“Ooh,” Santino lets out excitedly. I nod at him, letting him know that whatever thoughts he’s thinking right now may or may not be true, depending how far his thoughts are going.

“Logan, you know the rules.” Bryson kills the slight buzz I have from my third beer. He always has to turn his ethical-professional-bullshit cap on.

“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off. This night is going nowhere. I look around the place and spot the redhead, who’s leaning against the bar, staring directly at me. She waves with a smile. I grin back and stand. “I’ll be back,” I tell Bryson and Santino and head her way.

“I can’t help but notice we have a problem.” I slide onto a stool right next to her and get an eyeful of those big—

“Oh? And what is that?” She says in a sexy tone, looking straight ahead.

“We can’t keep our eyes off each other.”

Redhead’s back is flush against the bar. A smile creeps up the corner of her lips. Turning her head, she looks at me. “That is a problem. What are you going to do about it?”

I lean in closer. “I think I have a few things in mind. What time does your shift end?”

She doesn’t blink. Leaning in fully to me, her lips almost touch mine. “In a half hour,” she breathes out.

“A half hour it is then.”

“Your orders are ready, Tammy,” Tony says from behind the bar. Redhead, who now has a name, turns around and grabs the filled tray. She winks and then carries on.

I check her out as she walks away before straightening in my seat to face Tony. Tony is Uncle George’s good friend and owner of this small bar. Tony shakes his head at my victory grin. “You’re in the wrong business, son.” He tosses a towel, aiming for my face, but I catch it in time.

“Yeah, and what kind of business should I be in?”

His stubby hands lay flat on top of the bar. “Male escort.”

We both chuckle at this. It’s ridiculous. “You have to be a pretty boy for that shit. I’m far from it.”

“You’d be surprised. More and more girls are into this.” He waves a hand between us, shrugging in the process. “Scruffy, bad boy, tattoos. It’s a cliché role.”

I snort. “Is that what I am? A walking cliché?” I shake it off. “I have sex for pleasure, not for money.”

“Touché. How are you guys getting home?” he asks while removing the cap of a summer lager. He passes it to me and I tilt the bottle in salute to show my gratitude before taking a sip.

“Santino drove with Bryson. I have my truck.”

“Are you guys all right to drive?” I grip the beer bottle, trying to mask my irritation.

I was in a good mood until he asked that question. I know this is what Tony does. He makes sure we’re okay. He’s been here for most of our lives and cares for my family—especially Bryson and me—as if we’re his own. But with the two-year anniversary of my brother’s death right around the corner, I feel offended. Maybe it’s the three beers kicking in or the fact that I’m still fucking annoyed due to the mega-bitch convo with Bryson. I’m not exactly sure what it is, but my emotions are quickly stirring. “I’m not Sean,” I finally blurt out, staring straight ahead and clenching my fist on the bar.

Tony’s features transform into shock. “I didn’t mean it that way, son. You know I wouldn’t. I’m just looking out for you guys. I would never cross that line, Logan. I hope you know that, right?”

Fuck me. I feel like an even bigger douche bag. I guess I don’t deserve the honorary certificate after all. I wave my hand. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry about it. That was out of line for me to say. I’m sorry, Tony.”

I thank him for the beer again, return to the booth with the other guys, and sip on the rest of my last beer until Tammy’s shift is over.

* * *

What the hell! This time I royally screwed up. My uncle is going to kill me. Even after the long speech he gave me a few days ago, I just can’t listen, can I? “You have to be more responsible,” he said. “You can’t have your cake and eat it too,” he said. “Simply put, you need to grow the hell up, Logan.” I’m sure drinking the entire weekend and picking up a girl from the bar—who I fucked until she’d forgotten her own name and is currently sleeping in my bed at this very moment—was not part of his let’s-save-Logan speech.

Grunting, I run a hand over my face, hop out of bed, and toss on jeans and the first T-shirt that doesn’t smell. Tammy, from the bar, is still here. I’m already late, so I quickly prod at her shoulder. “Get up.”

She stretches with a yawn. “What time is it?”

I walk back into the room with her clothes. “It’s time for you to leave,” I say, tossing her things on top of the bed.

She flashes her eyes open and groans, quickly shutting them again. “Ah, shut off the light!”

“No lights are on. That’s daylight coming in. I need you to get up and leave. I’m running late for work. Hurry up.”

