Asher extended a hand to greet him.
“Nice of you to invite Arrow’s Flag, Knight,” Brice said, pumping his hand in a professional shake.
Ah. So the band Brice represented was here. Made sense.
“And me.” Brice skimmed Gloria from head to toe, stopping where Asher’s fingers were wrapped around her waist. “Hi, Glo.”
“Hi,” she returned. Asher’s grip tightened on her hip.
“Bonfire. Beer. Food.” Asher pointed out the various stations one by one. “Make yourself at home.”
Brice nodded at each of them before making his way across the deck.
“What was that about?” she asked.
“Mine, babe. Just making sure he knows it.”
“I’m not ‘yours,’ Asher.”
“Sounds like I need to make sure you know it, too.” He cocked his head in challenge.
She huffed, but no words followed. What was she supposed to say?
“I’ll deal with you later. You need a drink. Wine?”
“Sure.” That she’d give in to.
He gave her one last squeeze, kissed her forehead, and released her.
She watched him go before turning to walk down the deck. She spotted the other band members of Knight Time at the corner of where the deck met the dock.
She’d met the band before at concerts, and when she’d flown to LA to see Asher right after he’d signed the contract for his and Evan’s book, The Adventures of Mad Cow. Save for Broderick, the newer member. She hadn’t met him yet.
One could line up the men of Knight Time by graduating degree of beard growth. First there was Asher Knight, who typically sported stubble that was about two days old. Broderick “Ricky” Haines was the scruffier one, with a pronounced mustache/beard combo that looked like it never quite filled in no matter how many days he gave it. Alfonzo “Fonz” Rafferty had a jet-black goatee that was trimmed and well groomed, and finishing up the pack was Harlan Shiff (“Just Shiff, doll,” he’d told her the first time she met him), whose goatee hung off his chin a few inches. His hair was red-blond and there was a ton of it, thick and hanging down to his shoulders.
She approached Fonz. In a pair of black-framed glasses, he was dressed the tamest in khaki shorts and a button-down chambray shirt cuffed at the sleeves. Fonz was the married one, with a seven-year-old and a new baby and a wife at home.
“Gloria,” he greeted, pulling her in for a hug that she accepted. Fonz was so damn normal. The rest of them were…not.
“How have you been?” she asked when he let her go.
He nodded rather than answered, his smile tight. Then he introduced the younger guy next to him. “Broderick. Gloria.”
“Ricky,” he insisted, taking her hand. “Hi, gorgeous.”
“Hi,” she said, unsure what to make of him yet.
“You know Shiff.” Fonz gestured to the drummer.
“Of course.”
“How are ya, Sarge?” Shiff didn’t offer a hand or a hug, only lifted his cup in cheers. Then he moved stunning blue eyes to hers and held her gaze a little longer than social politeness merited. The lips buried under that long goatee stayed firmly in a flat line.
“Great to see you all,” she said. “If you see Ash, tell him I’m on the beach.”
“You got it, babe,” Ricky said.
Okay, he was cute.
She spotted Asher across the deck talking to Brice’s clients—the band who played the outdoor concert the night he and Ash had a pissing contest.
No sooner did she think it than Brice swaggered up to her.
“Heels,” Brice greeted.
“I thought we agreed that nickname was silly.” She folded her arms over her chest.
“You, maybe. I haven’t let it go yet.” A quick lift of his eyebrows, then, “Like I haven’t let some other things go.”
She readied for a confrontation. Just because the guy took her to a concert didn’t mean she owed him a kiss good night. And she sure didn’t owe Brice any explanation for what he’d spied her and Asher doing when he arrived.
Instead of saying any of those things, she was surprised when he said, “Think any more about Chicago?”
She blinked.
“I’ll fill the spot I’m holding for you, and fast, Gloria. But you’re my first choice.” He put his free hand in his pocket, lifting the beer in his other hand to his lips.
“Well, I…haven’t really had a chance to think about it.” Plus she hadn’t known there was an expiration date on the offer.
“You never know when I might change my mind, Heels,” he said. “Did I mention the signing bonus?”
“No,” she stated flatly, tilting her head in suspicion. “You never mentioned the bonus.”
He smiled, flicking his eyes around the deck. “I will. Enjoy the party.”
He walked away, leaving her with no more than that veiled offer.
Well.
That was interesting.
In an annoying way.