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I jumped at Quinn’s voice.
“Dude, you okay?”
“Yeah, you just startled me,” I said, shaking my head, my heart pounding double-time in my chest.
“Let’s head to Ryder’s for dinner. Gigi said she had a lasagna in the freezer for us.”
“She’s great. You’re lucky to have her,” I said, thinking about my own mother and her lack of cooking skills. The best thing she made was reservations.
“Ryder’s the real lucky bastard. I swear he gets at least three meals a week,” Quinn muttered, jamming the elevator call button.
“Yeah, but you get unlimited desserts,” I pointed out. A slow smile crept over Quinn’s face as he shoved a hand into his pocket.
“That I do.”
* * *
Somehow there wasa mix-up on dinner and Ryder wasn’t home when we got there. We ate the lasagna and jetted, leaving him a note to meet us at the Rowdy later. Then Quinn drove me back to his apartment in town.
After a brief tour of the apartment–it didn’t take long, it was a one-bedroom–I took a quick shower and we headed across the street to the Rowdy.
Five minutes later, we crossed the crowded parking lot, music thumping across the blacktop. Small-town living had proximity going for it, anyways.
Ryder was leaning against the building, his long arms folded across his chest. He straightened up when he saw us.
“Liam!” He hugged me, slapping me on the back. “Long time no see, man. Glad you could come down.”
“Same. Congrats on the engagement, by the way.”
Ryder shot me a huge grin, his eyes lighting up at the mere mention of Bree.
“Thanks. Can’t wait for you to meet her.”
“I’m kind of surprised you didn’t bring Dr. Love with you tonight,” Quinn said, digging his elbow into Ryder’s.
“Dude. She’s watching Charlie for me. Said I could use a ‘Boys Night’ after everything that happened this week.”
“Nice,” Quinn said, nodding his head appreciatively. “Alright, we gonna stand out here all night shooting the shit or we going in?”
Ryder pushed through the door and a blast of warm, beer-infused air hit me. People were already grinding on the dance floor to the pulsating beat in the dim lights. I followed behind my cousins, working to ignore the sticky floors and the crunching of peanut shells beneath my feet. Nothing had changed at the Rowdy, that was for sure.
We made our way towards the back, elbowing through the crowd and finding a spot at the long metal bar. Quinn made small talk with a few fellow firefighters and Ryder trained his eyes on the large TV screen above the bar, taking in the basketball game.
“What’ll it be for ya?”
I glanced up, locking eyes with the prettiest blonde I’d seen in my thirty-some years, my heart slamming so hard in my chest I was certain she heard it.
“Well?” She cocked her head to the side, staring at me with wide hazel eyes, her lips pursed.
“Uh . . .” I stammered, my throat dry and thick. “Um, what do you have on tap?”
She ran down the list of beers, but I managed to catch none of them due to my total fascination with her full, pink lips. Then her lips stopped moving and she stared back at me, cuing me that it was again my turn to speak.
“I’ll have a Sam Adams. Yeah, that works.” My voice came out a little higher than I would have liked, and she arched one brow.
“Okay. You don’t sound too sure about that order.” She leaned up against the bar and my eyes fluttered down to the deep V of her T-shirt, the soft swell of her breasts. My jeans got a tad bit tighter as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear; everything suddenly seemed to be moving in slow motion.
I cleared my throat, shoving a hand in my pocket. “No, I’m sure.”
