Lurine slithered upright and beckoned to me. “Come on, baby sister. Let’s go find some glasses.”

I followed her into the kitchen, leaning on the counter to stabilize the spinning room while she ransacked the cupboards. “Ummm . . . I’m not so sure this is a good idea anymore.”

Examining dingy glasses, she glanced at me. “You’re a little drunk, huh?”

I peered at her. “You’re not?”

“Sweetheart, do you have any idea what my actual body weight is?” Lurine asked, buffing a glass with a semiclean towel.

“No,” I admitted. “Not a clue.”

She laughed. “To be perfectly honest, neither do I.” Lurine lowered the towel, her gaze serious. “This was your idea. If you want to leave, we’ll leave, Daise. It’s okay; I can drive. But if you want to stay . . .” She shrugged. “These boys are almost drunk enough to reach the confessional stage. You might not have another chance like this.”

“True.”

Lurine yanked a bag of pretzels out of the cupboard and poured some in a bowl. “Here. Eat.”

I shoved a handful in my mouth. “Thanks,” I said around a mouthful of dry pretzel crumbs. “You’re the best ex-babysitter, sort-of godmother, and pretend sister ever. Seriously. I really, really appreciate your doing this.”

“Oh, gods.” She sighed. “And you’re at the maudlin-drunk stage.”

“Nuh-uh!” I shook my head. “I’m serious!”

“Okay, cupcake.” Lurine patted my head. “Maybe it’s best if you let me do most of the talking for now.”

When we returned to the living room with clean glasses and a bowl of pretzels, the ranks had thinned. I was sorry to see that the doughy Triton who’d burst into tears was gone. If anyone was going to crack tonight, he’d seemed like the best bet. But Lurine zeroed in unerringly on Matthew, solicitously pouring a glass of scotch for him and resuming her perch on the arm of his chair.

His glassy-eyed gaze skated slowly up and down her spandex-wrapped figure. He might be playing it cool, but he wasn’t immune to her charms. Even dialed down a few notches, Lurine was still Lurine.

“How come you’re being so nice to me?” he murmured. “It’s not like I’ve done anything to deserve it.”

“You’re hurting.” She wound her fingers gently through his hair. “People lash out when they’re hurt.”

He exhaled a long sigh, closing his eyes.

“Plus, I’ve never met a Master of the Universe before.” Lurine’s tone was light and soothing, somehow maternal and seductive at the same time. “I thought that meant guys in the finance industry pulling down seven-figure salaries. Is that you?”

His eyes opened. Beneath the sheen of drunkenness, there was a cynical light in them. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.” She bent over and placed a lingering kiss on his lips. “But I’m guessing your answer is no.”