Tammy sluggishly sits up, places her arms through the sleeve of her shirt, and narrows her stare at me. “Could you be any ruder?”

“Please,” I say. There. Is that polite enough for her? If it were any other day, I would’ve let her stay awhile. I would’ve even bought her breakfast, but if I’m any later, my uncle will fire me for sure this time.

Ten minutes later, I hop into my truck, start the engine, and head for Haddonfield, New Jersey. As I enter I-95 from the Woodhaven ramp, my phone goes off. Shit. It’s Bryson. “What’s up?” I answer, merging into the left lane.

“Where the hell are you?”

“I know.” I glance in my rearview mirror and then back to the road ahead. “I’m running late.” My foot presses down on the gas pedal. It’s over a forty-five minute drive to Haddonfield from Philly, depending on traffic. I need to speed the hell up.

“You’re fucking lucky Dad’s not here. He had a consultation for another job in Royersford this morning. He just texted me that he’s finishing up now and will be on his way. I suggest you get here—fast—before he does.”

There is a God. I gun it, pushing the speedometer to almost ninety. “Thanks, Bry. I owe you one.”

A snort erupts through the speaker. “Yeah, one of many. And you better not be speeding. If you lose your license again, I won’t be your personal chauffeur this time.”

I let him slide on that one and we end our call. Over the past couple years Bryson has done more for me than anyone else. He’s more than just my cousin; he’s my brother and best friend. We grew up living next door to each other, learning the importance of family from an early age. After Sean died, our relationship could have gone either way, but thanks to Bryson’s support and loyalty, we’re closer than ever.

Finally, I reach the McDaniels’ home and pull into their massive driveway. I cut the engine off, hop out of the truck, and hustle toward the back of the house. I’m walking along a pathway that leads past the scandalous front porch—just the sight of which brings a smug grin to my face—around a small pond, and through a landscaped grove of trees when I nearly trip over my own two feet and face-plant onto the perfectly manicured lawn.

The source of my smug grin only moments before is right ahead of me, and she hasn’t seen me yet. Jenna. Her back is to me as she makes her way down the path, so I do what any guy would do and take a moment to appreciate what’s in front of me. Her cinnamon hair is tossed in a high bun on top of her head and a loose blue shirt falls off her left shoulder. Very tight jean shorts reveal the curves of her very fine, perfectly shaped ass. An ass I had the pleasure of groping just a few days ago. She seems to struggle with carrying a large box. I, being the gentleman I choose to be at times, jog to catch up with her, but before I can reach her, the box slips from her hands, spilling all the contents to the ground.

“Fuck!” she shouts. Her head swivels as she surveys the mess, and she huffs once before bending over to pick up what appear to be painting supplies.

I smile. She’s in the perfect position for me to fully check her out. So I do. Again. After my peep show, I kneel down and grab a few paintbrushes from the ground. “I wouldn’t have expected the first word popping out of your mouth to be fuck. You just don’t seem like that kind of girl.”

Brown eyes pin mine. “Yeah? And what kind of girl do I seem to be?” Her eyes tell me she’s amused, but her tone tells me otherwise. Does she ever smile? This is the second time I’ve seen her, and both times she’s given me dirty looks— attractive dirty looks, but dirty looks all the same.

My lips form a lopsided grin. “Hmm…dammit. Yeah.” I nod, sure of my assessment. “You seem more like a dammit kind of girl.”

Jenna rolls her eyes. She quickly gathers the rest of her art supplies and tosses them into the box before standing and resting the package on her left hip. “Too bad you don’t know two fucks about me.”

I laugh. I have a major smartass on my hands. That’s okay; it’s just going to take a little longer to lighten this one up a bit.

I’ve been around a lot of women, so I’m able to tell one type apart from another. Jenna’s type is daring. They’re smart, snarky wiseasses. They live for a challenge and love being right. But they’re also—no matter what—women. And women can be sweet-talked at any moment.

I lean into her. She steps back. I smile.

There’s just enough sun to fully take her in. Jenna’s eyes, man, they’re something. It’s not the cute button nose, the soft, plump lips that I had the pleasure of tasting, or the even, golden skin tone that compels me. All of these features are striking, sure, but her eyes… Jenna’s eyes are exotic, stunning. There seems to be an untold story hidden behind those large, almond-shaped beauties. The mystery of those eyes…