“Logan should probably be going now,” Nikki says, pinching my thigh under the table.
“Nah, I’m good.”
She eyes me impatiently. “You must be tired.”
I shrug. “Slept on the plane.”
She groans.
“Do you have a private plane?” her brother or stepbrother, I’ve yet to keep them all straight, asks. I need a cheat sheet if I don’t want to embarrass myself.
“I don’t own my own, but I did fly on a private jet.”
“Must’ve been nice. When we flew back, this guy brought a six-course meal on the plane with him. He sat across the aisle from us, and the main course was fish.” The bartender drops a few pitchers on the tables. “Can I get you something?” She sticks her hand out in front of me. “You probably don’t remember me, but—”
“Molly, right?”
Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
I point at her nam
