“Who wants margaritas?!” Irina cheers from the kitchen.
Áine and I look over as Irina expertly picks up all three glasses at once and carries them to the living room, distributing them like a professional. I guess working at a club taught her a few tricks over the years.
“Thank you.” I take my glass, take a sip and lick the salt from the rim off my lips.
“Thanks a million,” Áine says graciously as she takes her glass.
Irina sits down among the cushions, joining us on her living room floor. I am not a jealous person by nature, but I have to admit that whenever I see Irina’s loft, I get a little envious. I don’t know how she is able to afford such a beautiful loft in West Hollywood, but she figured it out. It’s so big you could fit my studio apartment in here four times and still have s
