“There you are,” a familiar voice said. “Looking good, dumbass. Clean up almost as nice as I do.”
ThereJack turned, absorbing a mock-punch to one shoulder and letting his mouth curl into a half-smile. “Just considerably less pungent,” he parried, and returned the blow with precisely calculated force.
McKenna’s dark head c****d, and his hazel eyes all but glowed with cheerful mischief. He was the very picture of easy affability, from his faint raffish stubble—showing his control of the change, of course—to his loosened tie and collar, not to mention his ever-so-slightly-rumpled suit. On him every crease looked planned, even the off-kilter ones. “Flattery will get you nowhere. We’re waiting for the girls, huh?” He glanced meaningfully at the ballroom’s grand entrance, where a steady stream
