“Still, I won’t let it happen again. But regardless, maybe it would be wise to think hard about what you want before you act again.”
He nodded slowly, as if taking all that in, and then his lips began to curl upward, some of that roguish light returning to his eyes. “So, you think I’m hot, huh?”
She gave him a droll look. “Of course that’s what you would hear in all that.”
The grin went wider. “How hot?”
“Go fishing off some other pier, Keats,” she said, getting up but unable to hide her smile. “You know you’re easy on the eyes. It’s like one of those Hemsworth boys and an archangel had a love child.”
He burst out laughing. “George!”
“I’ll go grab that project I wanted you to work on. Keep your hands off those pages.”
She could feel his gaze on her as she walked away. “I’m so reporting you to HR. I feel completely objectified now.”
“So sorry,” she said, no remorse in her voice.
“Don’t be. I fucking needed that.” She glanced back at him, finding him with a serious expression again. “Really, thanks. My head’s all screwed up with this, and it’s nice to find there are still some things I know for sure.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s that? That you’re hot.”
“No,” he said, meeting her eyes. “That I can still be attracted to a beautiful woman.”
“Oh.” Awareness pinged through her, and her back straightened. These two men were a menace. “I’ll be right back.”
His lips lifted and he propped his feet on her coffee table. “Sure, George. I’ll be waiting for my marching orders.”
Orders. Her earlier conversation with Colby came back to her about Keats’s supposed preferences, and really, really bad thoughts zipped through her mind. Colby putting Keats on his knees like he had put her last night. Both of them bringing Keats to the edge and back. She turned away from him. “Feet off the coffee table, Keats.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled again, and everything went warm inside her.
Ah, hell. She was turning out to be the worst boss ever.
TWENTY-TWO
Keats sat at the bar on the far end, where it was dark enough that no one would notice him or his black eye. He’d paint himself invisible if he could, but he needed to be here. He nursed his second Shiner Bock and kept his eyes trained on the stage. The act wrapping up was pretty good—a chick who sounded like the country version of Janis Joplin but looked like Joss Stone in cowboy boots with the pink-streaked hair. It was a good combination. One that probably would’ve captured his attention a week ago. But now all he could think about was the woman whose house he’d left an hour ago and the man about to get onstage.
A tall, blond guy squeezed into the space next to Keats and tapped the bar. The bartender turned and gave the newcomer a wide grin. “Well, how you doing, stranger? Here to see the big man play?”
The guy smiled, all effortless charm. “Just lucked out on that one. Robyn, the girl up onstage, works for me at my store, and I promised I’d stop by and watch her play. Plus, Evan and Andre are at a police fund-raiser tonight.”
“Poor thing. All alone tonight.”
“Don’t worry. There are plans for when we all get home.”
“Nice.” The bartender slid a glass of amber liquid in front of him. “Here’s to getting lucky, then.”
He raised the glass in salute. “I’ll drink to that.”
The bartender moved to take care of another customer, and the man settled his back to the bar in between stools to look at the stage. He glanced at Keats, as if noticing him for the first time. “She’s pretty good, yeah?”
Keats took a pull off his beer. “Her guitar skills need a little work, but her voice cuts right through you—in a good way.”
He smirked. “You sound like my friend Colby, the guy playing next. I swear that dude doesn’t think anyone plays the guitar well.”
Keats paused at the sound of Colby’s name. “You’re friends with Colby?”
The guy set his drink down. “I am. You know him?”