“Thank you,” he said, picking up one of the chicken fingers and dipping it himself.
“Did you get any gravy for the fries?”
Raffaele glanced to Jess when she asked that question and noted the way she was peering over the items on the table. There were so many small bowls on the table he thought there must be gravy, but Zanipolo shook his head.
“No, I wasn’t sure if it would be any good,” he admitted.
“It is,” she assured him. “It’s real gravy, not the packaged stuff.” Reaching for a red bottle, she shrugged and added, “But ketchup will do.”
“Not if they have real gravy,” Zanipolo said at once. “Most places have the packaged stuff that tastes like . . .”
“Packaged stuff,” Jess suggested with amusement when he seemed at a loss as to how to describe the fake stuff.
Chuckling, Zanipolo nodded and stood up. “I’ll go ask the waitress to—Oh.” He dropped back into his seat. “No need. She’s coming with our drinks already.”
Raffaele glanced around to see that Zanipolo was right; the waitress was returning with three drinks.
Zanipolo thanked the waitress when she set them down by each of them and then asked for three orders of gravy.
“We thought we heard a band playing as we approached,” Jess commented, glancing around as the waitress left.
“There was a band when we were here earlier,” he assured her, glancing toward the slightly raised stage where the band had been situated.
“They were still playing when we got here,” Zanipolo said. “They stopped to take a break, literally, just before you two came in.”
“Ah. That explains it,” Raffaele said, nodding.
“They sounded pretty good,” Jess commented.
“They are,” Zanipolo said. “Not as good as the NCs, of course. But good.”
“Who are the NCs?” Jess asked with curiosity before taking a drink of her wine.
“Our band,” Zanipolo told her with a grin.
Jess stilled, her eyes widening. “Band? You guys are in a band?”
Raffaele narrowed his eyes on her. She didn’t seem pleased at the news. In fact, she appeared disappointed.
“Yes. You don’t like music?” Zanipolo asked, obviously noting her reaction too.
“Oh. Yes. I like music,” she said quickly.
“So why the attitude about our being in a band?” Zanipolo asked, and Raffaele knew it was purely for his benefit. His cousin would already know the answer. He could read her thoughts.
“Oh, no!” she said with dismay. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“You obviously don’t think much of musicians,” Santo interrupted gently.
Jess met the bald man’s gaze, hesitated briefly, and then sighed and shrugged. “I’m sorry. It’s not musicians per se. It’s just you guys seemed so nice, and . . . I guess it’s stereotyping, but I tend to think of guys in bands as being interested only in the whole sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll thing.” She grimaced. “You know, groupies and partying and stuff.”
Raffaele smiled. Her words told him that Jess was definitely not a groupie type. One of those women who chased band members, just because they were a band member. And he liked that. Raffaele had experienced enough of that to last a lifetime. As had the others. It was rather annoying actually, because the women weren’t really seeing them at all, just an ideal in their head, and it was that ideal they were chasing.
Of course, if he were young and still interested in sex, he’d probably love it, Raffaele acknowledged. Women throwing themselves at him, willing to sleep with him at the drop of a hat . . . What young horny guy wouldn’t love that? However, Raffaele had lost his interest in sex centuries ago, as had Santo. And Christian and Gia, the other members of their band, were already mated. That left Zanipolo to enjoy whatever groupies their band attracted, something he didn’t seem to mind at all.
“We don’t party,” Santo said, the words a rumble of sound. “We have day jobs.”
“And we don’t do drugs,” Raffaele assured her. That wasn’t even a possibility for them. Their bodies would remove the drugs, as well as any alcohol, before the substances had a chance to work on them. It was why he’d ordered water rather than wine like Jess.
“We do have sex, though,” Zanipolo said cheerfully, and then added, “Well, at least I do. Christian and Gia—the other members of our band,” he explained to Jess, “they’re both mated and not interested in groupies. And Santo and Raff are just plain not interested. In fact, Raff finds them pathetic. He says those women would sleep with anyone with a guitar given half the chance.”
“He’s probably right,” Jess said, turning to give Raffaele a small smile as she picked up her glass again for another sip. She was obviously glad he wasn’t into groupies.
