18 Chapter 18

“I blame Vincent for this!” Gregor groused. “No one ever tried to pick you up before him.”

“That you’re aware of.”

His jaw dropped. “Seriously? You’ve let guys pick you up?”

“Years ago, and it wasn’t a matter of letting them. It was I who picked them up.” How did we get onto this topic? “Really, Gregor, he’s much too young for me.”

“He looks like he’s in his midtwenties.”

“Yes?”

“Quinn, there can’t be more than twelve years between you!” Gregor abruptly raised the menu as if to shield his face. “Sorry, Portia,” he whispered. What had gotten into him? He’d been an FBI agent for years and had dealt with all manner of situations; I’d never seen him behave like this before.

I opened my mouth to remind him that Mark was three years older, and I was quite happy with that difference in our ages, when Mother tapped my ankle under the table, shook her head, and folded her hands on the edge of the table.

“We have something to tell you.”