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Babs snorted. “She’s lying.”

Sterling’s gaze dropped to my mouth before lifting back to meet my eyes. “I need to get your number.”

My spine stiffened. “Why?”

A flicker of something warm tugged at his mouth. “I want to check on you,” he said simply. “Make sure you’re okay.”

Most of the time I forgot my phone existed. I’d changed my number after everything, not wanting to deal with nosy journalists who kept getting ahold of my old one. And it wasn’t like my parents were going to call. My notifications were a graveyard of silence.

I swallowed, a knot tightening in my chest. “I’m fine.”

“Maybe,” Sterling said, his voice low enough that it brushed a shiver up my spine. “But I’d still like your number.”

The way he said it made something in me flinch and lean closer at the same time.

Sterling’s friend, Ryder, chose that moment to slide into the space on Sterling’s other side, grabbing a barstool. He looked like someone had taken a fallen angel, handed him a badge, and dared him to behave. Ryder had sun-bright blond hair, green eyes that sparkled with mischief, and a sheriff’s uniform that fit like it had been personally sinned over.

“Roadkill,” he greeted, an easy, gorgeous grin flashing. “You’re vertical. I’d call that a win.”

“Don’t call her that,” Sterling said.

“What?” Ryder asked innocently. “It’s affectionate. Like a nickname.”

Sterling shot him a look that could’ve curdled milk. “You don’t get to give her a nickname.”

“Why not? I’m not the only one calling her that.” He flicked a glance toward Babs, then back to Sterling. “You don’t own the nickname market.”

Sterling scoffed like he in fact did. “Babs can do and say whatever the hell she wants. You, not so much.”

Ryder held up a hand. “I’ll have you know my nicknaming abilities are exceptional.”

“Your last three nicknames were ‘Bar Fight Barbie,’ ‘Boobalicious Brenda,’ and ‘That Woman who Bit Me,’” Sterling said.

Ryder winced. “Okay, in my defense, she bit really hard.”

“Ryder,” Sterling growled, “you’re not allowed to give Sienna a nickname.”

Ryder smirked, leaning past him to wink at me. “He’s jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Sterling said immediately.

“Oh, you’re absolutely jealous,” Ryder said, turning back to him. “You only use that voice when someone touches your tools or your dog or your⁠—”

“Finish that sentence,” Sterling warned, “and I’ll tell Wanda you’re single again.”

Ryder blanched at that before his grin widened. “See? Jealous.”

Sterling’s jaw flexed, and he shifted just enough that his shoulder brushed mine, a subtle claim I pretended I didn’t feel down to my toes.

“It’s adorable when he’s territorial,” Ryder told me.

Oddly, the fact that Ryder didn’t seem even a little intimidated by Sterling was helping me to relax. He wasn’t tense or treating Sterling like a storm cloud everyone else had to track. He just leaned there in his perfectly pressed uniform, grinning at Sterling as if the man was a mildly grumpy golden retriever instead of…whatever brand of trouble he actually was.

I hid a smile behind my Coke, and Sterling’s eyes snapped to mine like I’d just handed him a star.

That was my cue.

I straightened, wiping my palms on my jeans as the last of my Coke fizzed out in the bottom of the glass. “Okay,” I said, mostly to myself. “I’m going to go talk to Mack. I want to hear about my car from him.”