Page 11

Ryder glanced over his shoulder, brow raised. “Sweet mercy. Is he trying to summon something or just punish us all for existing?”

“Hard to say,” I muttered as my eyes drifted around the room. “It feels like both at the moment.”

“Evenin’, boys.”

A tall blonde, who had to be the new waitress Jett had mentioned, leaned an elbow on our booth, her voice pitched sweet and practiced. Her skirt barely covered her ass, and her top was cut so low it looked like her nipples were about to make their own introduction. Add in the stilettos teetering on warped bar floors, and Ryder lit up like Christmas. His grin turned wicked as he dragged his gaze down and back up again.

Slow enough to make sure she noticed.

“Well, damn,” he drawled. “Whiskey. Don’t care what kind, so long as it’s you handing it over.”

I bit back a laugh. I’d seen Ryder run this routine a hundred times, and he always cared what whiskey he got. The second his dick stopped thinking, he’d be bitching about the pour.

“Beer, please,” I said evenly. “Ma’am.”

Her eyes lingered on me a beat too long, like I was the one she wanted. But she’d get nothing from me. Even if I was interested, we had a code among us, and Ryder had already called dibs.

Before the blonde could bat her lashes again, a shadow fell over the booth.

“This isn’t even your section,” Babs growled, her voice rasping like a match striking sandpaper. She wedged herself between us and the waitress, arms crossed, the silver rings stacked on her fingers flashing in the light. “Move your ass back to the pool tables before I staple your skirt to your section so you remember where it is.”

The blonde blinked, her cheeks flushing pink, then pasted on a tight smile and tottered off. Her heels clicked unevenly against the warped floor planks.

Ryder slumped in his seat like he’d just lost his best shot of the night. “Who’s gonna get our drinks now?”

“With that attitude?” Babs said. “You can get them yourself.”

Scowling, Ryder dropped his hand. “I was just being friendly. Y’all ever heard of that?”

Babs barked out a laugh that turned heads at the bar. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just glad I won’t have to mop up the drool you were leaking on my floor.”

He gave her a wounded look, all wide eyes and dramatics. “It’s like you don’t even want me here.”

“It’s not like that, it is that.” Babs scoffed, her face scrunching like she’d smelled something sour, though I caught the ghost of a smile tugging at her mouth before she turned away.

I smirked.

Ryder lifted an eyebrow at me. “Don’t get too cocky over there, Sterling. We all know I’ll always be Babs’s favorite.”

I rolled my eyes and slid out of the booth. “If you’re her favorite, then you can be the one to beg her for our drinks.”

Ryder snorted but followed, and we cut through the noise toward the bar. The Hollow had swelled even more, bodies crammed shoulder to shoulder, heat and sweat clinging to the air.

We’d barely reached the bar when Kelsey leaned over from the other side. Early twenties, heavy on the lashes and lip gloss, she draped herself across the wood.

“You need something, Sterling?” she purred in a voice so syrupy my balls damn near shriveled.

I kept my eyes firmly on her forehead.

As evidenced by the new blonde, Babs was pretty loose about her employee dress code, and Kelsey’s interpretation of it left very little to the imagination. Jett swore her entire left boob had made a surprise appearance last week, and the way she was leaning over now, her right one was about to introduce itself, too.

Ryder coughed into his drink to hide a laugh, though I knew damn well he’d sampled that particular special more than once.

I let my gaze finally land on Kelsey’s for a beat. “I’ll take the drink,” I said, putting weight on it. Her smile faltered.

“Am I paying you to flirt, or am I paying you to work?” Babs snapped, appearing out of nowhere. She had a sixth sense for when her staff was thinking with anything but their brains. Kelsey flinched, then moved only marginally faster toward the taps.

Babs shook her head, muttering, “I swear, these waitresses are one spilled shot away from humping the furniture.”