he listened with an expression of disinterest on his sharp features, a bottle of expensive liquor held loosely in his other hand. His dark red hair was combed back with product as it usually was on Saturdays—kept it out of his face when things got really busy, he’d explained once.
Not to me, of course. I’d just overheard him as we were opening.
Hell, he was so gorgeous when he wore his hair like that. Made me want to rake my fingers through it, mess it up as I kissed him hard. Fuck. I briefly set my teeth into my lower lip, using the sharp sensation to try to shake off that image.
Rory said something to the drunk guy, and then gestured at him in an obvious request to get his hands off the bar. This only made the guy angrier—instead of backing off, he surged toward Rory, fisting his hand in Rory’s tight blue tee and dragging him forward roughly, nearly over the bar.
Rhys glanced at me, obviously expecting some sort of reaction. My fingers tightened around my glass. Rhys knew me better than anyone—which meant he knew exactly how deep my protective streak ran. And, much to my constant annoyance, he knew the effect Rory had on me.
Because I’d be pissed if any of my employees were threatened like that, but the fact that it was Rory made a decidedly unprofessional anger curl in my gut. And I wasn’t going to give Rhys any satisfaction by showing that.
Not to mention I’d made the mistake of going to Rory’s rescue before. He’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want me sticking my nose in his business. He could handle himself.
Still, when someone put a hand on my employees, I wanted to be the one to dole out some old-school justice. But that wasn’t my job anymore. I’d hired good people to work security on the floor, and I trusted them to handle it. It wouldn’t look good for any of us if I marched down there and got involved in a scene like this in front of all our patrons.
No matter how badly I wanted to.
The big drunk guy was shouting in Rory’s face now, his hand still gripping the fabric of his shirt. I pressed my lips together, moments from saying fuck it and going down there anyway—where the hell were my bouncers?—when Rory raised the bottle in his hand and broke it over the guy’s head.
Rhys barked out a laugh, throwing his hands up in delight. “Holy shit!”
I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding as the drunk guy slumped onto the bar. Rory took a few steps back, cringing from the experience—or, more likely, from the smell of the liquor spilled onto the bar from the shattered bottle. He tossed the neck of the bottle into a nearby trash can and narrowed his eyes at the drunk guy. Two of my bouncers, Tomas and Cade, rushed forward to grab the guy and get him out of the building.
Rory’s hip was cocked, and he rested one hand at his waist, drawing my eye to the lean, long muscle of his chest. I’d thought he’d be at least a little shaken by the interaction, but he just looked… peeved. He was such a spitfire.
I suppressed a smile but couldn’t help the warm fondness unspooling in my chest.
“Rory’s a real magnet for trouble,” Rhys said with a shake of his head. “Wonder what he said to that guy.”
“He’s got a mouth on him,” I muttered.
I wasn’t ready to take my eyes off Rory, not yet. That guy had gotten a little too close for my comfort—even though Rory had handled it, I wanted to make sure he was okay. Behind the bar, Rory scowled deeply as he conferred with the other bartenders in similar tight blue t-shirts.
One of the girls behind the bar rolled her eyes and said something that made Rory throw his head back in laughter. The neon lights behind the bar cast his face in a cool glow, and I could just barely make out the flush on his pale cheeks—he blushed easily, from his cheeks to his ears, and I loved the rare moments when I was the one who could make it happen.
The drunk guy had stretched out Rory’s t-shirt when he’d grabbed him, and the neckline hung loose around his neck. I shifted on my feet. If I looked too closely for too long, pretty soon I wouldn’t be able to hide