Page 8 of Brock’s Mate

She flicked him a glance. “You couldn’t handle me either. Consider this to be your official humiliating rejection.”

That got a grin from him that matched his brother’s. “My wife and the love of my life thanks you for that.”

“Are they the same person?”

That cracked up the Latino and his girlfriend. “Yes, they are,” said the girlfriend. “She drinks a lot, though.”

“She’d have to,” Desi said.

That made them laugh even harder.

Cocky Asshole #1 said, “Although I enjoy hearing you insult my brother, my original question referred to your awesome opportunity to get in on Round 2 of Dirty Valentine Speed Dating.”

He went into his spiel. “In the space of one hour you can meet twelve eligible bachelors, get to know their secret fantasies, and lie about yours. If you like one, you can put him on your Dirty Desire Hit List, or just hit him over the head with a club and drag him back to your cave. Either way, bring him back next Saturday, Valentine’s Day, and you both get free Dirty Drinks all evening. You in?”

Desi shuddered. “I’d rather get a root canal, thanks. Any chance there’s a side table where I could get a drink and a burger, and watch the desperation and FOMO of fifty drunk people implode in one pheromone-soaked disaster?”

The Latino’s girlfriend said, “FOMO?”

Her boyfriend answered, “Fear of Missing Out.”

Cocky Asshole #2 said, “I take it back. I love her.” He turned to his brother. “If you weren’t already ma—um, married, I would pay her to make your life a misery so I could watch.”

A woman with sandy blond hair and a lively face appeared over Cocky Asshole #1’s shoulder. “Too late,” she said, leaning down and kissing the top of his head. “I’m already doing it.”

She grabbed a couple of menu cards from the end of the table and spoke to Desi. “I’m Callie. This is my bar. This is my partner Colt,” she pointed to Asshole #1, “and that’s his brother Remy.” She pointed to the double.

Not that Desi would ever be able to tell them apart. She hoped that wasn’t a prerequisite for working here.

Callie indicated the couple behind the Assholes. “And that’s Damien and Lila.” Lila smiled, and Damien raised two fingers off his beer bottle in a casual salute.

Callie said, “One of the speed dating couples just headed outside for parking lot sex—” Colt and Remy low-fived each other—“so I have a free table in the corner.” She gestured across the room to a voluptuous blonde clearing the table and then pointed at Desi, and got a thumbs-up.

“Right this way.” As they headed off, Cocky Asshole #1—Colt—caught Callie’s hand and kissed the palm, and they exchanged a surprisingly sweet and genuine smile before she led Desi across the room.

Desi shook her head. Who’d have guessed that both those guys were happily married? Her asshole radar was clearly on the fritz.

Although it often was—it just usually went the other way. The ones she thought were the good guys turned out to be the worst. Some women were magnets for losers and psychos, and she was a card-carrying member of that club. They should elect her president.

They threaded their way around tiny tables, most with uncomfortable-looking people sitting at them, holding fistfuls of printed index cards in one hand and drinks in the other, trying really hard to look hot and not-desperate.

The noise actually hurt her ears. She tried to block it out as she slid into the booth. Callie laid down the menu cards. “It’s mostly all specials tonight,” she said. “Drinks on this one, and food on this one. I’ll give you a chance to look them over, and send someone to take your order.”

Desi glanced at the drink list and started laughing. “Don’t tell me. Your partner and his brother wrote this.” Callie looked mock-offended. “I helped,” she said. “And Jaeda—Remy’s partner.” She cracked a grin. “But it was their idea.”

Of course it was. Desi said hopefully, “I don’t suppose I could just get a double shot of bourbon, straight up? Or is that not dirty enough?”

“Whiskey can always be dirty,” Callie assured her. “Or at least, it can head you in that direction. Coming up.”

She walked away and Desi looked over the menu until the blonde who’d cleared the table arrived to deliver her bourbon and take her order. There was something weird about the way she looked at Desi; not hostile, exactly, but wary. Maybe she was Cocky Asshole #2’s wife. Or girlfriend.

Desi ended up passing over the “Hot Buns and a Fistful of Meat” burger in favor of the “Hunka Hunka Burning Love” Cajun spicy ribs. Then she settled back with her bourbon and checked out the room.

The staff were doing a good job of keeping the mood festive between rounds. The Asshole Twins moved skillfully through the crowd, joking around, defusing potential trouble, and subtly moving along anyone trying to monopolize a woman who didn’t want to be monopolized.

Anybody getting handsy or belligerent was quietly dealt with by one of the bouncers—either the dark, hot, broody one who looked like someone you didn’t want to meet in a dark alley, or the seven-foot silver-haired one with serial-killer eyes, who looked like someone you didn’t want to meet anywhere ever.

Although a petite, curvy Asian woman at the bar seemed to have a thing for him; she kept winking at him and blowing kisses. Once she even flashed her boobs.