No one except for the redheaded bartender who always set me off-kilter. She’d caught us the second the door swooped open, the dingy light from above hitting us like a spotlight. Her glare attacked us from behind her post, all those combative daggers shot straight at me as she wiped ferociously at the glossy bar top, like she could wipe the stain of my presence from the bar.
As I watched her sneaking peeks at us now, my gut curled in discomfort. She recognized us. I knew she did and I knew she didn’t like it. I knew she liked it even less because I had not a single reason to be here except for Shea.
It was written all over my posture, the way it tensed and bowed as my gaze slithered through the hazed glow of the massive room. Searching. Seeking. Hoping for something I shouldn’t have.
Four days ago, I’d had every intention of never seeing Shea again. I’d committed to staying away. Even my warped conscious was honest enough to know I couldn’t fuck around with a girl like her, here just long enough to mess with her heart and her head before I left my mess behind.
Yet here I was and it hadn’t taken Lyrik all that much effort to convince me to come.
Because somehow Shea had managed to mess with mine.
There was no missing the way Red’s back went rigid with what I could only presume was staunch protectiveness. It happened in the same moment my lungs tripped over my breath when awareness squeezed all the air from the room. The same moment Shea appeared through the swinging double-doors that led into the kitchen, all smooth honeyed skin and a raging river of long blonde hair.
Fire and light.
I watched as her breath punched from her lungs. For a flash, her knees went weak when her attention was drawn across the room and she found me there. I got the feeling she did it every time she entered the bar, like that same curiosity that had brought me here time and time again compelled her to watch for my return.
Because Shea was hoping for something she shouldn’t have, too.
The crumpled expression that slashed lines across that gorgeous face told me she hated herself for being defenseless against it and that she’d never expected me to actually be here.
Hurt.
Hurt.
Hurt.
That emotion zinged through the stifled air like little bolts of lightning.
Hated that I was the one who was responsible for it.
She dropped her eyes to hide the vulnerability of her reaction just about as fast as they’d locked on mine. Rapidly, her shoulders lifted and fell as she studied the floor, like she was calling back her storm, gathering it up, all of that energy condensing to the size of a pinpoint.
It would only be a matter of time before it burst.
Deliberately, she lifted her face and looked at me, the quandary of emotions collected and locked down. Her sweet candied mouth tweaked in a firm set of defiance, every defense mechanism this girl had set to high power as she strutted over to our table, all long legs and slender shoulders and soft seduction.
Anticipation hardened every inch of my body.
Ash grinned at her when she stopped at our table. “Well if it isn’t Shea.”
“Yep, that’s me,” she said, clearly trying to blow off his enthusiasm, not at all interested in bar banter.
“What have you been up to, darlin’?” Apparently Ash was too dense to pick up on it or he just didn’t care.
Like he didn’t expect her to answer, he continued, “Figured there was no better place to be on a Friday night than surrounded by great music and an even prettier face. So here we are.”
That pretty face twisted up in some kind of agony, for a second those compressed emotions spilling over.
“That’s nice of you to say,” she muttered below her breath, seeking relief over her shoulder, scouring for the nearest escape route. Reluctantly, she turned back to us. “What can I get for y’all tonight? It’s happy hour and drafts are half off.”
She said it as if she hadn’t spent a night of flirting and playing just the week before, as if she didn’t recognize any of us and she didn’t know every single one of us by name.