sharp, Spencer, Zach, and Amelia passed under the green-and-white awning of Smith and Wollensky, the upscale steakhouse on Third Avenue, and swished through the brass-handled double doors.The bar area was six people deep, and everyone was shouting. Businessmen sat at giant oak tables eating rib eyes and juicy burgers the size of their heads. Trophy wives sipped martinis and winked flirtatiously at the white-coated Irish guys pouring goblet-sized glasses of wine behind the bar. The air smelled like testosterone and meat.“Leave it to my dad to pick somewhere über-masculine,” Zach mused in Spencer’s ear as a hostess guided them around the crowded dining room to where their parents were waiting. “Do you really think your mom finds this place romantic?”Spencer doubted it, but she pinched his arm. “Now, now. We need to be on our best behavior, remember?”Zach raised a brow. “Actually, I propose we be on our worst behavior.”“Oh? What are you thinking?”“Drinking game.”
