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“Are we interrupting something?” Matty asked, stepping in with Omar and Sisi right behind him. “Do you and Homer need a room?”
Omar arched a brow. “Because that definitely looked like something.”
Sisi’s grin turned downright wicked. “Was Homer making Elliot his bi—?”
“No!” I snapped a little too loudly then pointed at Homer. “This thing is a terror.”
“Terrier. How many times do I have to correct you?” Mike grinned.
Homer barked and lunged for Matty’s leg.
“NOPE, NOPE, NOPE!” Matty bolted. “I’m a proper virgin. There will be no soiling my loins!”
Sisi burst out laughing, falling into Mike, who was nearly doubled over. Omar howled. I just shook my head and watched the insanity escalate.
Mrs. H laughed so hard she wheezed. “I love that dog.”
Omar, meanwhile, took a deep sniff of the air and winced. “What . . . exactly are we eating?”
Mrs. H waved a hand. “Haggisandstovies!”
Mike paled. “Oh God. Again?”
Omar’s eyes widened. “Did you sayhaggis?”
Mrs. H beamed. “Authentic!”
Matty—who had managed to escape Homer with his honor still intact—plopped onto the couch. “We’re all gonna die.”
The door swung open with another dramatic creak, and Mateo stepped inside like he was bracing for battle. He paused and scanned the room—taking in the disaster that was Mrs. H’s kitchen, the smoke curling slightly from something on the stove, that Mike was already one drink deep, and the unmistakable sound of bagpipes wailing in the background like a dying animal in a wind tunnel.
His expression was that of immediate regret, like how those who were surrendering their homeland tucked tail following said retreat.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “What fresh hell have I walked into?”
Before anyone could answer, Homer launched himself at Mateo’s leg, latching on with a single-minded determination.
Mateo barely had time to react before the humping commenced.
“OH MY GOD!” he yelled, stumbling backward. “GET IT OFF!”
“I’m pretty sure ‘getting off’ is what’s on his mind,” Sisi quipped.
Mrs. H, completely unfazed, stirred her mystery pot. “It’s how he shows affection, laddie . . . he loves you!”
Mateo flailed. “I DO NOT CONSENT TO THIS AFFECTION.”
A string of Italian curses followed. None of us had a clue what Mateo said, but the horror-stricken look on his face spoke louder than his words.
Mike, utterly useless, was wheezing laughter. He threw himself onto the couch where he joined Matty and Sisi in egging each other on. Omar, only slightly more help, took the bottle of Scotch Mateo had brought, pecked him on the cheek, and fled to the relative safety of the kitchen.
I sighed, stepping forward to pry Homer off, knowing my leg was the only one that might lure the beast away. “Mateo, I think he sees you as a challenge.”
“He sees me as a damn conquest.” Mateo scowled, smoothing out his shirt. “I am no man’s bitch!”
Matty, downing one drink after the next, grinned. “Well, he does have good taste.”
“Shut up.” Mateo pointed at him. “We’re way past empty compliments.”