Page 18 of Power Play

I pull my hand away to select another one. “I’m eating now.”

“That isn’t what I meant. You’re smart enough, thin enough, pretty enough, and polished enough.”

The front door opens again, releasing a burst of laughter and humid evening air into the bar. I look over before I can stop myself.

Ryan walks in wearing a black T-shirt, faded jeans, and a backward Flint Frost hat. The shirt fits across his shoulders in a way that makes every reasonable thought I’ve had tonight lose structural integrity. Tattoos run from his neck beneath his sleeves and down to his wrists. His gaze moves across the room once, taking in the crowd, the bar, and the Fury table before settling on us.

The corner of his mouth lifts, and I look down at my wine.

Bliss makes a sound beneath her breath.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You made a noise.”

“It was affectionate.”

“It was predatory,” Aura says.

Ryan reaches the table and greets the men with a round of shoulder grips and insults I can’t hear over the music. Briggs shifts to make room. Rider says something that earns him Ryan’s middle finger. Cade gestures toward the bar, and Ryan turns in our direction again.

Every girl at KFU had a crush on him when he played here. I was no exception. At eighteen, I could barely speak when he looked directly at me. I once dropped an entire stack of pencils because he asked whether I wanted the seat beside him.

Four years later, he’s one of my closest male friends. That should’ve removed the problem. Instead, it gave the problem better access to me.

Ryan reaches the bar as Bliss sets an empty pitcher beneath the beer tap. He steps into the narrow space beside my stool and bumps his shoulder lightly against mine.

“Why you so pissed, amiga?”

His voice carries the rough edge that always feels more intimate than it should. I look up and find his dark eyes already moving over my face.

“I’m not pissed.”

“You’re sitting in a bar organizing condiments.”

Bliss points at me. “I told her.”

Ryan glances at the bottles lined by height. “That’s bad.”

“It’s tidy.”

“It’s a cry for help.”

Aura reaches for clean glasses. “She’s having an academic breakdown.”

I pin her with my stare. “I’m seeking advice.”

“You rejected the advice,” Bliss says.

“Then you’re having a breakdown with witnesses,” Ryan decides.

He leans one forearm against the bar beside me, close enough that the warmth of him presses against my bare shoulder. I shift on the stool, hoping the movement looks casual rather than like my body has become painfully aware of his.

Ryan watches me adjust, and the corner of his mouth lifts.

“What class?” he asks.