He refocused his gaze over the dimly lit space as he reached down to fold Kylie into a quick hug. He’d chosen this out of the way spot on the periphery of the Crooked Angel’s main room for the dark and private aspect, so he could put his back to the wood-paneled wall and get lost in thought for just a minute. Apparently he’d gotten a little too lost if he hadn’t seen his sister make her way into the bar, and wasn’t that all the more reason to forget Isabella Moreno’s sassy mouth and sexy body and move the hell on?
“Hmm.” Kylie’s bright blue stare traveled over him with scrutiny, her frown telling him that his response had her far from convinced. “Then how come you’re not hanging out with everyone from Seventeen? Normally you guys are all knee deep in nine-ball and trash talk by now.”
She gestured toward the back of the Crooked Angel, where more than half the men and women on A-shift were drinking beer and shooting pool in the alcove by the emergency exit. Leave it to a bunch of firefighters and paramedics to want to have options out of a place.
“I was,” Kellan said, his gaze taking a lightning-fast trip to Moreno’s table before he constructed an answer that was at least in the same vicinity as the truth. “I just needed to deal with a work thing for a minute.”
Kylie opened her mouth, and if he knew her at all, it was to launch an argument. Thankfully Devon—who was never far from Kylie’s side now if he got a say so—leaned in from beside her to put a hand on her shoulder.
“Babe, I’m going to grab a few beers. What do you think, Walker?” He tipped his nearly-shaved head toward the bottle on the table by Kellan’s hand. “You ready for another?”
Having spent two extended tours with Kellan in the Middle East, Devon knew all too well how strong the urge to decompress could get, just like he and Kellan both knew Kylie would only worry if she knew. Troubling her wasn’t on Kellan’s To-Do list, especially over something as stupid as his unexplainable hard-on for a cop he didn’t even like. Clearly, it wasn’t on Devon’s either.
“Sure, man. Thanks.” He slipped Devon a nod to back up the word. Digging deep for a smile, Kellan made sure the gesture reached his eyes as he pushed it over his face and turned his attention back to his sister. “So how’s work? I’m surprised they sprung you from the kitchen on a Friday night.”
Kylie hopped up onto the bar stool across the table from Kellan, her ear to ear grin lighting up her face and half the city, and bingo. Mission accomplished on the subject change.
“I’ve worked six dinner shifts in a row,” she said, although her tone was a three to one ratio of happiness to irritation. “I love training to be a sous chef at Loulou’s, but even I have hard limits. They can suffer without me for a night.”
At her mettle, Kellan’s smile grew ten times less forced. “There’s the girl I know and love.”
“Mmm.” She arched a dark brown brow, but the remnants of her grin made full-on toughness a hard sell. “You’re not just saying that so I’ll come cook for you, are you?”
“I’ll have you know I’m perfectly functional on my own,” he said, picking up the half-empty beer bottle from the polished wood in front of him for a sip.
Ugh, warm. Kylie made a face that likely matched his, as if she’d tasted something well past its prime, and okay, it was time to find the kill switch on her worry, once and for all.
“Ky, I’m fine. I’m not going to tell you not to come cook for me,” Kellan added, because while he might be stubborn, he also wasn’t an idiot. Kylie could turn boxed mac and cheese into a four-star dish using little more than pantry items and sheer will. “But only do it if you want the kitchen practice, okay?”
“I just worry about you. I know the guys at Seventeen have your back, and that you’re really good at your job, but…” Kylie paused, her silence giving in to the jukebox music on the overhead speakers and the ambient crowd noise around them, and for a second Kellan thought she’d finally let go of the topic.
But then she slid a hand to one denim-covered hip and threw him for a rope-a-dope. “Are you happy?”
His pulse tapped out the Morse code equivalent of what the fuck. “What kind of question is that?”
“The serious kind,” Kylie said, which meant there would be serious work involved in getting her to let go of the serious subject, and oh hell. He needed a redirect. Fast.
Kellan amped up his smile, taking direct aim at a playful joke. “I think living with Dev has made you soft.”
“Living with Devon has made me happy,” she corrected, the sparkle in her blue eyes backing up her words a million percent, and something heavy and strange shifted in Kellan’s gut. “Come on,” Kylie continued. “I know you don’t like to talk about your feelings, and normally I don’t push. But don’t you want to find someone eventually?”
Okay, so he wouldn’t mind not waking up alone every morning, but… “Does eventually have to be right this minute?”