Zanipolo shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s not like I want to marry the women. I’m a healthy, young, unmated im—man,” he finished, catching his slip before he said immortal. “Who am I to refuse if a pretty woman wants to sleep with me? Besides, with the rest of the band all shunning the girls, I make out like a bandit,” Zanipolo admitted, flashing Jess a toothy grin when his words drew her gaze back to him.
“So, you do go in for groupies,” she said dryly, setting her glass back.
“Definitely,” he assured her without shame. “But I’m still a nice guy. I don’t break hearts or make promises I don’t intend to keep, and I do not get into drugs or partying. Like Santo said, we all have day jobs.”
“Hmm.” Jess considered that briefly and then asked, “So what are your day jobs?”
“We work for Notte Construction,” Raffaele answered for all of them. “It’s a family business.”
“So you’re construction workers?” she asked with interest, and then smiled crookedly and said, “I should have guessed.”
Her gaze was sliding over his shoulders and chest with appreciation as she said that and Raffaele felt his body tighten in response.
“Why should you have guessed that?” Santo asked with interest.
Much to Raffaele’s relief, Jess tore her gaze away and turned to the other man to shrug and say, “Because you’re all in great shape.”
“Ah.” Santo nodded as if that made sense, when really none of them were actual laborers who slung hammers and such.
Jess opened her mouth, as if she was going to ask another question, but then frowned slightly as she noted that Santo hadn’t pulled a plate in front of him. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”
Santo shook his head. “Indigestion.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” she said sincerely. “I have some Tums in my room. After we finish eating I’ll go get a replacement key and fetch them for you.”
Santo looked startled at the offer and then shook his head. “Thank you, no. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s no problem,” she assured him. “In fact, you can keep the whole bottle. I’m leaving tomorrow anyway, so I won’t need them.”
“You are leaving?” Santo asked with surprise.
“Yes,” Jess said. “I would have left tonight, but I guess there wouldn’t be any flights out this late. Or at least none I’d be likely to get to in time.”
“No. There would not be,” Santo agreed and, apparently having read that Raffaele was fine with her leaving, turned to offer her a smile. But Jess was no longer looking his way. Something had drawn her attention to the beach off the deck. Raffaele saw her frown, and followed her gaze to see what held her attention, but there was nothing there as far as he could tell.
“You’ll have to give us your address in Montana in case we are able to get your waist belt back.”
Raffaele glanced to Zanipolo with surprise at that comment, but his cousin was biting into his burger and not looking his way. It didn’t matter; a quick glimpse of his thoughts told him that the younger immortal was trying to get her to give them her address verbally so he wouldn’t have to explain how he found her when he followed her to Montana.
“Get my waist belt back?” Jess asked with surprise, finally turning from the beach.
Zanipolo nodded, and then swallowed and said, “I’m quite sure we’ll be going to the Seaquarium after you leave. We can check out the shark feeding tour afterward and see if your waist belt is in their lost and found.”
Raffaele noted the way Jess stiffened, and felt himself tense up in response as her eyes narrowed on Zanipolo. Her voice was suspicious as she asked, “How did you know I left it on the shark boat?”
Zanipolo had been about to bite into his burger again, but paused and lowered it to eye Jess briefly, before saying, “You said earlier that you left it on the pirate ship. The people in the lobby were talking about the pirates who took them to feed the sharks after the Seaquarium. I just assumed it was the same ship. Was it not?”
“Oh.” Jess relaxed and smiled crookedly. “Yes. Yes, it was.”
Raffaele felt his body relax at the save, and then concern claimed Jess’s expression and she said, “But I don’t recommend the shark feeding tour. You should avoid that at all costs. In fact, I think you should skip the Seaquarium too.” Becoming agitated, she added, “Just stay away from that area altogether. All right?”
Raffaele nodded solemnly. It wasn’t a hard promise to make. They had been told to leave the rogues to the local hunters anyway.
“Promise,” she insisted. “Promise you’ll stay away from any pirates and pirate ships you see.”
“Oh, look, the band’s coming back,” Santo said, and Raffaele glanced to him, noting the way he was looking at Jess. He had the concentrated look that suggested he was doing something to her thoughts. He wasn’t sure what, however, until Jess suddenly relaxed beside him and turned to peer at the band members returning to the stage at the end of the deck.