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So free with his body? Did he have to sleep around with whoever was willing? Did intimacy mean nothing to him?

“Promiscuous?” Zasha coughed into his fist. “That’s just Yuriy. It might have been my fault.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, really. After our parents died, he threw himself into running the family and taking care of me. Sex became his way to blow off steam. I don’t think he’s ever taken just one person home. It’s always been two or more.”

Zasha shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck like he regretted saying so much. “Anyway.” He glanced toward the bar where Yuriy was still turning on the charm. “If he goes home with the bartender, it’s only good news for us. We’ll get the best version of him for a couple of days at least before he turns back into a sarcastic asshole. Fondly, of course.”

I grunted but didn’t answer.

The bartender returned with Yuriy’s drink and set it down with a little flourish. “Here you go, handsome,” he said, voice softening in a way that had nothing to do with hospitality.

“Appreciate it,” Yuriy said, his grin lazy. “Why don’t you take their orders too, sweetheart?” He nodded toward Zasha and me, like we were an afterthought.

Sweetheart? He called a man he just met that ridiculous pet name?

The bartender’s smile flickered, disappointment bleeding through. “Sure thing.” His gaze slid to Zasha. “What can I get you guys? Are y’all together?”

Zasha barked a laugh. “Not a chance. Even if he wasn’t my brother, he’s so not my type, but I’ll take a beer. Whatever’s on tap is fine.”

The bartender’s eyes drifted to me then, a small hopeful tilt to his mouth, waiting for me to clarify, to maybe set the record straight that I had no claim on Yuriy either, leaving him available.

“Vodka. Neat,” I said, voice flat as a gun barrel.

He nodded quickly. “Coming right up.”

He made the drinks, his posture a little stiffer. When he returned, he placed the glasses down and turned to Yuriy, trying to recover the spark. “Since you guys came together, these are on me.”

“That’s sweet of you.” Yuriy stroked the side of his glass, the slow motion almost hypnotic. “To return the favor, maybe I can buy you a drink after your shift ends.”

The bartender checked his watch. “Sounds good. It’ll be a couple of hours, though. If you can wait that long.”

“For you?” Yuriy’s tongue flicked over his bottom lip, flashing the silver barbell. “I’d wait all night.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. The bartender flushed, biting back a smile, then moved off to serve someone else.

I stared into my vodka, disgust curling low in my gut—disgust at Yuriy, at the scene, at myself for caring that he hadn’t looked my way once.

“Are we going to have to sit here all night watching you eye-fuck the bartender?” Zasha asked, voice low.

Yuriy didn’t even flinch. “Well, you can choose not to watch.” He turned his head to me, his grin slow and deliberate. “Besides, I’m not sure Stas here is kinky enough to be a voyeur. Are you, Stas?”

I met his stare, taking a gulp of my scotch. The burn was welcomed.

“I don’t mind a third joining us.”

His words crawled under my skin.

Zasha shot to his feet, stool legs scraping the floor. “Christ, Yuriy. Isn’t the bartender enough? Stop hitting on my father-in-law. It’s fucking weird.”

“What’s weird about it?” Yuriy asked, feigning innocence. “That silver fox thing he has going on is kinda sexy.” He tipped his glass toward me. “Besides, there’s so much hate between us. Imagine what that would feel like in the bedroom. It’d be fucking explosive. You up for a threesome, old timer?”

“In your dreams,” I spat.

Unlike him, I didn’t share. I didn’t play games, didn’t fuck for sport, and sure as hell didn’t perform for an audience.

“Ah, Stas, I’ll definitely take you up on that and make your toes curl in my dreams.”