with us very often.”
“So you’ve known him for a long time.” Kelly hoped so, anyway, but Troy killed that hope with just a few words.
“Not really,” he said, as he lined up the glasses Kelly had set on the counter. “Jeremy used to work with Riley,” Troy continued, pouring liberal amounts of tequila into all but one of the glasses. “They’re best friends, you know? But I know Riley pretty well, even if it’s been less than a year. He’s a good guy, though he still thinks I stole Jeremy from him.”
Troy picked up the bottle of triple sec next and added a dash to the already poured tequilas as he went on. “And I guess that’s fair enough.” He sounded amused. “I met Jeremy and I helped work things out so he could stop working and go back to school full time. So in a way, I guess I did steal Jeremy. Can you grab the gallon jug of mix from the fridge? You can go ahead and pour the mix, if you don’t mind. Oh, the empty glass is Jeremy’s. He doesn’t drink much, and he’s a complete lightweight. More than a single beer and he gets super-chatty, then falls asleep.” Troy grinned.
Less than a minute later, there were seven margaritas on the counter, one without liquor and none with salt. Goober would have been uncontrollable if there was salt on the glass rims. Goobs loved salt even more than celery, so the lack on the glasses was a relief. Besides, too much salt was never a good idea, even for people.
“I’ve trained the guys to stay out of the kitchen while I’m mixing drinks,” Troy murmured. Then he called out “Come and get it!”
Kelly laughed and took one of the alcohol-laden glasses as the doorway filled, the remaining five men pushing their way through. Then he took a sip and he knew his eyes were going wide, but that was fine.
“Troy,” Kelly said, after a full three seconds of savoring the flavor. “I didn’t want to say so before, but I hate margaritas. Except yours. I could drink this every single day.”
Riley grinned and drained the glass in his own hand in one long swallow. “Dude. You don’t know the half of it. Troy is the fucking Margarita King! Hey, should you be drinking with a concussion?”
Kelly glared at Riley and took another sip, slowly and deliberately. “I told you I’m fine.” He transferred his gaze to Troy, easing up on the glaring. “So. Margarita King? Really?”
Troy blushed and Jeremy laughed.
“It’s true,” Jeremy said, taking a sip from Troy’s glass while holding his own full virgin drink. “Troy’s won the local amateur contest for three years running. It’s all because of his secret recipe.”
Kelly arched one brow. “See, that sounds like a challenge,” he said, then took a careful, slow sip. He held the liquid in his mouth for a few seconds, letting it tingle on his tongue. Then he swished it around slightly and swallowed. “I’m guessing, here, so don’t laugh too hard, okay?”
Troy grinned. “Go for it. I promise not to make you feel bad.”
Kelly hesitated for a moment, but Riley moved closer and bumped against his shoulder.
“Dude,” Riley said, “I swear you won’t get kicked off the island if you answer wrong. Some fucking asshole at the last contest guessed wallpaper paste, but he was full of shit and it turned out his cousin was one of the other fucking finalists. So just say whatever the fuck you’re gonna say so we can have more drinks.” Then Riley winked. At him. God.
“Um. Okay.” Kelly darted a glance at Troy, and the man looked so smug and certain that Kelly couldn’t help saying exactly what he’d thought. “It tastes like you make your simple syrup with turbinado sugar. That would be raw sugar, if you don’t know the name. And I’m guessing that tiny tinge of nutty heat is dried, powdered habanero peppers. I think I’m missing a couple of things, but that’s what jumps out at me right now.”
Kelly offered up his own smirk and took another sip of his drink. “So, how did I do? I’m
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