we haven’t even had our appetizers yet.” “She’s probably nervous about being on a
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